A Little Bit Of Sunshine

‘You are scared of driving here? Surprising. You didn’t seem to be a person who would be scared.’ A senior classmate commented when I told her how I was totally scared of driving here.

This comment seriously surprised me. How could someone perceive me as fearless when I don’t have any confidence in myself? I have to be the meekest, most unsure and subdued person around.

First there was the no-friends-no-independence-no-money thing. Then, can’t-sew-to-save-my-life thing. Then, this-traffic-scares-the-sh*t-out-of-me thing. And then, my-weight-refuses-to-reduce thing. A companion who practically belongs to US didn’t help much. A combination of all this made me feel worse about myself every single day.

It was like having to start life all over again. It was like leaving the safe, comfortable cocoon of your home for a foreign territory and struggling to get your feet firmly planted there.

I wouldn’t dress up well because I thought others had better clothes than me. My enthusiasm at college slowed down because I felt I could not learn this new field; there were so many others already so far ahead. I stopped attempting to drive because changing lanes on the freeway was so damn intimidating. I was tired of compelling myself to stop being ‘new’ and become ‘one of them’ quickly.

The cold weather depressed me further. I have always been a summer girl. I like the heat, the sun. I spent so many months huddling up, shivering, and fighting the cold. There were no friends to pull me out of isolation, to break my silence and bring out those deepest, suppressed feelings.

Sunshine came eventually. It made me smile and everyone else cringe. ‘Ouch. It is so damn hot outside’ – my classmates would complain every day.

But I was happy. And a bit hopeful.

With summer, came Adi, one of my favourite people, to spend a week with me. She brought more sunshine to my life. She brought with her familiarity, a sense of belongingness and love. An air of security.

I was myself again. I was confident again. I would radiantly walk into my class and smile. My soul friend in class noticed the change.

I even attempted driving again.

Adi and I roamed around using public transport (something I have badly wanted to do here). We ate out, we shopped. It was like those days when I wandered around on my own or with friends carelessly, not bothering about time, worries or money. It reminded me of those days when I was surrounded by friends, by people.

And when she left, she took away sunshine with her. Things became cold and lifeless again. I was left yet again with solitude and struggle.

If she hadn’t come, I would never have tasted that freedom, that happiness again. And I would have happily lived with what I was used to – solitude.

Maybe summer will arrive again. And arise a little flame within me with a tiny spark.

Me, The Kitchen Queen

I am accustomed to the various sounds and smells of kitchen without cooking anything ever. The sound of popping mustard seeds. The eye-watering tempering smoke. The hissing sound of onion slices thrown into a hot oil pan. The forever stuffed refrigerator vegetable tray. The colourful masala box. The fledgling smell of freshly steamed rice. The scary whizz of the blender. And now that am actually cooking, I derive pleasure / joy from these familiar sounds and smells that originated from my mother’s kitchen.

I started cooking to fulfil a need and not because I was enthusiastic to try it out. Yes, I have been visualizing myself as a great cook since college days but after few attempts at complex cooking, I could never go beyond hot chocolate and microwave poached eggs. I was convinced that cooking is tedious and complicated. Its an art that I can never learn.

But then, some day I thought I could never drive, that I could never get a job, that I could never photograph well. And so on.

You usually can do more than you think you can.

So I plunged. I picked up a pan and knife and started off. The first recipe I picked up looked so simple and yet it turned out to be so mediocre. In fact, my first few attempts were disasters and I ended up going from bad to worse.

Luckily, I did not stop there. I couldn’t afford to, really.

My sweet husband kept me going. He very bravely asked me to cook complex dishes like Chole and Biryani when I couldn’t make a basic Aloo-bhindi sabzi decently.

So I kept going. I run the blender for the first time in my life with great caution. (I have always been scared of blenders because i think they can disintegrate while they are running and the blades would fly off). I used the pressure cooker for the first time (hoping it doesn’t blast). I would peer into the pan curiously wondering what the vegetables were up to. I would think a great deal before putting in half a teaspoon of a masala. I took help from friends, elders, cousins, even co-customers at Indian stores. I remember the time I went to get Split Urad Dal and Sooji. There’s were some 5 varieties of each and I was heartbroken. I just did not understand which one to pick up. I asked a Punjabi lady, who had also come to shop, if I had picked to the right Urad Dal and Sooji for Upma. I have also eaten my Chicago cousin’s brain over the difference between green Chana, Kala Chana, Kabuli China and Chole.

