Sri Venkateshwara Suprabhatam By MS Subbulakshmi

Any self respecting South Indian worth his salt, will know this early morning chant by heart. We are woken out of our sleepy stupors, with MS Subbulakshmi's comforting nasal twang playing loudly and persistently in the background. 

For six years I've woken up to this prayer, while watching my grandfather potter around with his electronic shaving kit. I would stare at him sleepily, as he slowly went about his morning rituals. Right before he would step into the shower, I would drift back into sleep only to be rudely awoken by my grandmother.

Breakfast comprised of delicious fluffy egg appams, steaming hot idiyappams or fresh out of the stove puttu and kadala. In hindsight, I wish I had spent some more time in the kitchen with my grandmother and her maids, instead of behaving like the jungle prince Mowgli. All that time I spent mucking around in the outdoors, could have been utilised instead, to learn some of her signature recipes because I miss home food so much now, that it breaks my heart.

By the time we were done with breakfast, MS Subbulakshmi's chanting would be replaced by other  sweet sounding malayalee bhajans. And my grandfather would be in the prayer room, bathed and ready to take me to school. I would bully him to speed up his prayers, so that I could reach school on time. 

The days I didn't reach on time, I would go home and give him a lecture on the importance of punctuality and keeping time. He would, like all grandfathers, listen to my inane chatter with utmost patience and a sage-like smile, as he slowly yet steadily demolished the contents of my school lunch box, which would drive me even more mad. If I didn't want to eat my lunch, would should he? And that would be our next tug of war for the day. 

My days were incomplete without MS Subbulakshmi, my grandmother's delicious meals and my grandfather dropping me to school. If any of these things were disrupted even for a day, I would be in a very foul mood. 

I relied on MS Subbulakshmi to wake me up every morning, my grandmother's meals to keep me going through the day and my grandfather's hand and handkerchief to wipe my tears and blow my nose into after reaching school. Having panic attacks, being a drama queen and vegetating at home are three personality traits/habits that haven't left me till date.  

I had my grandfather to deal with my meltdowns back then. And now, with him gone, I feel quite lost. 

Mumbai's Kaamwali Bais

Don't underestimate the power of the Kaamwali Bais in Mumbai. Their network is wider than Reliance Jio's and their word is law. If you're nice to your Kaamwali Bai, you have found yourself a friend for life. Be mean to them and no one will step foot inside your house ever. Their word-of-mouth publicity about your character, family history, background, eating habits and husband's behaviour spreads faster than the wildfire in the Amazon rainforests.

These smart saree-clad, tech-savy, Whatsapp dominating, Facebook-friend-request-sending women, trickle into various apartment complexes from 5am in the morning till 10pm at night. They work tirelessly with a perennial smile on their face. Ever-ready to help you and your family with any and every problem, these women are absolute life saviours.

I'm pretty sure the husband and I would have starved to death, if it hadn't been for my smart-mouthed, uber friendly cooking bai. I'm also quite certain we would've lived in a pigsty, had it not been for her network of soft-spoken cleaning bais. She is responsible for finding both my cleaning bais in record time. She didn't get along too well with the first one, therefore quite naturally, she wasted no time in finding another one who she could dominate easily. 

Often times I wonder who the bai is really. Her dominating nature is not just restricted to my cleaning bai, it also spills over to me. And I quietly obey. Afterall, who am I to oppose the maker of  yummy pasta, delicious aloo parathas and smooth as silk sabudana khichdi. 

She absolutely loves it, when either of the mothers decide to pay a visit. She finally finds herself a bakra to chat inanely with, as she simultaneously whips up delicious meals. She is as heartbroken as I am when they leave, as I'm not particularly fun company to be around, (especially not at 6am in the morning!). But her day begins early, she wakes up at 5am everyday, reaches my house by 6am, gives me a nasty stare for still being asleep at that time and then gets on with business. 

She hums a happy tune or two as she works seamlessly in the kitchen, chats endlessly with my other bai in rapid Marathi and before I can drift back into a dreamless sleep, both are out of the house. When I finally wake up by 7.30am, the house is sparkling clean and my breakfast, lunch and dinner are ready for the day.

Kaamwali bais are domesticated house fairies. What would we do without them and their endless Whatsapp forwards?

(Image Source : https://pakaamat.wordpress.com/2015/10/27/why-kaamwali-bai-rules-indian-homes/)

Rude or Friendly

We Indians love our neighbours, co-passengers, relatives, our neighbour's son's grandson, our uncle twice removed from our dad's side and even our dogs a bit too much. In our over-enthusiasm to get to know people, we pry a bit too much. My hairdresser wants to know why I don't have children yet, despite being married for close to 5 years. A bunch of Brahma Kumaris dressed in all white, with a white mask on their mouths, kept asking me insistently what degree I had earned from college and upon learning that I was an M.A in Public Relations, started giving me career advice.

A close friend of ours - supposedly modern, chic and hip, made fun of our decision to have children when she stumbled upon a bunch of particularly screechy kids. I was stunned. When our very own peer group behave like they are from the stone age, how can we expect the rest of the world to be civil?

Is this an Indian thing? Or is this typical human nature? We often fail to comprehend, or conveniently ignore the fact that we are being blatantly rude, while prying for personal information. Unless you are that person's mother, he/she owes you nothing. 

How much a person earns, what his/her current weight is, why he/she has chosen to work or not work post college, why a couple has chosen to have babies or not - none of this is your business. It's time to stick that nose elsewhere, otherwise be prepared to receive the stick. 

In India, this prying business is not just restricted to personal circles, it extends to workplaces as well. God bless you, if you're a woman looking for a job. It's no mean task! If you're unmarried, the recruiters want to know if you'll quit when you get married. If you're married, they want to know if you'll quit once you have a baby. And if you have a baby (gasp! unimaginable!), you're questioned about how you can juggle both. That's my great India for you.

Sadly, this passing of crude comments and prying starts at a very young age. When children ask adults questions on their appearance, their haircut, makeup, clothes and even personal information, all their parents and grandparents do is sit and laugh. It won't be so funny anymore when they grow up to become prying adults. The dirty habit has to be nipped in the bud. 

It's time to live and let live. Let's all try to be kinder, less nosy and less judgemental about people. No one's perfect. Unless you're God himself, you have no right to pass snide remarks, give advice or pry for personal information from anyone.

Peace out!