This is the story of Thakur

I first found Thakur at Dilli Haat's permanent Kashmir store, in 2008. Simple, economical, and totally fit for purpose.

It lived with me in Pune and we travelled together across Maharashtra. It was particularly useful during the Srivardhan trip taken in the monsoons. I still remember that leaky state transport bus!

On campus in Pune, romance blossomed with its help. The nippy weather one.

Over the years, it continued to be a good friend, and obviously moved with me to London. Here it supports me every day from September to April. I literally lose sleep if it's not around.
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Thakur is a black pashmina shawl. I use it like a night cap these days because my body temperature drops significantly during sleep and I get a headache if Thakur (and its heat) goes missing.

The nomenclature emerged from the time C saw me walk around wearing it in traditional style - covering my shoulders and arms with it. Classic RB style, I got extra lazy about using my arms to do anything either. Hence, the arm-less Thakur (of Sholay fame).

Technically, the label was for me, but the shawl conveniently absorbed it. Now the shrunken, ten-year-old holds a special, permanent position on our bed, and in our lives.

My London

I’ve never felt passionate about London because I live with someone who does. I’ll explain how that works.

I find it difficult to appreciate anything that I think is over-appreciated by the people around me. The most current example of this phenomenon is that I have got down to reading Shantaram now, 15 years after it was first published. I did not want to read it when every other person around me (in college) was carrying around that giant 900-page copy of the book and raving about it. Some people did it because they genuinely enjoyed it, and I am certain many did it (carrying and raving) because they needed to fit in. The noise that that resulted in acted as a repellent for me. I don’t operate well in a lot of noise. I need space to be able to think, form my own views and make my own judgments. I won’t deny being guilty of borrowing opinions, but I do enjoy some space when I can get it. And that’s why I am not a fan of videos that go viral, people who talk too much, et cetera.

Coming back to London! C loves it so much, as do most people around me (current and former residents as well as visitors), that I don’t feel like I have enough space to allow my own feelings to mature. It’s my fourth year here though, so I thought of jotting down a few things that make up my life in London.

Firstly, I check the weather forecast last thing before I go to bed and almost the first thing when I wake up in the morning. It helps decide whether I should bother washing my hair or not (windy/rainy day = pony tail day), how many and which types of layers to wear (cotton for humid, breezy day; waterproof for pissy rain day; warm for 12-15 degrees days; extra warm for 10 degrees or lower days; Eskimo-style for anything colder), and accordingly which shoes to wear (rookies do suede on a rainy day). Before you think I am exaggerating, let me clarify that ALL of these weather variances can occur within a two-week period. Last week it was 8 degrees and I got into a fight with C because he wanted to walk, and I was under-dressed for the weather (yep, despite all efforts to stay on top of the weather situation). Yesterday I grudgingly wore trousers to work because my legs weren’t waxed to wear one of the dresses I’d have rather worn in the warm, breezy weather.

Okay! With the weather monster covered, let me come to more normal things.

I was baffled the first time a stranger on the street smiled at me. And I obviously did not respond appropriately in time. On another occasion I saw C nod and smile at a stranger and I quickly jumped to enquire who it was. A stranger! How does it work in a city where people do anything they can to avoid eye contact on the tube? The only thing that helps me navigate this contradictory scenario is that I have figured this smiling business happens only on streets with a speed limit of 20 miles or lower. Yes, where the pace of life is physically slower than busier parts of the city. Avoiding eye contact feels very natural, so does avoiding conversations on the morning tube. I LOVE the unspoken rule of no conversations on the morning ride. Tourists also toe that line. But sometimes you do come across exceptions, and they are hated in good measure by everyone around them.

I’ve worked in Marylebone for most of my time here, commuting through Oxford Street almost every day. In the process, I have come across some brilliant artists busking outside stations and big stores. Their voices and their music reverberate through the busy street, making every passer-by pause for at least a moment – even if only in their heart – to appreciate the talent and magic that these individuals create. The good thing about these artists is that they never stay in one place for long. So, even if you cross the same spot every day, it’s not necessary that you’d find the same person singing or playing there every time. The surprise and freshness of the experience makes much of a mundane moment.

London’s streets also have an outlier vibe about them. The one that speaks almost in response to the conservative, patriarchal systems of the country from not a very long time ago. It almost seems like a physical, visible manifestation of the rebellion that helped people break away from the fetters of what I’d lightly call, ‘time’. I was almost ignorant of the history until I came here but seeing what I do today gives me hope for India which is still caught in awful remnants – even if deep-seeded – of the colonial times.

