Mom, Sudoku and Women Empowerment

The conventional south Indian housewife, of which my mom is a typical example, didn't care much about leisure time activity options, because the modern marvel TV has made it easy for them all. The Box has been her true friend with all the tearing sop operas and scintillating news items it provided her constantly. Her afternoons were spent either pitying the poor silver screen daughter-in-law or awe-stricken at the latest divorce of the famous movie star. But in the last couple of years, the TV has failed to get my mom's attention, and my father remains the sole user of the remote. So what about other leisure time activity options.

For a regular housewife the newspaper doesn't hold much charm beyond the interruption of power/water supply info the third page provides. But my mom was anything but regular. Beneath that veil of a housewife disinterested in the more intellectual ways of the world, she had her own convictions about the working of the universe and everything in it. Even when sobbing for the unfortunate daughter-in-law, she would casually browse to the more serious news channels and update herself with the happenings, albeit less frequently and less intensively than Obama. Her focus was on middle east developments, national politics, the USA, the teardrop at the tail of India, origin of religions and their interconnections with science, of course Mugals, how can she forget the Mugals and lastly but not leastly the bullion rates. For such a woman, the newspaper must surely hold more as a leisure time activity. So which portion of the news would interest her more, there is the science page, the local politics page, the national politics page, the international page, the editorials, or the least likely sports page.

One afternoon when I was incidentally at home, I observed that in her room there was the newspaper wide open, with a pencil and rubber parked on it. I thought that these accessories had no earthly business there, 'cause there was no child in the house who would be using them. After some time I saw her entering her room with a vengeful look on her face and I thought she was probably going to relax for a while and by relaxing I mean, sleeping. 

Later that day I was informed by my father that solving the new math game that the papers are running on the last page has caught her attention. The game was a 9X9 Sudoku puzzle with different levels of difficulty represented by number of stars, one star for easy and five stars for a difficult level. So that explains the pencil and the rubber. She continues at it for hours at a time until she solves it. She began doing the easier ones and used to check with the answers that came in next day's issue. Slowly but steadily she has reached the four star level. It drives her crazy that she takes a long time to solve them difficult ones. But she is determined. No man in the house would dare to disturb her while she is at it, solving away the squares, constantly rubbing off her errs. Ever since every afternoon instead of sobbing or being bedazzled by sensationalism, she now retires to her room with the newspaper, pencil and rubber and strives to win the battle against the cunning and evil Sudoku. After she has won she awaits the man of the house to come home to proclaim to him what 'star' level she had conquered today. 

She has become so obsessed with this that I guess she must probably be thinking of the foe the next day paper is going to bring her before she says her bedtime prayer. It is only a matter of time that she conquers them all and becomes the modern Chengis Khan. Only time would tell us that after this conquest what leisure time activity is going to pick her interest.

Occasionally the unexpected, unthinkable and unimaginable things happen. Today universal women empowerment may seem a distant reality, an ideal that will never happen. But slowly and steadily women will achieve their dream and the world will be a much happier place than it is today. I pray and believe.

Random transmissions on research

Investigation of a paradox is the most likely path to a scientific breakthrough, that cannot be achieved by mundane explorations of the ordinary. Likewise, it is the weird people who add spice to life as the routine ones take away from it.

The Capital - 1.The Political Game Changer: aka Piyaaz!

This is the first chapter in this series and the topic for discussion was destined even before this idea was born. It had to be about the food. Nothing else could be thought of as being so mysterious and archaic about the north Indian food to the southee and vice versa. So there you go. Enjoy your meal.

Eating out in Delhi is a custom that is common to all metros. Mostly because the unmarried and educated working lads and gals do not have time to cook after a hectic day at work. The wealthy, usually afford a cook. But for post-grad-medico-students like us eating out is a routine act. It's usually the hostel mess, or the roadside dhaba and rarely the proper 'restaurant'.

Often I go out with my northee lads to such eateries. In the initial days, I wouldn't care less if someone asked for some piyaaz before ordering the meal itself or if someone asked for more piyaaz during a meal. By the way piyaaz is Hindi for onion or venkayam. Here in north, people use only the bigger version of the vegetable, I doubt that they would be even aware of the smaller variety that is so commonly used in the south and which is much more tastier (so says my mom!). Back to the hotel scene, as time grew I found myself wondering if this behaviour is normal. NO!! was the answer my brain immediately sprang at me. As any southee would tell you, eating raw piyaaz is a big no-no as it makes your breath go stale. It is true actually. However, the northee would almost obsessively and instantly look to chuck down a bunch of piyaaz springs down that throat, almost reflexively. The habit is so pervasive that they may have meal without water but not without piyaaz, even kids are affected. But, hey! who am I to judge?, they also drink sambar in a glass with spoon. 

