One Fleeting Moment

this blog turned one. 144 posts and counting....the ride has been smooth so far inspite of all the big i-adjectives hurled at us by a certain sauve, elderly Bengali gentleman half way across the globe!!! In a matter of 365 days this blog has managed to establish itself as the Ikea help desk. So my loyal readers and the not so loyal ones if you ever need help in assembling a Malm bed or a Fagelbo sofa....this is it. We were also the leading light on the juicy details of Rani Mukherjee's love life(for so thought a love lorn Scandinavian)...but that was a short phase and since said Scandinavian has not showed up on our site meter for quite some time now, we believe he has killed himself in a fit of Hindi phillum style passion.

So getting back to the celebrations, we have decided to commemorate this event by waylay-ing some more frazzled Ikea customers who cannot make sense of the symbolic Ikea manuals and look to Google for help. This shall be done by dedicating this blog to our home space (of the non cyber variety) and all the Ikea entities with mellifluous names that reside within.



Here for your veiwing pleasure is Ikea in the living room...represented by the mighty Fagelbo (which means birds nest in Swedish) sofa in blue and a very basic Lack table in white. Together they make up for a very comfortable dining arrangement.

And here by the French windows lies a Persisk rug with Vinde cushions. We usually like to roll around on this one with our big teddy bear on a lazy wintry afternoon...yes we are that corny!!

In a small apartment one needs to create space and delineate boundaries rather creatively. So if the rug defines our space in the sun this Expedit defines the Boy's. Behind it lives the Boy, his music and his mess!

Then there is Jokk Mokk the dining table set and Forhoja the microwave stand in the kitchen. There is also my "Spices" poster which refused to be clicked for this post. And yes....the twin Utsaga's that stand above the sink, Rationell which keeps all my plastic bags in order and some others who are really not that important. However, when last asked all of them said they really liked their new home much better than the cold, dreary Ikea warehouse on Route 1.

A long time back we had posted about the hassles of assembling all our Ikea stuff and the one piece that cause us the most trouble was the Malm bed. Finally we replaced it with the Noresund bed, which we totally love and which looks like this:

And two words of advice for any one who comes here looking for assembling instructions for an Ikea wood bed-EXCHANGE IT! Those wood finish beds in lovely birchy tones or warm mahogany hues is the Swedish idea of a big joke...they are meant to be assembled by lumber jacks and not by you of the measly proportions!

That is it folks,now let us go get ourselves a plate of Swedish meatballs. Incidentally during India trip an interesting discovery was made....this blog enjoy's some degree of popularity among members of our "sasur bari". So here's a big hello to anyone from that side of the family who might stop by and yes, this post is largely meant for you!!!

PS: Go watch Inside Man...good heist movie and better still...go watch Clive Owen enunciating his reasons for robbing a bank with teh strains of "Chaiyya-Chaiyya" playing in the background!!!

PPS: With bad tummy ache and splitting head ache coming on, we feel very WE like today. Shall resolve our mutiple personaltities into one next time...promise.

I have been reading the scattered snippets of writing that were part of the Blank Noise Project...smart pieces which capture the experience of Indian womanhood, pieces which scream out what it means to be single, educated and hence available in India. These are experiences most women can relate to and vilify as they are/were perpetrated by that stereotype lout/creep/Road side Romeo. But what about those people who knowingly/unknowingly let you know you are a woman, that you are somehow different (and by different they mean inferior)? What about them? What about them who do not grope, poke or wink but leave you feeling angry anyway? Like…

The Folks Who Wanted A Boy Really Bad: Back home during our growing years my parents moved from one company allotted quarter to a bigger, better one frequently. With each move came a change of neighbors and friends. But wherever we went we would always have at least one neighbor with a large family of eight. Of the six children the first five would usually be girls followed by the lone, precious and often sickly boy child. Sometimes it would also be six daughters and the lone son, or four daughters, a son and another three daughters (“they got greedy” explained a helpful Aunty). If you are confused, the children are listed in decreasing order of age above.

The Girls Who Grew Up: Then around sixth grade, most of the girls in our play group vanished. We were told they had “grown up” and were not allowed to run wild with the boys anymore, unlike us. Yes, immoral little fiends like us who had the misfortune of being born to educated parents with fancy notions of rearing girls like they were boys!!!

An Aunt Here: After getting really good marks in the board examinations a distant Aunt nullified my achievements by proclaiming to all and sundry that it was much easier to raise daughters as they are genetically disposed to being obedient etc. etc and hence by the law of induction do well at school too!!

And A Teacher There: The friendly instructor for engineering entrance examinations who would let the class know (once in a while) that though girls might get through Board examinations by mugging up the syllabus, they could not get through engineering entrance examinations that way. So they had better take cooking lessons instead of wasting their Dad’s money.

The Old Woman: In the ICU waiting area in Tata Main Hospital she asked me if I was married and on being told that I wasn’t, responded “Isi liye to Papa ki tabeeyat kharab hai*”. Incidentally I was waiting for news of my Dad who had suffered a heart attack the night before and filling in for my Mom who was visiting her sister who had just lost her husband. At seven in the morning after a sleepless night she just left me dumbfounded…I nodded and moved on.

Or The Countless Well Meaning Folks: who always ask about the number of siblings one has as a conveninet starting point for conversation. And on being told about the younger sister always reply with a well practiced, subtle disbelief "No brothers?” Are we not complete without one? Once again I nod my head.

And The Techincians At Work: who insist on helping out the "young lady" who does not desire it.


* That's why your Dad is ill. I don't think I need to explain the social connotations for this one.

I was supposed to suffer a great culture shock upon landing on these alien shores. Four years have gone by and there is no sign of any suffering. On the other hand every visit back home has my jaw dropping, eyes popping and my tongue coming dangerously close to my feet.