Today, I totally enjoy cooking. I keep smelling the food at different stages to search for familiarity. Maybe I enjoy cooking because I am so fond of eating. Maybe I enjoy it because I cook only my favorite dishes. Maybe I enjoy it because At devours everything I make.

On my free days, I cook from morning till evening. I spend all my free time bookmarking recipes. It’s like cooking has replaced my love for travel and eating out. I cook to the extent of ignoring everything else. Ya! It’s turned into an obsession!

I’m sure my mother spends tears of joy when she listens to me brag about my kitchen successes. According to Mom, the success of my marriage depends on my ability to make ghar ka khana. For years, she has tried dragging me into kitchen in vain. I could only use the microwave to make coffee, eggs, ready mix pasta and noodles. And here I am, using pots and pans like they’ve been my toys! I enjoy shopping for pans as much as I enjoy shopping for shoes!

Some day, I am going to cook for my family and friends to let them enjoy this totally unbelievable sight.

Some of my food (and photography) experiments…

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2 Months Here

Valentine’s Day had a new meaning for me this year. Rather, it had some meaning this time (after being treated as just another day for so many years). Not that I have much confidence in this concept. It’s just about making someone’s day special and feeling good about it yourself. So, pre Valentine evening found me cook up a gala dinner and 14^th morning saw me gifting a self-made card to At, surprising him like hell.

Even college instructors tried making the day special, despite all the long classes and tedious work. They generously gave us loads of heart shaped chocolates (which I shamelessly hogged).

14^th Feb holds a special meaning for me for another reason too. I completed 2 months in the U S of A on this date! I will proudly say that I got into groove pretty quickly. From being a lost confused girl, who didn’t know how to pass her day, lest her husband took her out, to a confident girl who has her hands full and plans her routine (including dinner menus) in advance.

Joining college has helped me a lot in this. I am meeting new people, making fresh impressions and making my own set of friends (and not just moulding myself in already made friend circles and trying to adjust to already set norms). I made my first friend, my very own, in my class. S is Indian and a very helpful, sweet girl. She is a companion all the time and a saviour in many times.

From being a total newbie in the kitchen, not knowing how to cook anything except coffee, I have come a long way. From coffee to French Toast to Bhindi-aloo sabzi to various Pulaos to Cream Of Spinach soup. I am proud of the progress I have made in the kitchen.

Soon after coming here, I battled with weight increase, hair fall and skin issues. All a part of the change over, probably. I fought them. Doctors helped, so did the internet. And here I am. 2 kgs lost in 2 months, hair fall problem gone, skin issues gone.

My routine is set. I know when to cook, when to do my homework, when to chat with friends and when to exercise. I know what to eat and what not to eat. My will power did not go weak when we went to an Indian mithai outlet yesterday. Of course, the rasmalais and namkeens and nankhatais reminded me of home but they also reminded me of the 5 kgs I put on in the last 3-4 months.

When I am not in college, I am doing assignments at home, organizing my college materials / stationery and cooking up a feast. Those 4 days of free time pass in a daze. I overwork myself at college, working hard and carrying all the heavy books around, and overwork myself at home doing cooking experiments.

After ages, I am actually enjoying a holiday today. I can’t remember the last time I sat down peacefully in the sun enjoying some hot chocolate.

Somehow, I don’t mind being on the busy side of life, either.

Student Again

I opened the only notepad I own currently. My last company’s notepad given to me by a colleague friend. The notepad opened on an already written page. It contained a list. Bread, brinjals, tomato puree, black cumin seeds. Oh. The groceries list.

For a moment I was lost. And confused.

The Fashion Drawing class instructor’s voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned the page till I got a fresh page.

A fresh page. A fresh beginning.

I sat among the odd bunch of younger (very young) students. Being used to be the youngest of the lot, being one of the oldest was…. awkward. But here, no one cares. People from all races, age groups and backgrounds come to study the same courses for different reasons. A cosmetologist leans sewing and patternmaking for hobby. An elderly lady learns the same thing because she is already so good with sewing at home. Some people can barely talk English. Some are peculiar. In fact, each person is peculiar for the other. To be true, no one really cares.

