Life as I find it

After ages and ages of being mom round the clock, I had an incredible treat from Raka, who landed home after many days of constant jet-setting with a film in hand. I looked at the CD – Marathi – Natrang. Oookay. I don’t always enjoy Marathi films, but I trust Raka’s incredible taste (or feedback network). So we watched it.

I am blown away by the film and its open, sensitive handling of very delicate, touchy issues like sexuality, self-image, power struggles, relationships…. It is the story of a farm labourer Guna (played by Atul Kulkarni in a way that sends shivers down my spine). The film begins with this guy who works on daily wages for a living and enjoys tamashaas (traditional travelling dance shows in villages in Maharashtra in India). He is shown as a frivolous, self-centered man who thinks nothing of throwing money away watching girls dance, while his family lives in abject poverty. Losing his job shakes him up, and he starts dreaming of starting his own travelling dance group to earn a living.

Friends who earlier wasted time are also in dire straits, and he becomes their leader, writing stories, songs, working hard to make the show a reality. The first story they practice has him playing a king with a dogged sense of newly found purpose. The film follows his progress  with this ambition, as well as the evolution of the man who touches new depths within himself. It is a must see film for anyone who is sensitive to the condition of the human mind.

Parts of the story that will remain for a long time in my mind are the transformation of a frivolous time waster into an artist with the dedication to weather any storm for his creativity. Such shows traditionally have a pansy/eunuch character, and it is the turning point of the film, when unable to get anyone to fill in this role, Guna gives up his role as the king to become a “pansy” performer. The transformation he goes through is one of a man getting in touch with the femininity within him as a part of acting feminine, and I will always remember the incredible shot of him learning to move and dance like a woman. It is transparent. This is not acting. Atul reaches out and embraces his feminine side in all its rawness for all the world to see.

The story moves on to explore the shackles of success, of ‘labels’ that emasculate him, of threats, power plays, being used by loved ones, rejected by his wife, and finally raped in an act of revenge. And Atul Kulkarni as Guna lives it for all of us right there on the screen. If acting could be called authentic, this is it. His strength, his vulnerability….. I am totally floored.

There are parts where it stretches a bit, or perhaps it is my discomfort at the edge on which the hero lives.

Not to mention that this is some of the most outstanding ‘normal’ cinematography and the music is one that meets the story eye to eye and raises the whole thing to a whole new level. Seriously, for once, Hollywood may want to do a copy.

If you haven’t seen the film, go, get it. If you don’t understand Marathi, get one with subtitles. You don’t want to miss this.

So much for resisting writing about my pregnancy. I guess, it can’t be helped. Its my reality.

I discovered a few things no resource online or printed told me, so that’s what I want to share.

1. Everyone speaks of low back pain. Two weeks ago, I got pain in the middle of my back. Sleeping would have been a nightmare if I could manage it. Poor Raka massaged by back tirelessly, only to have it hurt again the minute it stopped. I’d been using the same bed, eating the same food… I added a soft pillow under the tummy to see if it helped. It didn’t. Felt good, but did nothing for the backache. Eno worked. Yep, its Eno, the fruit salts I’m talking about. Apparently, my growing tummy encouraged pockets of gas. Half a sachet of the stuff, and I’m sleeping like a baby through the night once more. I hope it lasts.
2. Swelling in feet. Again, got it briefly, but I tend to fuss when my body isn’t how I’d like it to be, so I pursued the daylights out of this. Feet up, resting, walking, reducing salt, drinking water….. didn’t help. My blood pressure was absolutely normal anyway. What helped was eating bananas. Apparently, the potassium in them does something nice to the excess sodium in my body causing these swellings. Yay!!!
3. Mood swings. The more I took care of myself, the more cranky I got. What worked was crying for a bit before I worked myself into a lather. It satisfied something in me that wanted to be upset, and I was bright as sunshine in no time flat.

Call me crazy, but I’m in a place where I cheer whatever works.

So many things to write about, so much to do.

I describe myself as a nomad. The life of Nomad is one that is interested in all, yet lacks attachment. In a positive way, it could be said that I belong to nowhere and am at home everywhere.

Many things are happening in life, and some synchronicity is leading to insights about myself as a woman. The roleof women in society is all crap, as we know it. Each person has their own fantasy of what society “allows” without halting to reflect that it is them that collectively create society. Anyway, all that is irrelevant to my current ponderings.

