My Mother

 

NOTE - purely a personal reflection, and more for me to reconcile and come to terms with a difficult subject, so feel free to skip this post as it might be triggering to a few

So, this is a different post. Very little to be positive about and a difficult subject that I feel compelled to write about.

My mom passed away in June 2024 after a 2 week ICU stay post getting a stroke (avoidable we realised since she had been brought in after the golden hour, but we tried).

I still haven’t come to terms with her passing away. I went through the motions where the rituals help us go through enough to recover and move on with regular life at the end of the rituals.

I couldn’t mourn my mom or felt much grief. There was immediate acceptance and a bit of sadness.  In the last decade or so, the relationship had died and both of us hadn’t tried.  She seemed very comfortable with the choice and I had let my anger at the way my family and I had been treated overcome any possibility of a reconciliation – not that my mother even bothered. It was clear she was happy with the choice she had made and even though both of us had some affection she had moved on, and I accepted that.

A brief aside – I am an abuse survivor – no, not sexual abuse but physical, verbal, emotional and mental abuse that I suffered as a child and attempted suicide at the age of 8 when I couldn’t figure out why there was violence everyday in my life.  Providence had other plans and I managed to recover and succeed somewhat. My biggest regret is that when I succeeded I returned to the same environment of abuse, neglect and exploitation expecting things to be better but they weren’t. Sadly both my wife, child and my in-laws were not spared and also drawn into this which makes it so much harder. There are times when I remember regretfully some of the incidents where my family showed zero remorse or acknowledgement and I really wish my suicide attempt had gone through successfully given that I foolishly returned to my family – at least I wouldn’t have to see this ugly hatred all over again.

Anyways the context is important to understand.  Parents is the difficult relationship where I am grateful and in love but my survival and sanity requires me to difficultly recognise they didn’t always treat me fairly especially compared to my siblings but even worse there was abuse and exploitation.

My mom wanted her second child to be a daughter and prayed to lord Shiva.  Instead a son was born – me.   My dad unlike my grandfather, had kids in immediate succession.  There were three sons born within a period of about 4 years, including one miscarriage.  My granddad on the contrary had six children with a perfect symmetry that is difficult to achieve given natures’ randomness. He had three daughters and three sons – each placed within a gap of exactly three years each.  My dad sadly didn’t learn from him and my mom’s health and also his second and third child suffered because of this.

I was an underweight sickly child and pretty slow in terms of walking, talking and fell sick all the time.  But there was another aspect that pained my parents that was I was feminine and that compounded matters. 

Both my parents were uncomfortable with this and continue to be even now.  I used to be dutiful and worked hard to get them to accept me and it was taken for granted that I could be relied on to do whatever they wanted me to (and in future, they treated my father in law same way).

Anyways an aspect that is interesting is especially when it came to me, I saw my parents to be very coldly "British" and I also am like them in that aspect. Extremely uncomfortable expressing any emotions of love, affection, warmth amongst each other or being frank.  We never had any discussion.

They were usually more expressive to my elder brother and my younger brother but not to me. (this remains with me – nobody believes the abuse victim, and I didn’t bother getting people to believe me).

Anyways I had to get this difficult preamble out of the way before really mourning my mom’s passing away.

A constant theme in the last four decades since we three passed college was that my parents wanted to be independent... from us!!. When the three of passed our college and about to leave Vijayawada my dad who was in Tiruppur then had actually asked me why I couldn’t take my brothers with me to where I was doing my MBA and I just laughed.  I had taken care of them for two years in Vijayawada. I wasnt allowed to join the post graduate courses I had got calls for and instead was forced to work in Vijayawada while taking care of my brothers  as they were studying. Both of them did their post-graduation but an exception was made for me (But this was a sign of what was to come and I ignored it to my own detriment sadly).

The nearly two years that they were apart from us had given them a lot of freedom they enjoyed with travel unencumbered. My mom had a difficult menopause and the doctors had advised that she travel and her mind be occupied as much as possible with recreation and travel was a good solution.

So they travelled and enjoyed themselves. But somehow their sons – me and my younger brother, especially for my mom seemed to now be a millstone they were not too happy to have with and would openly show resentment repeatedly against us.  This wasn’t as pronounced till my dad retired where they managed to tolerate us, till all three of us were placed, but once my dad retired they didn’t like us returning home. Something that escaped me and I thought this was ok because, like hello, parents and also I had barely spent time with them as much as my brothers had but I was wrong.