A better tradition that’s continued from the colonial times is the English pubs. They have no music, unlike pubs in many other cities, and they’re more communal and friendly than even a park at times. People of all ages are easily accommodated, with some pubs even having a play area for kids. Thursday evenings, on the other hand, see pubs ‘accommodating’ more people outside, on the footpath, than inside. Nobody cares for a place to sit as long as they have a beer or cider OR mulled wine and good company. It also doesn’t matter how you’re dressed – anything from a post-workout gear to a pre-wedding look goes! Extraordinary is the ‘English’ word to describe it.

London is not perfect though, as aren’t any other cities in the world. Or the world itself. It is fairly lovable with its charming architecture, beautiful parks, amazing food scene, good work-life balance, cultural action, and the short but absolutely stunning summer.

Neither hearts nor posing against pretty backdrops is usually my thing, but this was me indulging in both, near London Bridge a few weeks ago.

Dreamy

One could easily miss the sharp and narrow turn in the winding road. In fact, within metres it changed to a gravel path, with sunflower fields on the left and small homes on the right, which seemed like they’d been there for centuries. The sunflowers were a clear sign of the past two months of the heat wave. The plants stood tall, but the flowers had burnt and wilted. Driving ahead slowly, there emerged the expansive grey stone property. Tastefully built, it had large glass doors on the ground floor, with a dining area on the left that could easily seat 20 people, extending to a porch outside with space for more. That porch had a shed of grape vines, from which happened to hang fully grown grapes in black, red and green. Beyond the porch were rows after rows of symmetrically-running grape vines. The vineyard had dark Cabernet Sauvignon grapes ready for harvest. That westside view was also accessible from the first-floor bedroom window. The sun setting in the distance, behind the hills had a bright, golden-orange hue. The Tuscan sun. Its low rays pierced through and overpowered every sense, every thought; giving way to a night sky filled with stars.

My understated love for daal (or dahl/dhall as known in London)

I was a fussy child who could not develop a taste for any foods. My vegetarian food universe was limited to potatoes, yoghurt and bread. One argument in favour of that is it’s a non-fuss peasant’s meal. But when that’s all you eat, the body (and the mother) cries in ways you don’t want to imagine!

I slowly took a liking to lentils – all but the sprouts form of it. Every colour, every type of beans, made by anyone! Aside: As a child, I could not bring myself to swallow food cooked by anyone other than my mother. No well-meaning aunt, grandmother or neighbour, who only wanted to help the woman with a full-time job and two kids, could succeed at making me eat (anything). So, it is a big deal when I say that I could eat daal made by anyone.

But I never confessed my love for it because I preferred kidney beans (I could eat those three times a day for three straight days) over everything else. “What’s your favourite food?” “Rajma-chawal (kidney beans and rice)!” To be honest, that’s the favourite food of 90 per cent of the north-Indian vegetarians. Others enjoy things like slimy okra.

The other relevant fact about me is that I easily get bored. That extends to general current affairs, people, and food. For instance, I lovingly ate so much peanut butter during my hostel life in Pune that I can no longer tell what’s so special about it. Same story with melons. In fact, I have a deep existential worry about what I might do if I get bored of all the things I like and can eat.

Enter daal!

Copyright: pirate of kitchen

As I mentioned, I have never confessed my love for it. In fact, I’ve barely acknowledged it to myself. When I first learned how to cook though, I could not believe how easy it is to make daal. Side lesson in twisting facts: the first time I made daal, I manually soaked all the water out of it and later wondered why it was so dry. Anyway, as I was saying, making daal is very easy. The second cooking-daal-related-win was when I first made daal makhni and thought to myself that it was better than my mom’s! Presumptuous much? Clearly, but why would l lie about such a thing? And to be fair, my Gujarati dad-in-law totally vouches for my Punjabi daal makhani!

I digress.

I skipped lunch today because I felt too lazy to cook for myself. But that only lasted till 14:45, when I rushed to the kitchen and made my 20-minutes-to-joy yellow daal tadka and complimented my daal-making skills. I love daal. And I love the daal I make. You’re welcome to join for a simple meal. If the meal planning is led by my husband, it will be daal chawal. If led by the lazy me, it will still be daal chawal. If led by the me spoilt by my mother, it will be hot namak parantha and daal. My dad always tries to peg a price to his daal makhani, only to conclude that it’s far more valuable than any served by a fancy restaurant in Delhi. I can sense my tendency to go down to that path even though I totally recognise that it can’t be true. Homemade daal is not meant to compete with the dahl available on the street. 