I read Germaine Greer’s book – Sex and Destiny, where she talks about the role of our sexuality in out life and the impact of the world on us based on our gender. The book is an awesome read as well as a life changing line of exploration, but what is currently on my mind is the chapter she wrote on “a child is born”. She describes a “western culture” which admittedly is unfamiliar to me, yet some observations strike a chord.

I have started seeing this whole business of contraception and family planning as a wholesale cultural hatred and negation of a woman’s fertility. Identifying goals as a working woman in a relationship with a man has taken a whole new meaning. No? Think about this:

• Pregnancy is a normal state of being for a woman – yes/no? If it is normal, why doesn’t anyone trust a pregnant woman to know what’s best for her?
• We see having more than the “prescribed number of children” as a socially embarrassing thing and consider an excess of children to be a drain on personal and national resources. Never mind if a rich man can afford a hundred kids, or a poor man can’t afford one. No one thinks that a rich man having plenty of kids will eventually lead to an increase in the population of rich people, or the division of the wealth between them will lead to decreasing differences between the rich and poor. Thinking is superfluous – the statistic is the allowed fertility.
• A woman’s fertility is unacceptable and needs to be allowed only in the form of “planned pregnancies” where the focus is not so much on her being a fertile woman as it is on planning ovulation, contraception and then living by the word of some expert (earlier it was midwives, which graduated to doctors, and now its, gynaecologists, sonography techinicians, etc) who knows better what she should do with this alien state of her body till it is rid of its alienness through birth of the child.
• Contraception is a way of removing the consequences of intimacy and reducing the requirement for commitment. Yet, how many females want to remove the requirement for committment? How many males are willing to take responsibility for their intimacies? I don’t know, but my hunch is that by solving the symptom on the physical manifestation level, we have left an entire culture vulnerable to emotional consequences.

As I sit here staring at my screen, I am wondering what impact these insights will have on my life. Will it mean a more meaningful intimacy with my husband, where awareness of the implications of the intimacy between us as man and woman open up an entire world of beauty? Or will it be a hesitation to rock the boat, where we continue to see fertility as a thing to be “controlled”. Can we acknowledge that as a woman and man, our fertility is a part of it?

He’d throw a fit at his granddaughter calling him an awesome guy. “Disrespect!!!” he’d call it, while chuckling about this post if he reads it. Must ask my cousin to show it to him.

Ajoba, if you’re reading this, its Soni. Gundi shared the post on Sobati about you, and I’m very happy and proud to see you featured there. I’ve saved your video clips.

Since that post is in Marathi, I thought I’d write something for these day’s young people who don’t read Marathi fluently.

Sobati is a group in Vile Parle. It means “Companions”. This group has been an important part of Ajoba’s (grandfather, as I call Mr. Balwant Godbole) life or as much of it as I have seen. Their get-togethers have always been a high point in his social life, and I remember many times as a child when he used to rehearse some song or the other to play at their meet ups, with us three grand daughters listening and providing unrequired feedback.

What I find special about him is his energy and enthusiasm for his interests, and his ability to be at peace with what is irrelevant to him. I have never seen him unnecessarily voice an opinion or gossip. His chief interest in life is music and recital of religious texts.

I grew up with him, and I remember countless nights when I slept to the soung of the Ramraksha or Gita….. I don’t have any religious inclination, and studied in a convent, but I know a surprising amount of Shlokas by heart just from having listened to them so many times in my childhood. Its strange. Someone asks me if I know them, and I say I don’t. Then I recite right along as I hear the words…..

Another of his loves that he passed on to me is music. He plays the violin really well. As kids, music was a big part of our childhood. Learning to sing, play the violin, keyboard…. were all highly appreciated things a child could do. I learnt to play many songs just because he played them, and I wanted to “copy”. Slowly I developed a ear for music (and it has been in my blood ever since) and as a teenager, the sounds of ajoba’s chanting in the dark were replaced by Kishore Kumar songs being played on a keyboard by me. To date, when I meet him, this subject comes up. He wants me to sing or play some song.

There’s a whole slew of memories, but one that my husband will remember forever is the first time he met my grandfather. A lot of Raka’s friends are into music, and he had heard a lot about ajoba from them before we even decided to get married. He was slightly awed when I took him across to meet my grandparents. Aji (grandmother) was alive at that time.