In 2003: The cell phone was everywhere. Our maid had one, the plumber had one and my parents were beginning to look like social outcasts without one. On a four hour train journey I learned more than I ever wanted to know about my 72 other fellow passengers. Much thanks to the devil's own torture device aka the cell phone. It was also the year I watched "Kaante"...many revelations were had on the Pune Expressway and new Hindi cuss words learned. College kids hanging out at Barista/CCD and all the other swank coffee places was the other big revelation. Had I really been away for a year and a half or what?

In 2004: I sat home and relaxed.

In 2006: All I saw were men in flowery shirts with blonde streaks in their hair, women in strap-y tops with a dupatta thrown in for modesty and Mashima. I am still recovering from the audio visual impact of said Mashima (in taanter sari to boot) exhorting her school going daughter to settle for the skimpy top with a plunging neckline...more khleeebh-age you shee!!! Three Cheers for Globalisation...Hip Hip Hurray!

In this world of rapid change much succor and comfort was found in the company of the ever friendly roadside lout. The dollar may plunge and so might Mashima's daughter's neckline but the neighborhood appreciator of all things woman will remain seated at his post-ever ready to let out a lusty whistle. Nah, no change there just like the Calcutta Airport loo's.

D-Day –2: All good things should begin with a pujo and a wedding should begin with one dedicated to one’s ancestors called “Naandimukh Bridhi", so say the ancient Hindu scriptures. I don’t know what that means but Mom and Dad had been collecting 31 one rupee coins for it. apparently our ancestors on the other side really like one ruppe coins. My Dad even offered rather gallantly to visit the cigarette wallah everyday to get shiny coins in change.
Highlight of the Day: I threw a fit when told to wear a saree at the last moment and the whole crew including the wedding photographer (a separate post shall be dedicated to this man) and the priest spent the remaining time trying to make me smile…so no photos of this one.

D-Day -1: The day was reserved for “Gatroharidra” or “Gae-Halood” which is a communal ragging session where women get together and to much ululating and screeching smear yellow paste on the bride. Luckily for me, most of my Mom’s friends were more interested in oohing-aahing about my saree, Mona’s saree and Sona’s saree to actually touch that stuff...come on who wants turmeric stains on their fancy saree. The photographer was not too pleased with the results as the mild yellow smudges on my face did not look convincing enough!! I was later treated to a humongous meal - “Aiburo Bhaat” or my last meal before the wedding. One is supposed to share the meal with other young women of marriageable age. Here along with the young women, a charming young fellow stopped by to eat the two pieces of fish fry that I had been served. I HATE FISH.
Highlight of the Day: Aforementioned young fella also developed tummy upset later in the day causing mass hysteria among the young women in the camp. Subject young fella's name also caused much confusion in the aunty camp...for privacy issues the name shall not be divulged here.


D-Day: Loads of guests arrived, among them my Uncle (all the way from Boston). I sat around at home and whiled away time like a good Indian bride talking to anyone willing to listen. At around 3 PM general panic set in as the woman who was supposed to dress me up was running late. After much screaming on the phone and random breast beating (by Mom), she appeared and proceeded to tinker with me for two hours…Ouch!!! My Mom and sister lost the cupboard keys three times over (they have still not found the keys after it disappeared for the fourth and last time!!). My dad savagely muttered “there is no time, no time!!” at the sight of womenfolk running around trying to get dressed. I believe someone suggested he try wearing a sari for a change at which he left....scowling. And then the priest went missing for precisely 10 minute. Poor guy took a little detour on the way to pick up groceries for his wife. For the rest read the Boy’s rather clinical account here.
The wedding itself was rather boring and I could have been a pretty prop for all intents and purposes. Dad gave me away to much chattering in Sanskrit and the Boy accepted me with some more chattering while I wistfully eyed the little banana roasting nicely in the holy fire.
Highlight of the Day:The only delightful part was when after much mumbling and fumbling in Sanskrit the priest asked me to bend down and seek my newly wed husband's blessings...yep! you heard it right....the whole touch feet routine was expected. I am waiting for the video recording which recorded the dirtiest look I have ever given anyone. After a quick look around, much staring at the poor priest and a quick assesment of the situation (followed by an eqaully quick realisation of the futility of rebellion) I bent down and tugged at the Boy's dhoti. Mr. Priest Man just looked on sadly and wept silent tears at the demise of traditions and the well behaved Indian woman (I believe)....though I later found him tucking into an overstuffed plate with glee and we even exchanged knowing glances!!!


D-Day +1: After a late breakfast with family and some hurried packing I left for Kolkatta with Boy and his family while my parents prepared to leave two days later. We had a rather non-traditional welcome or “Baran” at the Boy’s place as we were welcomed in our normal clothes as opposed to the full regalia of wedding day. More jewellery, grass and assorted grains were showered on us.
Highlight of the Day: We slept in separate rooms as dictated in the old books.


D-Day +2: The Boy assumed all responsibility for me and so now he pays for all the shopping sprees...Yipeee!!! Also served a spoonful of rice to everyone in the family and then sat down to eat another huge meal…no gallant young man here to eat the fish!! Highlight of the Day: Pranced around in a sari and went to sleep in a flowery filmi style bed. Also ate all the pan I was supposed to feed the Boy as he hates it.

D-Day +3 or Birthday: SMS from folks, Gifts from Boy’s mom, payesh from Boy’s grandmom – the day seemed to be going rather well for me till this thing replaced me in the evening: The rest of the evening was fun though as friends from Pilani and classmates from high school joined in the festivities.
Newsflash: And at the end of all this we are still not legal!

PS: Somewhere in all this hulabalooo two earth shattering events went unnoticed- my blog turned one year old and the Oscars which I missed.

....that too as a married woman.