Marriage Proposal - India Style

I realize that I have been undercover for months. Just fell off the wagon and am slowly clambering back. When I saw this one minute video - a must watch, I knew I had to share because it so germane to all my writings about the concept of arranged marriages in India and the myths surrounding it. I thought, it would be nice to share this commercial which shows how marriages are still arranged in India in a high tech age. If you look and listen carefully, you will see the hypocrisy that still exists... The more things change, the more they remain the same is what came to mind instantly.

More to follow, hopefully soon.

Happy Holi! - A peak at the Joyful Indian Festival Celebrating Spring

It has been a while- I have been underground because I have been inundated with work which in all honesty I truly enjoy, but now have surfaced to touch base with you all to share more of my rich culture. I will be writing more as and when I get the time so don't give up on me yet. In the interim, read on...



Above pictures of niece and nephew, two rather sedate doctors in daily life who clearly gave into the wild abandon of the the festival of colors to celebrate spring along with their adorable daughter.

Like Mardi Gras and Easter, Holi is a major festival in India welcoming the advent of spring. Normally, it is celebrated on a full moon day in the month of March or April depending on where it falls in the Hindu calendar.

It is a boisterous festival celebrated by everyone with great gusto with singing and dancing. Evryone regardless of age, class, caste or gender joins in to play with dry and wet colors - certainly no social inequity here. Beautiful colors are used and folks join in the fun with total abandonment uncaring of their attire or appearance.

There are many legends associated with this festival -chief of them being about India's God Krishna and his frolicking with the love of his life, Radha. Needless to say, this is also considered a time when men and women give up their conventional coyness-rather public flirting and coquetry is often on public display in the rather conservative Indian social setup.

I could write a lot about it - about how I didn't much care for this festival as I hate cold water especially when I was dunked unceremoniously by my older brothers and their hateful friends who took it as an opportunity to payback the bratty kid sister who squealed on them all the time and on and on... Regardless those were wonderful days when my parents would not allow any of us to enter the house till we had hosed ourselves outside in the garden before entering the house.

Instead to give you a flavor, I will just share a clip showing you celebration of Holi in India depicted Bollywood style - despite the song and dance, it is pretty accurate. Enjoy!



Can you imagine this festival is even popular here in US among the young people as you can see from the video clip which shows celebrations in a Hindu temple in Utah!


Of course it is a national Holiday in India. Here are also some amazing pictures right from India which show the recent celebration on March 11.

When you have had your fill of color, do move on to Candid Carrie's Phriday Fiesta and see what is going on there...

Happy Holi and Namaste for now!

Wanted a Homely Girl- Fascinating Dynamics Behind an Arranged Marriage, Part I of Many

Last June, I wrote a conceptual article on arranged marriages in India. For knowing more about the criteria behind finding matches, I would highly recommend reading this post. Today I want to expand more on the real-life dynamics behind this institution because there is both a lot of hype as well as a real curiousity about it, as evident from the questions I am frequently asked. Since I want to address as many facets as possible and rather candidly, I am going divide my article in parts.

Pouring over my pictures from yesteryears, I came across a couple of photographs which when viewed in juxtaposition show two dramatically different sides of my persona. One is of me as a young woman casual and relaxed in her jeans and the other is of a young lady all trussed up and sitting stiffly. Yes the latter picture is one of a young lady being prepared to meet her future mate. So today I am going to talk to you about how the arranged marriage set-up works based upon my own experience years ago in middle-class New Delhi suburbia.


Me as a relaxed university student completing her Masters...

Me not too happy to be dolled up in this lady-like yet at that time very constricting attire...

Generally, once a young lady completed her undergrad degree, parents would start getting restless about finding a match for their pampered princess. But by the time, the more academically inclined girls completed the next degree, the parents got really determined to start looking around and essentially availing of every opportunity to drag their marriageable age children to social events where the chances of finding suitable matches were heightened.

I recall that once I completed my Masters, my mother often asked me to wear a sari at events where a number of guests were expected, specifically at weddings. While initially it was fun to feel all grown-up along with a sense of achievement that one had not fallen flat on one's face wearing the yet unfamiliar attire of six yards of material gracefully swathed around you , cleverly held together by a many pins to ensure that it did not unravel in public eye - the private terror of almost every novice Indian girl-woman - it became embarrassing after the initial excitement wore off. The matronly women at these weddings would not only check out your worth as prospective brides for their precious princes by blatantly sizing you up, they would sometimes literally while patting you on the cheek analyze your virtuous nature with the family elders, completely ignoring your presence. Just like that! While you pretended to be innocently oblivious, desperately wanting to flee from that setup. Instead you were trapped next to your mother feeling like a pin-cushion barely able to walk small steps in supposedly, the world's most elegant attire. The idea behind dragging the trussed up youngsters to such formal dressy events was to get them noticed as eligible matches ready for settling in holy matrimony with the ultimate hope of garnering marriage proposals.