The resentment was especially from my mom, because my dad never had really cared or bothered much. Especially after his retirement he really would do whatever he wanted and we never were a constraint for him, so while he didn’t like us staying with us he would do exactly what he wanted.

My mom was more restrained and considerate of her duties – a trait she passed on to me. But this was something she was unwilling to do when it came to me and my family. She was happy benefiting from us like they did enormously but would grudge even if we were to request any small help.

The point of this post and sorry for coming to it this late, was the insight on what exactly was she resentful for? Because today that is what I mourn. Irrespective of what happened to me, I feel strongly this wasn’t the life she wanted.

What was she missing because of her children?  She enjoyed a certain level of freedom in the last couple of decades. She was able to interact with folks freely without any of her children being around. (Sadly these weren’t people who we got along but gave an insight on what she really liked).

Old songs, black and white films make me sad, depressed because it reminds me of my mom’s childhood.   My mom was crazy about films and music. She would listen to all india radio all through the day especially in the afternoon when she was alone cooking or biding time.  She loved reading hindi crime magazines – especially Manohar kahaniyan which discussed crime especially murders were her favorite. She was obsessed about news of crime and would watch Nalini Singhs’ crime kanoon report every evening on doordarshan and get upset if we had guests at that time and wouldn’t reduce the volume instead making it higher.  The arushi talwar case had her entranced and hooked for months and she would enjoy wactching the updates – only the popcorn was missing.

But films – yes films were her favorite. She was from a time when the bioscopes were in vogue. She would use the gesture of her fingers making a circle on one eye – how children would put their eye in a bioscope to watch the films. This was a gesture saying lets go to the cinema.  The obsession was so strong she wouldn’t mind braving going to a cinema to watch a film.  Remember it was still hard in the 80s, 90s for women to travel in a space where men were present and it was brave for women who entered that space. So she would watch morning and matinee shows sometimes with folks in our circle but take me if I was at home and I would happily go with her. The films were forgettable but she wanted to see something, anything.  Pretty similar to listening to both hindi film music as well as devotional music on Radio.

She was especially in love with her roots – which were in Maharashtra where she had grown up. So even Marathi film music, bhajans as well as classical songs were her favorite.  She would love watching ZEE MARATHI and mi marathi – everything from the morning forecast to the cooking shows to the evening fun programs (home minister etc.).

So where did her children (ie me and my family) really stop her?  An indication was the time she spent at Mangalore.  She had her regular accompaniment who took her around and they’d visit ice cream parlours, and eat foodstuffs. She would visit every function they were invited to – from weddings, thread ceremonies, funeral mournings, childbirths to religious poojas, even travelling for temple fairs.  They didn’t mind the hardships or difficulties and putting others at trouble for this and didn’t even bother checking beforehand but would just barge in (I know because a lot of the folks they encroached into were my in-laws and their close relatives but no one complained, and in fact they welcomed them – a positive trait I think my parents abused but no regrets on that count.)

She got religious towards the last few decades, more pronounced than she always was.  But she still was interested in the other side. There was still a lot of interest in watching the late night shows that discussed crime. She would devour books, and loved talking to people and discuss personal scandals and escapades with folks the unsavoury details. 

The interesting point she knew and was aware of was that she simply didn’t have it in her to deal with such people and their wiles – I know this because I am her replica that way.  There was a naivete and gullibility, as well as trustworthiness and faith in people plus wanting to be seen as a good person and not give anyone trouble.  She would easily be gaslighted, exploited, cheated, swindled even abused – and a lot of this happened by people close to her but she continued unabated to be with them, even encouraging them instead of keeping a distance.  One of the reasons it was clear that we weren’t meant to have servants or regular househelp was how easy it was for them to steal from us- there were disturbing episodes of such incidents.

Towards the end she reconciled somewhat – even if it was grudgingly and resentfully that her life was meant to be this way -very very far from what she wanted it to be.  In the last few years of her life my dad couldn’t walk, so that meant mom had to be at home and couldn’t go out every evening or through the day that she had enjoyed doing because she was taking care of dad and served him from early morning to night. She couldn’t watch her shows till he went to sleep. Her close accompaniments had moved out of the city. 

But she had still enjoyed her freedom so much that she didn’t want to move to her eldest son’s home when he says he offered.

