A new beginning...

It wasn't as if I'd been unhappy in my job - I mean - who minds getting 'moolah' for a job that pays more for less and gives you all the flexibility you need. But then, there were things annoying me - these included:
. Getting more for less (sigh! the guilty conscience kept placing it's angelic halo on my head!)
. Being home - but at work. Seeing the kids, but getting the nannies to enjoy them.
. Boredom - just waiting for work to trickle in...
. Lack of job satisfaction - I call it - no pride, no fun.
. Escapism - yes, my job had become my route to escape the daily routine of essential chores I considered mundane - despite the fact that I had to deal with them in my so-called 'free-time'

And then there was this feeling that I was meant to do more... something else.... this was not my road to retirement... there has to be more! More fun. More joy. More life!

So after due contemplation - I decided to search for a purpose in life.Many things came to mind. Things I feel strongly about. Things that make me furious, that make me tear up with emotion, that make me want to dance with joy... so much! But - options where I can contribute, grow and gain the pleasures of the world at the same time...I have to still look at the viability of it all.

Fear - that was another element that plagued me. What if I quit and never find a purpose in my life or a job that fits my needs? What if my friends and family lose respect for me now that for a while - I might be just a housewife who spends but brings in nothing.

FALSE - I have realized over the years that the misnomer "Just a housewife" is probably the worst misnomer in history! There's no "just" about being a housewife - gosh! you've got to be a wife, friend, mum, caretaker, cook, cleaner, sounding board of the family and so much more... It's not just in any way to call a housewife 'just'a housewife. But still - there was the other side to it - not contributing monetarily, not engaging in business talks, not being able to contribute to anything beyond the four walls of the home. Would I be able to live with that?

The clear answer was "no"! So yes, I had to do something. However small, however insignificant in this world of bigger things - I have to do something. Step 1 would be to clear my head, give myself time and space and follow my dream... a dream that I've had since I was a teenager. A dream that I did not feel strongly about - simply due to the fear of failure. but a dream all the same...

For now - I have only put in my resignation.

This winter will see a new me - hopefully - a new and improved me :)
Wish me luck! :)

Driving me cra-a-a-zy! (Part 2)

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So now you all no I didn’t make it in my first attempt. I was disappointed – but more than that I was angry! And with Anil!!! How could he not realize that I can’t come to terms with failure? How could he not know that I needed waaaaaaaay more than 10 classes? Did he not realize that I’d never driven in snowy, frosty conditions? I mean real thick snow! For that matter – that I’d really never driven?

In retrospect – how could he? We’d been married just 11 months! (Ah! Me and my large forgiving heart J )

What???

And now that I’d been here for a year, and not passed my “convert to Swiss license” test, I had to go through the whole rigmarole of:

1.     Theory exam

2.     Practical driving lessons – number of classes to be taken – read this – double the number of years you’ve walked the planet! In my case, 56.

3.     Red Cross Course of 3 solid weekends

4.      Driving psychology course

5.     Practical exam

And you pay a large amount for each step. Those days driving practical lessons used to cost CHF80 per hour! Howzzat for saving and being a new arrival in the land of expenses and high living costs!

Realisation dawns

I am B-A-D at convincing my own hubby.

I tried telling him the joys of public transport. And no kidding, most people – even politicians and top shot business people travel by train. Switzerland is well networked – trains, buses, tram systems are all coordinated like clockwork – and talking of clocks – punctuality is the middle name of public transport here – along with cleanliness, pleasantness and more. Yes, I am truly amazed at this level of attention to detail for a bunch of commuters – nameless and unknown to the authorities.

But – no – Anil had a licence and I had to have one! That was that. So I thought, what the hell – I’ve given umpteen number of exams, so here’s one more. And I had the option to do the theory in English.

And off I go!

I passed the theory, enrolled myself for the rest of the procedures and started practical lessons – this time – with Annabella Meier Singh! Yes, the nurse-wife who wanted to teach. I was her third student.