A query that used to make me and other educated girls mad was when match seekers asked the assinine question as to whether the young woman was homely. Yes, being "homely" was a quality that was sought by almost every would-be in-law. In case you are wondering, if we Indians had some twisted concept of beauty, for some interesting reason, in India, the term "homely" does not mean plain-looking but rather someone with a proclivity for home-making skills and supposedly better family values than a professional girl. The emphasis is on the word "home'! I learned this difference the hard way when in my early years in the US, I called my perfectly attractive new American girlfriend, a stay-at-home mom as very nice and "homely". She almost whacked me till she realized that far from insulting her considerable charms, I was sincerely complimenting her on her baking skills. Needless to say, she ended up roaring with laughter. Of course,I never repeated that mistake. But in all seriousness, do check the lexicon, the word "homely" also means domestic. And even more seriously, being homely was a major marital prerequisite in the world I knew.

Indian culture is peculiar in some respects. While there is the admirable closeness of family and a lot of community feeling,there is also little concept of personal space or boundaries. Invasive personal questions that cross the line easily don't raise eyebrows. For instance, an older woman or man respectfully and generically referred to as "aunties" and "uncles" by the young ones could in such social situations ask without a second thought a young man directly what he was earning, his financial assets, his marital status and similar personal queries in order to check his suitability as a match. In this respect ,as a single woman in the dating world in US, after observing the lies or twisting of truth to a point where it is actually deceptive, I would not mind a few of these tough "aunties" and "uncles" to pry out the truth. But I digress.
This is my twenty year old son at an Indian wedding here in DC. Now the Indian-American kids born and brought up here have diametrically opposite views in terms of having their marriages arranged like back home where parents will start eyeing young folks as potential matches very early on. It is called planning ahead. I shudder to think, how my normally even-tempered son would react if someone approached him with that in mind and then asked those very personal questions....

In my case, I think privately, my mother was just making a token attempt to do the traditional thing about showcasing her daughter at these events because being a true intellectual herself and a feminist under the guise of a homemaker, she privately always pushed me to have a fulfilling career first. Yet, being a product of her times, I believe she also was torn about going with cultural flow or standing up for her emancipated beliefs. I do believe we struck a happy medium since I married after I had established myself fully in a rewarding career despite not very unsubtle social pressure to the contrary.

To be continued... Stay tuned-I have lots to share, but till then let us venture over to Carrie's Phriday Fiesta.

Home - A Sacred Sanctuary Takes on an Added Meaning in a Hindu Family

A while back I wrote an article on role of temples, which becomes even more magnified for the Indian-Americans thousands of miles away from their home country.

Today I want to share another aspect of worship in Hinduism. While the Hindus visit the temple often for various occasions or as they desire, worship of their gods is not limited to temple visits but is an integral part of their lives. So a place of worship or shrine in a Hindu home is a natural outgrowth and a almost a must since Hindus have gods which address almost every aspect of their lives. Now remember these Gods are representing the One Universal spirit. It is understood that God pervades the images during prayer and ritual. Anyway that is a concept too complex and philosophical to address here so let me just share the practical aspects of my religion.



In many Indian homes, guests have to take off their shoes at the entrance especially if the house has makeshift shrines and religious images and sacred items spread through out the home. This is the entrance of a Hindu's home. Note that the family pictures show three generations. That is a typical family set-up

Typically no Hindu home is complete without a shrine or sanctuary dedicated solely for prayer, meditation and just quiet contemplation. Some devout Hindus will dedicate a whole prayer room with a proper shrine, others will use a part of their closet space or even a set of shelves in a room. Respect for the divine is so strong that no one can walk in without a shower and definitely not with shoes because shoes are just not allowed in a sacred area as it is believed that they are dirty and unsanitary and thus disrespectful. The bottom-line is that no Hindu home is truly complete without a sacred place to place the Gods and conduct prayer to spread God's blessings in the abode.



Pictures showing the sacred Om on the entrance to the prayer room which consists of a beautiful handmade shrine imported from India and other prayer items.