A Decade

Ten years ago, I unwillingly took a step which steered the course of my life in almost its entirety. I decided to pursue a master’s programme from Symbiosis, which, in theory, was a step back after having spent the previous three years at a far more prestigious institution in Delhi. From an academic perspective, the two years at Symbiosis were a sham and shame. If I could offer any advice to those running that programme, I’d restructure and redesign every element of it. Nonetheless, the time there was packed with several other elements which are hard to ignore even today.

1. I learned I am capable of being severely self-destructive. 

My environment festered a series of negative experiences which pushed me to one of the lowest points of existence I have experienced so far. And I saw how I perpetuated my situation and circumstances instead of lifting my head above water. Ten years on, I can’t confidently say that I have overcome that behavioural tendency, but an acute awareness of it makes me somewhat control it to an extent. 

2. I was exposed to sexuality, the different facets of it, and the normality of it all. 

When I moved to London in 2015 and met the people that I did, I realised that my assumptions about ‘normal’ were not universal. People who had seemingly similar backgrounds as I had views that I found jarring and at times, appalling.

3. I took very long to appreciate the diversity of people around me.

In retrospect, even a passive existence in that atmosphere widened my perspective a great deal. People around me weren’t all type As (natural, forced or pretentious) running after the same thing. I was surrounded by the flaky, the fickle; the straight shooters, the obnoxious; the driven, the creative; and many other types. And it took a few years for me to, firstly, be patient about it, and secondly, appreciate the importance of it. 

4. I made friends for life. 

I dreaded the idea of being surrounded by people 24x7, and struggled when I had to choose between playing along and decompressing (or isolating myself). But despite that and the many differences, I managed to find people who I can confidently trust to remain in the inner circle. It was the first time I was as comfortable as I was with people (even if a select few) and certainly the first time when intellectual or cultural backgrounds and differences didn’t come in the way. In fact, during those years I also got closer to a friend from before, and I am thankful for her reckless use of her cell phone at the time.

5. I started travelling. 

I come from a typical, middle class, conservative family where both parents had full time jobs, ie, they neither had the time to take me on holidays, nor did they have any interest in letting me go on my own. Until I was forced to be 1500 kms away from them. It started with a short trip to the Ajanta and Ellora caves. And there’s been no looking back. The opportunity and ability to travel saved my sanity when I had nothing else to look forward to in life. And it gave me experiences that have ranged from soul-stirring to outright fun.  

6. I appreciated life outside Delhi. 

I was obsessed about Delhi then and until much later. Then I started living in a place which, in stark contrast to my life in Delhi, had no facilities except an en-suite bathroom for luxury. From minor comforts to being surrounded by nature to realising that albeit normalised, certain behaviours and cultures are not normal. 

7. I experienced a life of struggle.

I brought it upon myself. My ambitions, personal desires and decisions were completely out of sync, and I was looking down a rabbit hole with no ability to sort myself out or seek help. That dragged on for a few years before making any sense whatsoever. Now, 8-10 years later, from a somewhat objective vantage point, I still think that the struggle was intense and the overcoming of it, real.

If it wasn’t for that decision, I’d have probably picked a boring career that paid more. I’d have met a different set of people, experienced time and places in a different context and perhaps had a different set of reflections at this stage. It’s been a rich decade nonetheless and I am at that terrifying juncture beyond which I never envisioned what life might be like. Let’s see where it goes. 

N

[2017 reflections] # I got a new manager at work. I resisted working with him (an Indian male) when I first heard about him. But I am thankful for his influence on my mind.

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He introduced himself on the phone as a problem solver. A year later it seems like an obvious fact to me and surely many others who worked with him or even existed around him. But during that call I wondered why he said that. Why he was elevator-pitching at me. Sure, he was set to be my next manager, but I didn’t have any problems I wanted him to solve.

I was so wrong. He is leaving soon and I am wishing he’d stay. However, it’s good he’s leaving or I would have made him my crutch. Part of me wishes he’d stay because he’s the only person like himself.