After some pleasantries, I suggested that ajoba play something on the violin. I knew Raka was dying to hear it. As ajoba got out his beloved violin, Raka put himself on alert to recognize some fantastic classical piece from some ancient times. Imagine his shock when the tune that hit his ear was “Aika dajiba” (for those who don’t know, this was a current “pop” song doing the rounds with an extremely peppy beat)!!!

This is classic ajoba – no stereotypes – he goes with what he likes. I’ve known him to play latest Hindi hits happily when I used to live with him. He thought that a young “javai” (son-in-law) would want to hear something from his generation, so he went for that. Raka still hasn’t got over that surprise.

What more….. there’s so much.

Once when I spoke with Ajoba, I was in Bangalore. After exclaiming that he could hear my voice as clearly as if I was next to him, and some trivial stuff, he ended the call with “Have a jolly good time!” How can anyone call this 88 year young man old when people a quarter of his age end calls with insipid murmurs?

If you’re reading this post Ajoba, I want you to know you’re totally awesome and that I love you and am very proud of you.

BTW, head over to that post on the Sobati blog if you want to hear Ajoba play the violin.

Those who know me well, know me for a coward when it comes to being poked by sharp things. Needles are sharp. It is not so much the pain of it as the whole idea of it coming closer and closer and I know it will hurt. It goes against every instinct I have to sit still and allow it to happen.

I’ve been hiding a secret in my mouth for years. You guessed it. Its a cavity the size of a parking lot (actually there are two, but I’m ignoring the one that doesn’t hurt). It grew into these majestic proportions due to the sanctuary it got from my fear of dentists.

Logic says that I should have dealt with it before it grew big enough to hurt me…. but I guess its the kind of creeping pain that you somehow don’t notice till it gets too much, while doing something involves someone poking around in my mouth with sharp things….. is it any wonder it flourished unharmed for so long?

Actually, the cavity had made a smart choice when it chose me as its shelter of choice. It probably knew that I wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt it as long as I had a breath to fight.

Alas, it miscalculated. It exploited the very environment it lived in, and bits and pieces of my tooth cracked, and my nerves got exposed, etc. The dentist described it, but I was busy focusing on how I was not going to faint like some Victorian heroine, so there are gaps in my knowledge and teeth that will always remain thus.

But I digress. Coming back to the point and the plight of this cavity, it found itself in a situation where I didn’t have any breath to fight for it, as I was panting through the pain it had caused, and when the doctor told me that I would have to agree to a root canal or else, I was at a point of nodding at anything …. ANYTHING he said if he would make the pain go away. Thus the appointment was made.

The dentist reassured me when I arrived there jumpy as a frog. He told me it wouldn’t hurt, etc etc but I knew better. Of course it would hurt to have him poking into my mouth, but I was beyond caring – I think I was in shock from the cavity.

I clenched my hands, since the good man wouldn’t let me clench my teeth, and stared at that needle coming closer, and closer, until I couldn’t see it anymore. It pricked me, did its stuff, and I was set free to marinate my aching self in the anesthesia. I enjoyed the numbness, and for all my flinching and readiness to register and yell at the slightest pain, it actually didn’t hurt. The dentist (oh that droolworthy handsome man!) said that root canal practices have been much refined in these last few years. Sure felt like it. I don’t remember being willing to listen to any dentist before.

And the cavity? Good you asked. Wouldn’t want it to depart this world uncared for. Alas, it died. We shall mourn its sad demise.

In the meanwhile, I am now hunting for justifications to postpone the treatment of the other tooth (the one I am busy ignoring). So far, I have:

In favor of going ahead and getting the other one done too:

• It doesn’t hurt yet. When it wants the attention, it will ask for it, but then it will hurt more.
• The less the mess, the less the bill
• I liked this dentist. Don’t mind him poking around in my mouth. He’s careful.
• He’s handsome too (or at least seemed that way after this treatment – could be relief).
• I might as well get it done and put it out of my mind

In favor of postponing:

• I could put it out of my mind without doing anything to it too
• Just see the advances in dentistry in the last few years – a root canal is now painless. If I wait for a few more years, I could be spared the pain of the injection as well….

Nah…. I’m not going to analyze it too much. Let’s see what you guys have to say….