Below is a simpler shrine created in a linen closet that has been emptied out and decorated equally lovingly with idols and images.




Just as eating dinner together is consider essential for family bonding here, praying or doing Puja (Hindi word for prayer) as a family is considered critical especially during significant occasions and festivals. I recall growing up how my parents refused to indulge their seven kids with lavish birthday parties, but would rather conduct a family prayer, followed by sharing of sanctified Indian sweets and candy with money being kept aside for charity along with a token birthday gift for the birthday child. None of today's extravaganza that borders on vulgar display was part of our family customs. No one left the house daily without going to the family shrine and asking for blessings for the day and dinner could only be served after a family prayer that my mother led and we followed. I still cringe at my brothers' and father's tuneless singing but no matter, we all had to join in.
This is a picture of my family growing up. It shows one of my brothers and my nieces and nephew with my mother leading the prayer along with my two sisters-in-law. Your truly is sitting in the red top. Carpets were rolled up and a makeshift shrine created on the floor and the family squatted Indian style to pray together. Years have rolled so fast. As a way of proud introduction and I won't apologize because each really earned their laurels through many life's tribulations but hung on due to the power of prayer, the little girl in glasses is a doctor now completing advanced studies, her sister in her mom's lap is an MBA, both in New Delhi,the little boy today is an executive in New Zealand and his father, my brother shown here is head of an R&D in a dairy company also in New Zealand and of course, I am here. Who dreamed that we would be scattered on three continents eventually, but the ties that bind us from the earlier days are still very strong and in no small measure due to our spiritual beliefs where family plays a pivotal role.

While my son has been born here, I have attempted to teach him some of our sacred sanskrit mantras that he has learned to chant with me. Well sort of. I am so grateful that he accompanies me and is in touch with his religious roots, that I am even able to suppress an almost hysterical desire to chuckle each time I hear him distorting sanskrit with his complete American accent. I just swallow hard and ask God for divine forgiveness for these moments of levity! After all prayer is serious busines! As I grow older, family traditions are resurfacing daily and increasingly and consciously as I try to give my son a sense of belonging because it is easy for many first-generation Indians to get caught between two such different cultures, but I digress...
Here my son is bidding goodbye to his dog after having done his prayers with me before leaving for his long drive to UVA. And for protection, he has the sacred ash from the fire we burn in our pooja to honor our Gods. Right from his childhood, I have continued the tradition of saying a prayer before heading out of the house.

In all seriousness, despite all my Westernization and analytical mind to the point of being annoyingly argumentative about rationale behind day to day things (ask my friends and family), there is a part of me that has a undying faith in my core religion alongwith its rich rituals and mythology where I am happy to abandon my sense of reasoning and instead submit to the power of the symbolic Universal Force, unquestioningly. Somehow I don't think this is unique to me...

Anyway, it is finally fun to rejoin Candid Carrie's Friday Fiesta after a long hiatus. Happy Friday to all. Aren't these short work weeks great!

DC in its Inaugral Splendour - Before the Millions Descend

There has been a lot of activity and excitement in DC since the past few weeks. In my more than two decades here in US, I have witnessed the inaugration activities for Presidents Reagan, George Bush (Sr), Bill Clinton and the incumbent President,but never have I seen such intensity in the air as in the case of our 44th President-elect Obama. It is truly unprecedented!

The pride, the excitement, the hopefulness -just the pure joy and and euphoria are undoubtedly palpable coupled with anxiety and tension evident from the high security preparations and constant media updates. Basically the nation's capital is just pulsating with high emotions and I have been a part of this feeling since the elections because I work in downtown DC right on Pennsylvania Ave,a few blocks from the White House and a few blocks from the US Capitol, right on the Presedential parade route.

Such is human ingenuity when motivated by financial gain that many DC residents are letting out their homes for out-of-town visitors at exhorbitant rates per night. This is all novel for me as I cannot imagine letting out my home to strangers, but then that is me...

As expected, the nearby businesses are holding many celebatory parade-watching receptions and I was invited to a couple. But being the wimp that I am, I have opted to stay home and be a part of history from the comfort of my couch with a cup of tea and my basset. I am paranoid about huge crowds with the potential to morph into mobs. I guess, I have fallen prey to the media hype about all the diversions and blockages etc etc.

Anyway here are pictures thanks to two of my co-workers who braved the 20 degree or less weather to capture the flavor of DC in all its glory as it prepares for the momentous occasion. The pictures are in no particular order but will just provide personal insights about the beauty of this city so full of life, diversity, culture and history...