We bargained a bit and decided to go for 20 – not 56 classes (desi mentality comes to the fore). After all, her husband had taught me before, so 10 classed should be considered done and over with! So classes began. She spoke German and “haan-ji” “nai-ji” – punjabi ishtyle. She said I was doing okay as I drove.

She was a lovely person – until we decided to go on the highway.  “Aradhna – I have three children! No – you’re not set to hit the highway. We will practice parking,” she shrieked – hyperventilating at the same time.

Parking was a bigger fiasco – we tried it everyday, till my 103-point reverse parking became a 3 point-parking J Nice!

The Red Cross course was interesting and so was driving psychology.

Exam time!

Shaking with nervousness I asked if she thought I could do it. “Yes” – she said – and added “may be, but you should have taken more classes”. Well, at least she hadn’t said “No” !

And – she went on – “you have a lenient examiner.” Yippee! Smiling, I greeted the examiner and we were off!

I went on the highway – a bit too slow. I changed lanes – a bit too fast. I parked – at the wrong spot and with 30 false moves or more. And then – I almost killed a dog! Not really. The lady and her dog had crossed both the streets of the main road – and then the stupid mutt jumped back on. On to the other side. It has to be “Superdog” to be able to run all the way back to my side of the street – so I drove on! And the examiner breaked hard and asked me if I had made a mistake. I said no – and gave him the above reasoning. He said I was arguing. I said I wasn’t. He said I was and I continued with my reasoning…

Well, like her other students, I failed – AGAIN! And poor Annabella reverted back to her old profession of being a nurse as she nursed her own mental wounds!

I was devastated yet again! Anil told me about a friend’s wife who attempted driving in Europe 9 times and passed at the her 10^th attempt. I said hats off to her. I’m not the kind to go on after this.

But – I was wrong!

Stop the madness!

So I heard, I read, I burned with furious rage. Then a sort of helplessness descended upon me. I was shocked at how ruthless and seemingly just my thoughts around public humiliation, mutilation and torture - could be. I hesitate to put those thoughts here – not for the fear of what the readers may think, but the fear of how intense they are. Yet, the punishment for these sick people is still not fair enough… and these are just thoughts – there was no concrete way to influence the cause which had churned up this whirlwind of extreme emotions.

Shock set in when I heard about the Delhi rape case. Indians – young and old had taken to the streets. The sheer intensity of the sick minds and their torturous deed that led to the death of the rape and violation victim (death being God's act of mercy here since she had been damaged emotionally and her guts had been forced out of her and spilled on the roads of the rape site by the perpetrators of what was mildly put across as "the rape") had started this internal turmoil. As if this one case that had grabbed the media's attention and brought to light was not enough – it now seemed rape and torture was prevalent in big cities, small suburbs and villages as well.

In a country that worships the female avataars of the Supreme Power (MahaLakshmi, Durga Maa, Mata Saraswati, Kaali Ma, Amba maata – to name a few), it was as it is difficult to come to terms with the realities of child marriage, female infanticides, abortions and the evils of dowry and sati – and now this! And what of the morbid news of five year olds being raped. And we aren't even mentioning those uncles and cousins and fathers and grandfathers thinking incest! Unbelievable, infuriating hypocrisy at its best! A blatant display of the pervert mind and sexual frustrations.

 Why blame the West for beaming in those movies, soaps and reality shows-flaunting a sexy leg, giving a sultry look, showing off the subtle curve of a breast? Indian media is no less at showing skin be it in a more-than-just-the-mid-riff bearing soaking sari, a micro-mini skit combined with a cleavage-dipping ultra-tight top, together in a hot spicy item number with all its heaving and thumping and jhatkas and matkas.

But if the Western women can wear what they do (be it straight from Hollywood or the fashion walks of Paris and Milan or something just thrown together) and not be gang raped, why blame the Indian girls for wanting to wear what they believe brings out their best in terms of femininity (be it Bollywood inspired or from the fashionistas that India proudly boasts of? Victimizing victims is what the social structure of India is brilliant at doing unfortunately.`

It's time mothers and others from all walks of life inculcate the right values in their sons – respect for women, equal freedom to choice – be it career choices or dressing up, acceptance of the freedom exercised as long as harm comes to none by your act. Take the society, your friends, sisters, mothers around you and put the woman back on the pedestal that's rightfully hers.