And this encourages me to open up quicker and more easily.

We are told about course contents, grading patterns, assignments (weekly, by the way) and a whole list of hundreds of equipment, material and supplies needed. Whoever led us to think that Fashion Designing is glamorous and fun was joking with us. I cannot imagine myself as a clever prospective designer everyone will envy. I visualize myself running around from sewing machine to sewing machine, trying to put pieces of cloth together, looking at fantastic designs of other students, perspiring, fretting, not having eaten anything since ages because there is no time to save my life, and going totally blank in the end.

I will learn to make such illustrations in my Fashion Drawing class. Possible?

After years of listening to lectures (rather, staring at the professor blankly), this seems like real hard work. There are scary looking machines, peculiarly shaped instruments, 20 types of pencils, pens and markers, dangerous life-threatening sharp equipments and a confusing array of paper. All of these threaten to kill my dream, my passion. Suddenly my good taste in fashion and excess wardrobe seems so meaningless.

While I spoke to few classmates to gather information and exchange opinions, I spent all my free time wandering about the building (the cold and wind made it all so tough). I looked for a place to have my lunch (a simple home made sandwich), spoke to At and read a book in that 1.5 hours break. I spent some time wandering about the empty corridors. So silent was this building that one could hear each approaching footstep clearly. In the evening, after sunset, the place looked almost eerie.

Despite the intimidating lab and unnerving course outline, the dream in my eyes hasn’t died. Applied Arts and Sciences. I read this heading above all doorways I passed with pride. I am a part of the Arts department, I thought, my heart swelling with pride. Cheer up, I told myself. This is where you always wanted to be.

What Blogging Means To Me

When I look at my older posts, I feel seriously embarrassed. I mean, what was I thinking when I wrote them? They seem so childish and immature! And often, forced. Lately, I have been thinking of the way my attitude towards blogging and the kinds of posts I write have evolved. There has been a change. I started off with writing things people wrote. I followed blogs that got lot of votes or comments even though I didn’t like what and how they wrote. I commented on posts I didn’t relate to. I read about how to get more traffic and earn money with blogging.

Soon, the blogs I read got narrowed down. I did not comment just for the heck of it. I wrote as and when I felt like; whenever there were some real thoughts to dispose off.

I found my own blog space.

I shut down my food blog, where I used to write restaurant reviews. I shut down my old fashion blog that was on Blogger and made another one on WordPress (this one has also evolved hugely in the last 1.5 years).

I am the happiest with my travel blog. It has been most active and popular. I developed a proper niche for myself by writing about places, restaurants in and around Baroda, exhibitions and events – something no one else had been / is doing.

As for this personal blog, yes, this one transformed too. I no longer write for popularity. I write for myself. This blog has become my public diary. I do not aspire to be a famous blogger who writes great things about politics, art or the like. I just want to share my thoughts and little things about my life, hoping someone out there is listening. It is wonderful writing about challenges, dilemmas of life and have unknown people drop in concern, good luck and advice.

I can conclude one thing. One cannot seek, aim for popularity. Any amount of networking will not help. The only thing that will is passion. My travel blog is a live example. I wrote about Gujarat because I love that state. It is my home state and I love everything about it. I started showcasing Gujjuland to the rest of the world. I spent energy, time and efforts in learning photography on my own, visiting places and writing about them. The effort, genuineness and passion shows in the blog. My pictures speak.

Passion, my friends, dedication and desire to be better are the only things that pay – in any aspect of life – job, relationship or hobby.

Blogging is more than just a hobby (at least for me). It is a job. An important aspect of life. A great way to learn and make friends. A great way to widen horizons.

During my last week in Baroda, I went to a handicrafts exhibition where I was moving around clicking snaps (with the intention of writing about the event and the organizing body) and one of the organizers asked me who I was. I held my head high and said, I am a Blogger. And what do you think happened then? I was given VIP treatment! I was invited to their workshop, told more about their activities and given lot of attention!

Serious, sincere blogging pays in different ways.