Our beautiful office building facing Pennsylvania Avenue




Pictures of Presidential booth
US Capitol from a closer view
Pennsylvania Ave near the Capitol-parade route

Another co-worker braving 20 degrees to get the real feel.
One of our office building entrances.
The National Archives across our office building.
The Newseum building a couple of blocks from our building

The building on the right is my office and the close up is the side facing Pennsylvania Avenue.
Pennsylvania Avenue leading to the White House

White House to the extent it can be seen from close quarters.
The Capitol
My co-worker who went in 20 degrees to take these pictures.

Well these are certainly a necessity







Above the excitement and thrill of the fabulous concert on the DC Mall

Devotion to Obama cannot be doubted in the case of this gentlemen at the Metro...
Signs and welcome banners like this are visible all over the city.

Welcome Mr. President!

And now from the mouth of a babe -er I mean a Modernite!

The last few posts that I have posted have been a medley of cherished memories of my years as a high school teacher in New Delhi leading to lifelong friendship with a colleague who is still teaching back home in the same school, Modern School. Malini as most of you have come to know through this blog has been here on a Fulbright Fellowship. The following is actually a comment written by one of her former students from Delhi who visited this blog at her suggestion. However his comment is so detailed and beautifully written that the teacher in me (once a teacher always a teacher!) felt, itdeserved its own post.

As for me, I have been incommunicado for a number of reasons. I have not only run out of steam for a bit, I have been very busy on many fronts, including spending all my free time with my son who was here for the Holidays and with my friend on Skype who leaves now for Delhi in about a week. Her six month tenure ends on January 22 and she flies back the next day amidst heartfelt promises to continue our daily tradition of eating, drinking and making merry on Skype. Needless to say, we are "hanging out" even more on skype and have even pulled in other friends both here and in India into our conversations through conference calls! What incredible technology!!!!

Her unbridled excitement at being united with her family and students has undoubtedly affected me and for the first time in many years, I truly feel homesick even though I barely have any immediate family left in Delhi. But as is the story of most immigrants, once I reach Delhi and have been there a few weeks, I start yearning for my home in US. So in reality, we are always caught between two worlds or put another way, will always have two homes. If that makes sense?

GNS the author of the following essay is a Modernite as students from Modern are called. And with the following post, you now have perspective from a student from India now a freshman in US.

In the August of 2009, if you had the fortune or, in some exceptional cases, if a bunch of rambunctious Modernites were in your vicinity, the misfortune, of passing through the corridors of the school, you would have certainly come across an overly excited child declaring emphatically "Mrs. Khatri will be leaving for the US in a few weeks!" Indeed, the incumbent Chair of the English Department is one of the most respected, popular and, if I daresay, influential teachers in school. She left for the US in August 2009 on a prestigious Fulbright “academic deployment” to a high-school in Port Townsend (Seattle, USA).

I too left India in August 2009 to begin my undergraduate academic career at Duke University (USA). I spent the better part of my first semester trying to find my bearings – figuring out how to get food into my stomach, how to perform the excruciatingly irksome task called “laundry”, how to commute on campus, and how to manage a hectic schedule of classes that dealt with topics ranging from the Socratic Elenchus to industrial microeconomics.

To my consternation, I also felt extremely homesick. I? Someone who used to make only modest efforts to conceal his impudicity when people praised his precocious maturity (see!) was today succumbing to a simple memory of home. I wondered what was wrong with my attitude. Anyway, I ultimately settled down and begin enjoying the culture and myriad facilities of the magnificent campus on which I stay.

In late October, I began corresponding, through an invention that constitutes the core of contemporary society’s consciousness (yes, the Internet and the e-mail), with a teacher who, I had shamefully enough forgotten, was only a 3 hour flight away from me – yes, I would often find Mrs. Khatri online on Google Talk and we would casually begin discussing life in the US. I must admit that I derived a vicarious psychological satisfaction from knowing that Mrs. Khatri, too, had been tormented by homesickness and the typical culture shock that strikes foreigners. I realized that my “sporadic and sudden longings” for home were not only a natural part of a mature adult’s behavioral patterns, but were also, at least for me, indicative of the extent to which I appreciated my roots.

Mrs. Khatri soon told me that a former member of Modern School’s faculty (Ms. Raksha Bhandari), who also happened to be a dear friend of hers, was living in Washington DC and would love to hear from me. Initially I thought that she was merely making a friendly offer of providing a source of social support and did not actually want me to exploit this offer! After all, no one in this busy country would want to spend time listening to ramblings of a college student.