All this makes me think, especially when I remember a few incidents from my childhood, of what life she wanted to really lead.  She envied women who looked good and dressed up confidently. There were a few women who lead lives bravely they wanted to – in those days people didn’t speak very positively of them (interestingly neither did my mom – she discouraged me from ever considering romantic relationships!). There was hypocrisy there but on the whole I think she wanted to be able to make a choice – her choice of how she wanted to lead her life the way she wanted to.  I think I don’t want to elaborate further, but know this is what she missed the most and hence her resentment.

She made peace with that reality and took out the frustration of all people on me, because I had been compliant all along – but towards the end I couldn’t take any more of this, and feel sad if it made her upset.

What I realise is that this was her choice and in a ‘free world’ she should have been able to lead her life exactly the way she wanted. If she wanted to work, study further through higher education, or start a business, pursue arts or even relationships – she should have been able to do whatever she wanted.  Even if it meant being knocked around and facing betrayals, more than those she faced even in a normal socially acceptable lifestyle.  I think this was a trade off she was comfortable with but sadly never could go for. She saw some of that freedom in the last few decades but that lead only to frustration.

Today I still haven’t fully come to terms with her death (and there’s no true mourning yet as I don’t feel her loss, I write like she’s still present) what I mourn is the woman she wanted to be but couldn’t. I feel sad that she was denied this, but I hope she finds closure in the afterlife. I pray for her to achieve eternal salvation and no rebirth.  But if ever she does achieve re-birth I hope in her new life she is able to do and live exactly that she wants. 

Unlike in this life she lived.

OM SHANTI.

The student messes and eateries of Vijayawada

 

I write this as we end one of the hottest summers in 2024.  I usually lose weight during summers not only because of sweating but also because of lack of appetite – my stomach twists and turns just merely thinking of heat, and a lot of times I just want to skip lunch or have something light and cold.

Now imagine eateries so good that they can revive your appetite or make you look forward to lunch even though its peak summer.

My fate and life has been such that I hate heat and have stayed and worked in some of the hottest places on earth. One of those was Vijayawada where I did my college and my first job. Vijayawada was called blaze-wada by the British because of its heat.  The rub being that not only was it hot (around 44 degrees C) it was also humid thanks to being on the banks of the krishna river. It had a lot of hills too which absorbed the heat during the day andreleased it during the night. We knew because our first house (during my college days) was  just at the bottom of a hill and nights were equally unrelentingly swelteringly hot.

My parents moved to tiruppur when he was transferred, leaving their three sons in Vijayawada.  We brothers moved to a small flat organised by my dad and we had two other room mates. Even though my parents had left implements like fridge a small kerosene stove etc. we never used them. We didn’t even employ a maid.  We always and only ate at eateries outside.

And while restaurants were tiring – you really cant eat at any udipi restaurant for three days in a row, no really – be it the best one in Matunga, Chennai or Bangalore. Which is how we discovered students messes.

Now this belt in the Krishna district – Guntur, Vijayawada etc. were also known as student towns where a lot of educational institutions as well as coaching institutes had sprung up. So a lot of students from the interiors and neighbouring towns would come and stay in makeshift accommodation hostel or rent a room for a year or two in preparation of entrance exams like medical, IIT, engineering etc.

This in turn created an ecosystem of students messes.  Most of these students didn’t have cooking facilities and the hostels also didn’t provide much, so there were enterprising households that started catering to these for lunch or dinner.  The big difference here was that this was not the industrial cooking done by restaurants but instead was home cooked food, made by the couple and and their servants. We thus got both health and taste from this food.

I initially got a little uncomfortable when we first started eating mess food as they never appeared like a hotel or restaurant but instead were homes. So, we usually sat down on the floor on a mat, in a row and the food would be served. Very rarely would there be a house with a table and chair.

There were so many, the one I liked most was a small hut outside and opposite the PB Siddhartha college. There were many more in that area that I have forgotten. But this one was the best and people figured out because it became real popular and was super crowded.

To know how popular this was – just imagine for lunch there we had to walk nearly a kilo meter in the hot afternoon sun to this mess (did I say Vijayawada was super hot?). And inspite of being super sweaty and tired, the food would not only be greatly tasty but also revive us.

This mess was special because he didn’t use steel plates or banana leaves but instead leaves made from a plant that produced circular leaves, and serve food on that. The plates I think gave a special flavour.