Use religion in a positive way – Hinduism also believes in "Shakti" – why all our deities have their women counterparts (Shiv-Shakti). Have you been seen the sculptures on the oh-so-many temple walls? Do any of the women have their faces covered completely in a 'ghunkat'? Do they wear loose flowing clothes – or beautifully adorned bustiers and mid-riff exposing saris or dhotis? Do they not have the 'solah-singhaar' complete with jewellery, accessories for the hair and waists, a touch of make-up even?

And for all women out there - elegance is the new word for fashion! It's time to get up and be you! Be a charming, attractive person you can be proud of – and feel safe in your skin – in your clothes and surroundings. And – whatever your age woman – learn to stand up for yourself and pick up some form of self-defense!

Being an NRI, it gives me great pride to talk about the positive aspects (and there are many) of India and the big achievements and successes of Indians around the world. But as a woman – when people in my country of residence read about the India of today, ask me questions on the status of women, the state of education, and humanity – I must admit, I put my head down in shame and say, "That's not the India I left a decade ago."

Today (March 11), I was at the hairdressers. the radio was on and the song was interrupted by the news. I call it an interruption since it was a rather nice foot-tapping song - and the news broadcast was rather disturbing. Yes, once again it was that of the Delhi rape case. And - heads turned towards me with very mixed expressions that flashed across those concerned faces...What could I do but hang my head in sheer shame at the time... WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE if you were the only brown-skinned Indian among Europeans - 2 of whom knew you were from India as well... Well...

Sigh! It can't get worse! A Swiss woman was raped today... Makes life for NRIs in Switzerland a touch difficult - don't you think?

JOBS – WELL DONE!

"I wake up to him…
I connect with him…
I interact with him…
I work with him…."
No – not with Steven Paul Jobs – but with his creations – the iPhone and the Apple Mac.

Why "him" and not "her"?
Come on guys, gimme a break! If your mean machine can "gently purr", show "elegance of her movement and speed" - why can't my comp and my iPhone be masculine and sexy? Huh?

Now back to Steve Jobs - we all know the facts – and those who don't can google them.
By the way, Apple was created on April Fool's day! What a start!

When Anil told me about Steve Jobs demise, I was not shocked – but suddenly very sad. I felt I'd lost a friend I had known and trusted for a while now. I wondered why… I realized:
• When Anil and I discussed presentations – Jobs presentations were exemplary.
• When we saw professional uncertainties – we were inspired by his belief of believing that "the dots connect"- that you have to trust in something and go with it – that you have to "keep searching and not settle"
• When I felt low on qualifications as compared to many others, Anil showed me my achievements – and I often thought to myself: "well, Jobs wasn't even a graduate – but look at what he's achieving!" I kept going as well…
• When I heard of his cancer in 2004, I thought, this is it! I had lost my mum to cancer just a year ago… I instantly disconnected myself from anyone who mentioned the disease – I still do – but am coming to terms with my loss – slowly, and at times tearfully… But he lived – and he didn't seem to have changed! Good for him, I thought.
• And now – as mentioned in the few lines at the beginning, I realize – Steve Jobs touches my life everyday as he does of the many others out there.

iPhone – my alarm clock, my connector to family and friends via easy smsing and calling, a window to the world via internet access, my GPS who helps me find my way.

Mac: ah! I wish the mac had a delete button, and a less sensitive mousepad… but other than that, it's perfect.

Okay – before I sound like an Apple ad… here's another thought.
Do I thank Gandhi as much as I thanked Jobs? No – no offence to him, and many others who've gone down in history for their deeds. Hey,it's simple - I didn't experience his "being" first hand – and then there are controversies that I cannot prove or otherwise.
Do I thank Sabir Bhatia for making Hotmail – the very platform on which I met my hot male? Hmm.. I do say "thanks to Hotmail" – but not Sabir.
But yes, I do say thanks to Jobs – each time I encounter another "wow" moment – for now atleast!