*

I first met him in January 2017. My very first impression of him (beyond what was built up based on conversations about him) was that he looks like a wise, old man. The big eyes were filled with deep experience. I then thought he tried hard to get along and be liked by everyone. Just like the uncle who would always bring something for everyone every time he visited. Except that this guy wasn’t pleasing people with regular presents; he was unwrapping valuable gifts in the form of work solutions that colleagues needed. And they weren’t uniform gifts. He had solutions that ranged from product roadmaps to sales strategies to a how-to on dealing with difficult colleagues. Sometimes people didn’t know they needed a solution at all. He would just glide in, write a problem on the board making people believe in it, and then give them a solution for it as well. Most often, people left feeling thankful.

*

My conversations with him have ranged from deeply uncomfortable to highly inspirational. I have only known one other person whose practical application of their knowledge has been as precise and thoughtful as his. The only difference between the two has been their approach to how they interact with people around them. N, very consciously, has treated everyone as a peer, opening a channel that can only be productive in a professional interaction. I think it is safe to say that he is the type of person who takes people along with them. A year ago, I could not have imagined having a direct and open conversation with him or any other senior colleague without an unfounded fear established by hierarchy. Of course, there are still some people with whom I cannot be as open as I’d like, but I feel like I am now at a point where I don’t consider that as a shortcoming at my end.

He has left me in tears on occasion – not because he managed to offend me but because he helped me unravel perspectives (and sometimes facts) that I never considered with sufficient clarity or thought. I winced when he asked me to read a book on self-awareness. And I never read that book, but I now know why he asked me to read it.

I have also laughed at his absurdity and our disagreements alike. And I appreciate how he never made a bone about any of it.

He recently introduced me to the idea of an idea independent of the self. We agreed that I am a few steps away from being successful at not being attached to my ideas, but it certainly provoked a thought that I am glad has stuck with me.

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His own defence mechanism is quite evident. As most things N, most of it is deliberate, and some of it natural. He has always come across as confident and in control, and I am not the one to get personal with anyone at work. But based on what I have sensed, I hope he does okay and gets all that he needs. I, for one, will always be wishing well.  

***

NRI

I have been a non-resident Indian (NRI) for four years. And that has defined a vast majority of my circumstances and actions throughout this time. Everything from my ability to vote for the British parliament to being at the receiving end of puzzled looks for pronouncing words differently from how they’re said outside India – it has all been about me being an Indian in a context outside of its boundaries, physical or otherwise.

I have consciously avoided discussing this position on social media and with most people outside my immediate circle because often instant judgments and opinions are passed at the mention of a fancy-sounding city. So, I neither post photos of the Big Ben, nor do I comment on India’s politics on Facebook. Because I fear all of it gets perceived through this first filter of a non-resident voice which leaves me a little more than uncomfortable. 

Some of these perceptions are grounded in fair assessment. If one is 5,000 miles away from the country, it is so convenient to make commentary about issues – political or civic – because undeniably, none of them affect us on a daily basis. 

I am also guilty of subscribing to the stereotype about NRIs loving to stroke their nostalgia about how great things are – or at least ought to be – back home. I left the country in 2014, before the last general elections, and that is my locus for how things are in India. #BMKJ is hard to digest because I don’t know whom to believe and with whom to argue. I don’t live there, so my alternative truth is all the more convoluted than those two people’s whose ideologies might differ but for whom at least the physical context is the same. 

But I still have a problem. 

NRIs are not just armchair activists or commentators, Karan Johar-loving desh bhakts who cry every time Rehman’s Swades shehnai echoes in their ears. They don’t all donate money to Modi even if a mind-boggling number of them are from Gujarat. And they aren’t all awestruck by the idea of India buying more Burberry bags than some other international markets. 

The privilege of an opportunity outside India goes away as soon as that plane leaves India’s boundaries. An NRI often begins as a mess in their host country because he/she doesn’t understand the words, the smells, the styles or the motivations of the people who surround them. 

They struggle to understand cultures. They struggle to adjust and be accepted. They struggle to make friends. They get hurt and learn lessons the hard way at work because they don’t know the ways of the new people. Their learning curves are steep and that is often on the back of having to start from scratch. 

If they make friends with only Indians – “oh what’s the point of being there then!” 

If they marry someone who’s not Indian – “oh my god this person is gone forever now!”

NRIs work on Republic Day, Holi, Independence Day, Rakhi, Diwali, you name it! Maybe Eid will be off. Christmas most likely will be off. They miss the weddings back home. And they miss the reunions too. Sometimes they choose to, but often they are forced to. It is heartbreakingly painful to come to terms with a grey, rainy, Diwali day, topped with a difficult day at work. There’s no luxury to pause for a day because it is the most special one of the year. And there is often no family to share a meal with either.  