Each day he would make a special pachadi – chutney that was freshly ground and my mouth waters as I write this. Typically this would change day to day, but the common factor was that this was always tangy. I have earlier written about Andhra food in my blog, being the only cuisine in India that can produce like ‘00s of different variants of tanginess that no other cuisine IMHO does.

So normally we would immediately mix this with rice when served – which was served in bailful using a plate from a big vessel by the man who ran the mess. After this there would be some curry and of course a tangy spicy rasam, maybe sambar and usually pappu (or dal). In all I think we invariably ate like two to three servings or courses of rice.

Why I also liked the mess was that in this simple fare if I remember right (perhaps because oil was expensive) it was quite rare that he would make something deepfried like the most popular curries in Andhra meals are where peanuts or a small vegetable is deepfried like in Chinese Manchurian.  Even on occasion when he did, it wasn’t the most dominant curry.  Instead if I remember right, this mess was always full of flavour and vegetables. If I visited this mess only a few days in a week, I would have eaten at least six different vegetables in addition to different grains.

There were other messes around Vijayawada that I visited occasionally if I happened to be in that part of town and one of those in the circle would pull us in. On one occasion we were in a remote part of Vijayawada and my brother says its time for lunch lets visit this guy who makes great food. This was like a very closely guarded secret and not exactly a publicly open mess unlike others. So we visited this part of town which had all those art deco buildings and jam packed streets of houses with no compound trees like Ulsoor in Bangalore. My brother rings the bell of a house and speaks to the man of the house in Telugu asking if lunch will be served. I can see the man of the house who looks like a temple priest, a pujari with marks on his forehead an body after he’s completed the prayers, and in his mundu/dhoti. He recognises my brother and says he is willing to serve us food as there are only two of us. We go in and sit on a small table he has for customers (but not more than 3-4 places to serve on the table, and the house is super cramped. He keeps going to the kitchen which seems to be many rooms inside, and bringing out small vessels of different curries to serve us. It is clear this is a small operation only to handle not more than I think maybe 5-6 additional guests, and may not be his main occupation – which I think was doing religious ceremonies. But we were lucky he was at home and cooked food. This food was quite different as it was spare, had the mildest flavours and seemed light and superhealthy. I think also there were not many courses and got over real fast, but we enjoyed it immensely and a very different experience from the regular students messes that I ate at.

The other regular ones I remember are a makeshift small tents which served food. There was one opposite my house which made food on the roadside and had put a small canopy and had benches and one or two small stools, and used to make the most awesome idlis – this was their staple fare, and think the only food they prepared, but they always got it awesomely right. It was opposite our office and we usually had breakfast there before we went up to office. Other was at the end of the same road which offered more variety especially dosas. The difference between them and the hotels were clear because you could eat many dosas which were light llike home made dosas normally are and didn’t have that filling up like quality like industrial dosa dough used in restaurants does.

The one which I remember very specially has a nice history to it – it was open when the rest of the messes had shut down. Yes none of the publicly known messes were open at this time and let me tell you why.

One morning my elder brother who was doing his MBA at Nagarjuna university but spent most of his days at our apartment here and not at the university hostel, woke me up. Our parents had left a TV which received Doordarshan (cable had started but was available in only a few neighbourhoods and those days it was seen as an indulgent luxury, so we didn’t have it). Anyways he woke me up in the morning and tells me Rajiv Gandhi has been assassinated.  The news announcement on the national channel doesn’t give much details but the second item after Rajiv Gandhi’s assassination is “Vijayawada is under curfew”. Yes Vijayawada made it to the national news and there’s a reason for that.   About a year back one of the local politician leaders who was doing a hunger fast dharna on the road side had been assassinated which led to riots in Vijayawada.  When this had happened we were staying with our parents and I walked up to the terrace and it was like watching what we’d read about the partition and the delhi riots.  The place where the riots were taking place were nearly 10 kms from where we stayed but we could see thickplumes of smoke coming up and loud explosions (or gun shots) and we were scared AF.   The businessmen in that central street where all the shops had been looted and set on fire decided not to rebuild the shops as a reminder and whenever we visited that area we would see these decrepit, burnt buildings in shambles kind of like what we’d seen in photos of Hiroshima after the bomb, or air raids during WWII.