My kids will have another Gandhi, another Steve Jobs – but today – today is mine – and mine to put anyone on a pedestal or not…

So here's to Steve Jobs – go revolutionize Heaven – and say hi to mum for me while you're there! How? You're the communications guru – go figure!
Imagine this:
2004:
God: Steve?
Jobs: Not yet, got to get the global pulse
God: (Amused) Never heard of that excuse before. Okay… (puzzled)

2005 to 2011
Globe: WOW! Mac / ipod / iphones / ipads…. What next?

2011
God: (Impressed): Steve- remember your belief?
Steve: Believe in something… follow your instincts… connect the dots… keep searching
God: Erm… aren't you settling in too comfy a zone? You've perfected communication down there?

What about up here?
Steve: Good point! Lemme get my gadgets… Now – beam me up Goddy!

Love me insanely!

We all dream of that – don't we? Insane love, love unto death and all the mush that romance novels have fed us over the teen years and even beyond...

How many of us get it? And more important, how many of us acknowledge it – even to ourselves? Isn't there always "a little more" that you crave? And how many of us accept that yes, we have it – but we crave that little more which will be magical. And then again some more, and then some… Human nature!

A good old friend of mine recently asked me if I had the desired to be loved insanely. Instant response – Of course! Her next question – did you get it?

I couldn't reply right away… I thought I did. And that's what I said. And a split second later… I hoped I did. But suddenly I wasn't sure… did I get what I always wanted? Hmm… I needed my
answer.

I slipped into the past… my teenage and early 20s
Back to my school days. To when I was 14. Those were the days when I found my initials scribbled on the board, ensconced in a heart. It was scary. I was a teacher's daughter! I thought, if mum find out who this person is, he'd be dead meat! But it made me feel special.

And then there was a time when another youngster carved my name with a blade on his arms! That was super-duper scary. Insane, yes! Insane love – perhaps not … For that moment, at least, it was an insane act out of early teen infatuation or let's say puppy love.

I remembered all the guys who'd shown any kind of interest in me. From singing love songs at the beach in one of the "Antakshri" sessions to sending anonymous cards and letters ; from mocking at their own emotions to shedding tears that stained their maleness; from marrying someone who sounded like me, to vowing never to marry… I saw them all in my mind's eye.

What made me not succumb to these strong emotions? I had felt the intensity of feelings. It felt good to be loved – but I'd read that being in love with the feeling of being in love was special. I never sensed that.

Also, mum's words were drilled in my head: Never do anything that will bring your father a bad name! Remember, till the time you are with us – you will always remain "daughter of", and whatever you do will not be something Aradhna did, but something that the daughter of Arun and Neelam did. Good – will bring us pride. Bad – will hurt us and our honour .

I often thought that only they mattered to them – my parents ie. But in time, I realized it was I who mattered most.

Oh yes, and the other thing drilled into me – like into all other Indian girls of my time was: this was the time to study and to secure an independent life that I could be proud of. And that's the life the romantic in me wanted to share with someone I cherished and loved – enough to want to give myself to him completely.

Yes, those were my views. Views that I am proud of. Morals that I created for myself , values that mum had knowingly or unknowingly planted in my head and heart, beliefs that I stood by until the time he came along…

And then – I knew the heady feeling of being in love, being ready to give up and move away from all that ever mattered to me most – and yet the confidence that I would always be 'me', despite moving on… I was now insane enough to marry and go off with a man to an unknown land and stat a life all over again. That was insane love! And I have no regrets.

But what about him? The question – does he love me insanely lingered.
Would he give up a life known to him for the unknown – just for me?

At the spur of the moment, I called him. He was at work, but talkable.
"Do you love me insanely"
"Huh? What? Are you feeling okay?
"Do you love me insanely"
"Okay... what do you mean by insanely?"
"More than the kids, your mum and dad, more than everyone and anyone in the world?"
"You can't compare. I care for my folks immensely, I love the kids more than my own being, and you are the most special person I love differently from all the others."