And then they get judged for being brown. Sometimes they get attacked for being brown. The second-generation Indians judge them too. 

Amrish Puri’s dhobi ka kutta, na ghar ka, na ghaat ka rings true at some level. But what do you know, we still love DDLJ and all the current-day opulence. 

To be fair, many like me do live a good life despite these challenges. Same as being in Mumbai or Delhi, right? It is a good life even if sewers are over-flowing and auto guys continue to be a pain. I make a like-for-like comparison here. This is not about those Indians who go straight from a village in Punjab to Toronto or London, having completely skipped a big Indian city. Nor is this about an average middle-class person in Delhi or Mumbai who only goes to a mall or metro station for air conditioning. Like for like.  

The opportunity cost of an international opportunity is quite big, and often easily overlooked. 

Meryl Streep

I watched The Post last weekend. There are two things that I took away from that afternoon. 

1. The movie began on an ordinary note and picked up at some point at the one-hour mark. And it only went up from there.

2. Meryl Streep blew my mind with her performance. I know there’s nothing that hasn’t already been said and established about her and her skills, but oh-my-god she brought out the core of her character, built over several decades, in just over an hour. Her body language and gestures and voice and expressions, packaged with great dialogues and Steven Spielberg’s direction left me with a massive lump in my throat. And it wasn’t a linear emotion of sadness. Her acting was so fantastically nuanced that I think I experienced empathy for a distraught woman, along with pride and joy for her and her decisions all at the same time. She subtly brought to life the journey and transformation of a woman who always founded her identity in family to someone who owned a room (and the screen) full of middle-aged white men ready to walk all over her.

What a scene! 

How can one be so brilliant! SO MUCH RESPECT!

That Struggle

For a while now I have felt the pressure of ‘showing up’ and ‘being visible’ or ‘being heard’ in professional and social settings. Some of this pressure comes from the people around me – those who are in a position to judge or offer advice – and some of it is self-imposed. 

Over the years, I have read a lot about personality types, introversion and people having different sources of energy or different motivations to behave in the manner that they choose. But I have not yet succeeded in identifying and (therefore) being comfortable in a space that I can call my own. 

There are times when I agree with this advice I receive and work on exactly what people say – being visible and heard. I make an effort to voice my points of view or make space for myself in group settings. Then there are times where my lack of interest in a topic supersedes the said effort. You know, where I just cannot be bothered. The action could be directly related to the topic, or to the people associated with it and their behaviour, or simply a lack of energy that I often experience for a reason not apparent to me. 

Then there are times when my mind refuses to ‘adapt’ and wishes for others to adapt to my style. Maybe sometimes some people do adapt. But it feels inadequate quite often. It feels as though others are continuing with their high-pitch, high energy world and I am getting behind, with only my stillness for company. 

And then there are times when I genuinely experience big spurts of energy which make me want to lead from the front, be in the centre of the universe, even compete with others for that single spot under the light. 

I don’t know how to bring this all together. There are a few thoughts and actions in progress, but I still don’t have a view of the string that ties it all together.

Firstly, I have taken that professional advice seriously and signed up for professional coaching that can help me be visible and advance in my career. Part of me hates it and another part of me loves how empowering it feels. 

Secondly, the arrogance voice in my head that works on improving my confidence tells me that I don’t have to bend over backwards to be able to fit in or move along with the rest of the world. That voice has influenced an idea to start something where I can bring people like myself together and start a commercial venture that operates outside of the traditional, type A, exhausting model. Something that genuinely draws on the strength of people like myself, not do lip-service in the name of diversity. I shared this idea with another person like myself who was very pleased to learn about it. That confirmed I am not the only one wishing for something like it. I just don’t know yet what it is that this venture could monetise. 

The challenge is that I want everything. I want success as measured in the world that I don’t see myself fitting into. And I want to stop oppressing parts of my mind that feel out of sync with the rest of the world. And then, I need to address the gap that exists in my mind about my ability to excel at anything specific. ASIDE: as a child, I wondered if there was a profession for cutting paper with scissors because I enjoyed the process too much. I still do. So, if there does exist such a profession, please do inform me about it.

I’d agree with you if after reading this you think that being honest with myself and introducing some discipline in my life could be good starting points. But I struggle with the latter. I have tried many different approaches. But I struggle.