Anyway coming back to the morning of Rajiv Gandhi’s assassination, the news was that Vijayawada was under curfew with section 144 imposed, but more scarily the CRPF had been deployed in the city with shoot at sight orders.  (Strangely both our roommates were not to be seen – it is amazing how information was shared in the era before mobile phones, and we didn’t even have a landline – but both were not to be seen, and they hadn’t bothered informing us).

The pressing concern was that we didn’t know how to cook and hadn’t stored any ingredients but none of the outlets we normally depended on were open, as the shoot-at-sight orders seemed to be serious. Strange that what we take for granted disappears and is unavailable and therefore nothing is certain in life.

We hadn’t been feeling hungry.  There was a young boy who knocked on our door and I couldn’t identify him. He was the younger brother of one of my elder brother’s friends. My elder brother had a huge as in a humongous circle of friends, the best part being they were from every social class – from the hovels to the rich.  So this boy was the younger brother of a friend who had joined the air force as a young cadet as he couldn’t afford college or higher education. So he’d called up his family (they stayed in a shack in a hovel nearby and I think he knew the STD booth guy). Strangely he thought about us as we were a bachelor pad and he knew how useless all the three brothers were when it came to cooking. His younger brother walked in with a steel vessel that had piping hot upma and he narrated this. We were both touched as well as embarrassed and concerned. After eating the breakfast we gave him a nice shouting asking him not to get any more food and definitely not step outside home as there were shoot at sight orders. We would manage somehow so please don’t worry about us. (Its hard to imagine how now with mobile apps, delivery services,packed foods, instant ready-to-cook, ready-to-serve foods – this simply wouldn’t have happened. In fact we would have loaded the fridge with foods to the brim today – unlike the fridge which was bare at that time.)

What to do? We were monitoring the news and there was no let up. When we saw outside the window of our fourth floor apartment we could see jeeps of CRPF with their jawans holding guns doing the rounds regularly and definitely didn’t want to step out.

Suddenly the bell rang and in walked my colleague from office (yes I was working while my elder and younger brother were both studying in college).  He also was concerned about us.  He told us that the best thing to do was go to Eluru where he was from for a few days – as all offices would be closed. He was resourceful and would hitch a ride with a lorry or truck walah. But before he left he wanted to help us out. So he says let me take you to a secret mess which will be open now. There was no way of knowing as there were no phones, nothing, but we had to take a chance, so we stepped out and he asked to stay close to him. We walked in the byelanes in the sun and went into those narrow by passes between buildings, where the jeeps of the CRPF were unlikely to come through. We then started walking up the slums/ hovels in one of the closest hills (Vijayawada had a lot of hills) – strangely I don’t remember many people milling about – most doors and windows were shut. We walked up narrow paths given how cramped houses were, and he finally knocked on one of the doors. The guy opened the door, and there was barely any discussion. So my colleague and us three brothers sat down and had a meal. We walked back to our apartment and my colleague left.

I think later on it was easier and they let up the curfew and we managed the next day onwards. But that morning and lunch was crucial. 

I am sure this has changed dramatically and the food scene is very very different. But for me, Vijayawada’s most remarkable food memory is something that might not be accessible to all visitors and I am not sure most of where I ate even exist now (the property market of Vijayawada was the most overheated one in the last few decades). But I am grateful for these messes that provided sustenance and care to us, at an affordable price and also looked out for us. This is something none of the hotels, restaurants and regular food outlets could do.

Kemang, Jakarta - one of the best neighbourhoods to live in

 

My last international posting was at Jakarta and I would count as one of my best memorable ones.

The office where I worked was in Southern part of Jakarta – a relatively posher part of Jakarta IMHO.  Though like I have said repeatedly, Jakarta and Indonesia always felt like they were at least 2-3 decades of India in terms of infrastructure and if Indonesians were to ever visit India they’d struggle to live here.

Anyways I was lucky this was so, because it helped me get a place in one of the best neighbourhoods of Jakarta – KEMANG.

Shawshank Redemption - What we need... the most!

 How late to a party can one get?

In my case 25 years plus.  I am watching one of the best most acclaimed movies 26 years after it was released and nominated for the best picture Oscar. 

But I am not the only one – the movie didn’t become a hit and collected less than half its budget at the box office.  Instead it became a success when people saw it through the VHS rentals.

MAD Magazines (and Moghul Library, Hyderabad)

Comics were an important part of my childhood like my first blogpost which was dedicated to ACK comics showed.

MAD called itself a ‘magazine’ and was fairly popular both in the US and India and this success in itself was a surprise.