Oh, why could he not have just said "Yes, I do?" Now, I wondered even more and hung up…

Within minutes I called back. "Do you love me insanely as in – would you do anything for me unconditionally?"
Silence.
"No! I wouldn't."
A shocked silence and a flood of hot tears in my eyes.
"Even if you insisted – I would never leave you and turn gay! So yes, I wouldn't do everything for you conditionally or unconditionally!"
A burst of laughter on both sides.

That's what I call – insane love.

It's for you to define and you to feel - alone, all by yourself – in your head and heart!

The grand finale - driving...

Driving me cra-a-a-azy! Totally!!!
The day of the test
I woke up that morning – December 2. It was my test day – oh yes and my birthday! But right now – it was the test that mattered.

Anil cheerfully tried to wish me – but one cold look from me – and he knew he'd better manage the show of sending the kids to Kindergarten and Daycare himself.

By the time I showered and made my coffee – everyone – including Anil had left.

The test was at 4pm. It was just 8am!
I went to the toy cupboard and practiced all my parking styles and lane changing. I made a mental note of all my mistakes and the correct solutions.

I checked my mail. I'd taken the day off from work. So I logged on to facebook and gmail . I listened to music, cooked up a light lunch.

Frau Fritz would pick me up at 3:30pm.

Hmm… I had an hour and a half. The phone rang. Frau Fritz said, "Drink you coffee in an hour. Don't forget the chocolate. Bis bald!"

Tick-tock, tick-tock. And the beep of sms-es wishing me a happy birthday. I didn't want to read them until I knew it was really Happy!

Soon, I was in the car with Frau Fritz – and I drove this one last time before the test. She seemed happy, but nervous.

At the Strassenverkehrsamt, I parked – perfectly. She stepped out and turned. "Eat this quick and keep warm, "she said handing me a stick of Callier cholocate. She went to get the examiner.

A Santa look-alike stepped into the car.
I was shivering and really cold despite my layers of warm clothing and the heating in the car on.

The examiner greeted me with a friendly handshake. Noticing how cold I was, he asked, "Are you nervous?" "Yes," I half shivered and half stammered. "I see it's your birthday today. Come on, let's go when you're ready!"

I said a silent prayer, bowed my head and started the car.
I drove back in after 65 minutes to see Frau Fritz cramming chocolate into her face and pacing up and down. I was relaxed, but not sure of the result yet. "Santa" had taken me on 30-zones, 120-speedlimit highways, made me park a few times, change lanes, drive through zones where lots of children were playing and walking in the 30-zone street… And right through, he has spoken to me about India, the differences between the people here and there, my life here.
I parked. He smiled at me – scribbled something on a piece of paper and said – "Happy Birthday. It's my pleasure to give you your license. You really did a good job – not one mistake!"

I could'vé kissed him!
Frau Fritz rushed to me with her chocolate face beaming the minute she saw me smiling with 100% joy! "You worried me sick! The test is usually for 45 minutes, you were gone for 65!"
How do I know what happened? I just knew I'd got my license – thanks to her.

I called Anil and said, "NOW, it's a happy birthday. I'll be home in 40 minutes."
I got home to hubby-and-kids-baked hot chocolate muffins – complete with icing and decorations.

Yes, I'd done it! And with the license came the "taxi mum" tag – and responsibility!

Driving me cra-a-azy…(Part 4)

So now we hadn’t spoken about driving for sometime. Aanya was 6 months old and Aakash three years old. He had started with Play School. And sometimes, it seemed to take ages just to get there with the two kids! Aanya would sit or snooze in her pram and Aakash would stand on the kiddy board while I pushed the two – slightly uphill. But he was getting heavier and bigger, so was she – and walking him down to Play School started to get to be a weekly chore which I wasn’t enjoying much.

Moreover, I had no time at all – by the time I’d drop him and get home, I’d have to leave again to get him home with a short 60-minute break. This break I’d use to go grocery shopping (with Aanya and her pram) or for a quick coffee with the neighbour.