 

Shifting Gears Again

This year has brought (or rather, is bringing) a big, BIG change in my life. I am shifting gears. I am making an unimaginable shift. After spending close to 7+ years in Human Resources and industrial products manufacturing companies, I am switching to Apparel and Fashion Designing! Didn’t I make many jaws drop and eyebrows shoot up? Impossible! Crazy move! But this is the plain fact. I am finally making my dream come true (much of the credit goes to At for encouraging me, leading me into this). I start classes from Monday. After studying Management fundas that were mostly full of air and not much substance, I am coming down to pure skill building. Working in a lab with mannequins, cloth, thread, needles and sewing machines. After attending the department’s orientation session last evening, I realized fashion designing is far from glamorous. No, I cannot dress up and wear good shoes to college because I will be running around and working in that scary looking lab. I cannot think beyond sneakers there.

The session also made me realize that my easy days are over. Till now, even though I was at home all the time, I just whiled away my time browsing the internet, listening to music, chatting endlessly with some selected few friends in US. I did no or little work, sparing some mediocre cooking that I did if and when I felt like. I am sure when I am neck deep into assignments and struggling with the sewing machine (which is something I haven’t touched till date) I will want to be an idle dependant housewife again.

To make the most of the remaining 4 days, that I have before my classes start, I have listed down on a few things that I MUST do without wasting more time. Here they are:

1. Cook something different every day. My cooking went from bad to worse lately and I concluded I can never be a good cook. But still, I want to keep going while I have time, energy and inclination.

2. Practice walking in heels. Yes! I have ended up buying some 4 pairs of high heels and if I have to wear them outside, I need to practice right now at home!

3. Learn the manual focus function of my SLR. Take few pictures (the ones I have been thinking about since ages) to practice the same.

4. Touch base with all friends and family members I have totally lost touch with due to my laziness. Anyway, after yesterday’s session, I am quite clueless about my future state. I better contact everyone now itself!

Enough work for 4 days, I guess!

After Monday, I will have new stories to tell. Stories from a world unfamiliar to most of us.

Coming Out Of Shell

It gets very lonely here sometimes – a cousin in another city of US told me once. Hang on to whatever friends you have or can get.

US is another world. In order to be happy here, I need to unlearn what I knew and was in my past life and pick up things here. That’s the only way one can enjoy this life. So if I go to a New Year party and don’t drink or dance, I will be labelled mad (this actually happened with me). I need to sit with a drink in hand at gatherings. I need to shop and eat out keeping in mind deals and discounts. I need to be more social, open and extrovert; being the introvert that I am will not help.

The initial few days were very difficult here for an extreme independent, self centred person like me. Of course, girls would want to have a husband who does most work, takes big-small decisions and drives her around for shopping but that didn’t make me happy. It was difficult for me to be a prolonged guest. It pricked to be sitting around doing nothing – in someone else’s house – while he did everything. I kept questioning myself – What is your contribution? What is your worth?

While elders advised me to ‘build my own home’ and focus on new relationship, transform from Me to Us, I am struggling to make my identity in this new country full of strangers. Who am I here now? An insignificant nothing? How can Us be complete if one I is incomplete? And I will feel complete when I feel well achieved. When I feel something.

In the last few days, I experimented with cooking. No world cuisines or delicacies. Simple ghar ka khana. Some were ok, some were inadequate. But I felt happy for achieving something. I gave myself a challenge and fulfilled it. The next target is to be better at it. This new challenge has been driving my days. Every day I look forward to cooking a new sabzi.

The other day, I ventured out into the neighbourhood on my own. That was a big step. I don’t know what was stopping me from walking out and getting lost? Isn’t that the only way of discovering?

Of course, there is the marriage. With a person who is on a totally different plane than me. That does take away half of my energy. Still, to feel content, I try to make the most of my me-time. I talk to old friends, try connecting with new friends, try cooking, read and write.

Between all the keeping-busy, there are moments of nothingness. That’s when I realize life is lonely. When I am wide awake during the day, every one else in India is fast asleep. I have been used to having people around me all the time – colleagues, neighbours, friends, family. Suddenly, there is no one.

It does get lonely here.

Sometimes I wonder if I should even think of my past life. Yeah, I have begun to call it past life. There is no point mixing it up with new life. The two can’t merge. The components of my past life need not find their way in here. This world is different from the other. And to be happy here, I need to forget the other one.

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