Ever wondered why there is so much political conniption when the piyaaz prices go up. It has always been my inexplicable mystery while growing up down south. Political parties take to the road, agitating against the government, accusing each other over hoarding, poor crop management and illegal exports. Recently in Delhi, the ruling party was staging a 'road roko' for the rise. Confusing, isn't it? It would be even for the seasoned economist if he wasn’t a local. The mystery finally unfolded, and I had to come to the Capitol for the answer. Piyaaz is so entwined in the northee cuisine and so ingrained in their taste buds, that it is almost equivalent to the breathing air for them. If you ask me for a southee equivalent, I would probably think for a while and still I would come up with a few competing answers, no unanimous winner. History shows us that piyaaz holds to the key to government, here at least in the north. It has the power to make or break The Government. In my opinion, piyaaz symbolizes the true spirit of democracy in a country where common symbols are uncommon.

I must confess now, that after three years I have taken a liking to the piyaaz, as a symbol of unity, as a vegetable and as a revolutionary. However I miss the taste of small onions and the rice broth that goes along well with it.

The Wait on Valentine's Day.

Light from the screen of her mobile phone lit up the tear that had just landed on it and made it look like a pearl. She was trying to sleep but the dark room didn't help much, as did the moonlight casting a shy shadow of the window across her face. She awaited a call from him. “Or at least a text”, she thought. It was more than a minute into the day celebrated as Valentine’s Day. Deep down in her heart she knew that he did not truly love her and he was just performing a duty to her. But nonetheless she waited and expected. What is the loss anyway; they were bound together by the holy bond. Her logic tried to convince her heart that he would not call her, but her heart kept on believing in the impossible. The battle between the two lead to more tears and the fatigue had finally caught up. She fell asleep.

Throughout the day the battle continued. She kept checking her inbox and call logs. But there was no sign of love in the signal. The day was almost nearing its end as was her hope. The battle reached an impasse and she had almost given up. Probably he is busy at work, or his phone is not working or maybe it’s the poor network, she continuously thought of reasons to explain the non-event. However, she was consciously avoiding that particular reason which was possibly true.

She declared that enough waiting had taken place and vowed not to check her phone anymore. She switched it off and tried to concentrate on other things around her. But no matter how hard she tried, her heart kept imaging the impossible and imprisoned her thoughts like the bird in a cage. Every song on the TV, every hero in the movie and every scene in the day had his image all over. It was too much to bear.

She succumbed. She frantically switched on her phone and…

The Capitol: As seen by 'southern' eyes (coming soon...)

I plan to write a series of notes on incidents that occur in the day to day life of a common Delhiite that many south Indians esp. Tamils, find peculiar and goofy, and worthy enough to document here. These observations are only meant to be an archive of such goofiness, but by no means exhaustive. Since these observations are only mine, they might have to validated by concomitant comments. 

Disclaimer: The data provided here shall not be used for scientific research purposes without prior permission. Also, if anyone feels offended I would like to tell them that I am neither a naive nationalist nor a radical regionalist. It is only an attempt to document the cultural nuances of one party by another party representative in the true spirit of cultural exploration. 

Lesson 3

As narrated by my friend. 

As you all know India is a very 'cleanliness' conscious country i.e., we are always conscious to stay away from it. All said, you have to accept that the Delhi metro rail is one of the cleanest places in Delhi, perhaps much cleaner than most temples or hospitals in the city. An incident that took place in one of the metro coaches ensues. My friend was travelling with his friend in the Delhi metro's yellow line. My friend and his friend merit a little introduction. There are self-proclaimed social activists and a very calm group at that, unlike the blow horns you read in newspapers every day. They were standing next to a mother son duo who were comfortably seated. The boy was about 5 years old and the mother was in her mid thirties. Suddenly the boy started crying, and the mother naturally started to console him. When her son's pitch went past the critical, she hesitatingly took out a piece of candy, unwrapped it and gave it to him. The cry stopped. But what she didn't have to do, she did next. She threw the wrapper casually on the coach's floor. She had committed the most 'Indian' defining act in the most elegant manner. My friend's friend who was passively noticing the entire drama, at once wore his 'activist cap'. He did something which none would have expected. He, in the most unassuming manner without a whisper, bent down, took the wrapper and kept it in his coat pocket. The mother felt so bad that she pleaded with him to give it back so that she can dispose it off in a proper place. She must have felt slapped with sarcasm. But he stated 'ab rehne do aunty ji' (now leave it aunty). He probably felt that it was his duty now to dispose it in the dustbin. The expected station arrived and all got off. The mother may or may not have changed her future behavior, but that's beside the point. The metro coach's integrity was however saved that day by the 'activist'.

The lesson: Action indeed speaks louder than words, but it doesn't have to be extravagant. It can be as simple as you want it to be.

Lifted from elsewhere (ahem!!)

It is only in the mysterious equations of love that any logic or reason can be found.

Friends. I do not have that luxury.
Time. I do not have that luxury too.
Love. You gotta be kidding me!

We have not lost hope, but merely transferred it from God to doctors.

It is better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all.