Hmm… I wondered…
“Perish the thought! Sitting behind the wheel of a lethal weapon and hit the roads where innocent people risk their lives each day is not what you’re meant for Aradhna,” said a little voice in my head. OK! Not a problem – soon Aakash would be in Kindergarten just a block away ☺

And then began kindergarten and my new job. I would get to work in 48 minutes door-to-door by public transport. But then, I got late one day, missed a train and was still somewhere on the way for two hours now. And then, the next day a kind husband offered to pick me up – and I was home in 23 minutes flat! But no – driving was still not worth it.

We began a house hunt – a piece of heaven on this lovely earth. But hey, we had the public transport going to each nook and corner of the Alps! So we began a hunt – checking out train routes and setting a time limit of 25-30 minutes from home. Okay, for now everything seemed to be either over our budget or just too close to the station and not right to bring up babies… But we had patience – there was no rush.

I started to look for Karate classes for Aakash. Every village and town was self-sufficient. Aha! Found a teacher. But she was bedridden! Had a bad accident and couldn’t teach, but she recommended a school in the next town. I would need an hour by train and bus to get there, wait there for an hour and get back spending another hour on the road – 3 hours for an hour’s lesson. Well, I didn’t want my kids to lose out on the joys of learning just because I couldn’t drive!

That was it! I’d try again! And this time – I would do it – for the kids!

I spoke to Anil and told him this time I’d do it – but I did not want any limits set on the number of lessons I take. I would do it at my pace and give the test when I felt right. He was shocked into acquiescence.

I contacted Frau Fritz.

She came over.
We discovered:
1. She had a manual car and me an automatic
2. It was October and my theory would be valid only until December 8
3. If I had to appear for yet another theory exam – I’d have to do it in German – not a problem as the last time I had dome it in German and scored full marks
4. I would have to first go to the driving psychologist to see if I could actually still attempt driving after failing thrice. Now that was unacceptable!

Solutions

1. Frau Fritz checked with the authorities if she could teach me in my car – the hand brake was good and, after all I had taken practical lessons prior to this. She got the permission. Yippee!
2. Well, I’d take my chances. If I could appear for a test in November, I could still attempt a second time in December
3. German was not a problem
4. Driving psychologist?!? Naaah! But I’d learnt never say never! And for the kids – I’d do it!

Classes began. Petrol prices were high – so were driving lesson prices. Anil was concerned. I could see it – but he didn’t say a thing.

We drove – for hours – an hour a day – between 4 to 6 hours a week. The meter was running on all counts – fuel price, teacher fee, patience, my test deadline. I had got my first attempt date on December 2, my birthday.

November was here. I had my good days and my bad ones.

On one particular day, at the end of the lesson, the teacher asked “What did you do before the lesson today and yesterday?” My throat went dry… what did I do now?

“Well,” I stuttered, “I worked from home – the kids were at daycare. Then at noon, I had my lunch. Then I took the toy cars of my son and practiced parking and lane changing to see the angles and mentally practice. An hour before class I had a coffee and 30 minutes before a chocolate!” “Good,” she said.

Next week, do the exact same thing, she told me as I went home.

Viola! I followed the same pattern – my teacher remarked that on this day I drove very well. As also on the previous dates where I had followed this pattern the week before. She had noted the routine and the dates.

“Before the test, do the same,” she advised.

November 30th – my last lesson before the D-day.

Frau Fritz – she was 65. I would be her last student.

I wanted her to have happy last memories of the profession she’d chosen to pursue for 45 years!
We’d spoken of her daughter-in-law problems, her younger son’s girlfriend’s uncultured mannerisms, laughed together at the stupidity of men, pulled a finger at those driving and not being sticklers to rules as she was… We’d shared close to 25 hours of togetherness – in one car, travelling the same road, in the same direction (a dose of melodramatic Bollywood dialogue here, eh! ;) )

Would this December 2 be a Happy Birthday or…