Then one evening, Mrs. Khatri, after appearing, the way the pilgrim arrives at the door of the Saint, “online” on Google Talk at exactly 6 pm, told me that Ms. Bhandari had a blog – an interesting collection of historical tales, anecdotes and personal memories.

I clicked on the link to the blog and waited for the Internet to churn its cyber-magic. A page appeared on my screen. I sat dumbstruck. Before me was the tale of two girls – two girls who grew into women together and today have grown into models of uprightness and resilience. Until I saw this blog, I was unaware of the dynamic and emotionally complex historicity of Mrs. Khatri’s friendship with Ms. Bhandari. The two had been each others’ pillars of support in trying times, each others’ comic reliefs in trying times and each others’ friends at all times. On an alternating basis, they put each other into predicaments and laughed when the one who was the object of the vignette sighed with frustration; they stood by each other when they were down in the doldrums.

It is strange what one can learn from unexpected encounters and experiences, and how one’s problems seem but trivial if one juxtaposes them to an appropriately comparable set of problems. I, personally, have not, from this tale of friendship, learnt the value of friendship – rather, I have learnt the value of virtues such as resilience, tenacity and valor.

All I wish to say in conclusion is that any friendship that can, in this age of rampant egocentrism and strategically measured cooperation, hold together two people who, for each other, are willing to make selfless sacrifices, is a friendship that deserves a New Year’s Eve toast of Cognac. Kudos!

PS: “Selfless sacrifices” is not a term containing an error of redundancy, Mrs. Khatri. We today have a phenomenon called ‘selfish altruism’

A Potpourri of Wonderful Memories Part-II, An Ode to Friendship!

Ideally the previous post, Part I, should be read to get the complete backdrop against which these events are being described. What follows is a pictorial journey of a lifelong friendship in the context of a beloved high school where I was a teacher in my past life and my friend still is.

Against this backdrop of my baptism by fire entered into the scene my lifelong friend Malini, the new English high school teacher, also straight out of graduate school! I can still vividly recall that humid and already hot morning in Delhi in late July in 1981-the monsoon season. I was standing with a group of teachers chatting after the morning assembly when our conversation came to an abrupt standstill. Walking rather sashaying, I should say, was this vision of color immaculately dressed in a pink and green still fresh and crisp cotton sari with many matching bracelets on her wrists and braided long hair flowing well past her waist, and batting her twinkling kohl-lined eyes with a great big smile- she was a fashion diva for sure. Needless to say, she made us feel quite bedraggled, sweaty and sloppy which we were.

Malini (red scarf) and I (light pink attire) enjoying Teacher's Day, the only time, the school really didn't mind teachers wearing other Indian attire rather than a sari. Sari is supposed to be the most dignified attire especially in the case of young teachers as that made us look more grown up instead of blending with the older teenage students.
This was also the only day students were allowed to not wear their school uniforms which are a must in all schools in India. Note the brat behind me!

But, from that point on, it was deja vu. She came up to me and greeted me by name with an easy familiarity and I responded likewise. Having attended the same University of Delhi, we must have seen each other at some point, but had never been formally introduced. Yet it was like we had known each other forever. Like soul connections in love, I firmly believe that there are soul connections between friends when somehow there is instinctive and inexplicable bonding immediately. From that point we were inseparable.

The strength of our friendship lay in the fact that there were absolutely no pretences between us. No illusions at all. We understood and accepted each other completely. While the rest of the world, mainly the men were taken in by her wide-eyed helpless look and feminine wiles that she blatantly used to the utmost, I was not and affectionately told her so in no uncertain terms. Very often. However,I didn't mind watching her humorously in action. In my case, she saw my cream-puff heart under my facade of strength and manipulated me shamelessly. Fully aware, I did not mind because she has a great big loving heart. We were truly two soul-sisters with a connection that went beyond outward superficialities. She is the sister, I never had.


Here Malini and I are with our other colleagues during the school assembly where most of the students squatted cross-legged on covered floors to listen to the principal in the true Indian fashion daily. Remember the school was a wonderful medley of the best in Indian values and Western education!

Here of course, these kids have clambered on to a truck that came to deliver supplies. I met these kids as youngmen and women over the years and my heart swelled with pride to see how successful they were in ALL aspects of their lives-many of them settling here after coming to US for further studies...
Yes, we were also a complete study in contrasts and quite a sight to behold! I with my short "Lady Di" haircut (see above in pink sari with another colleague almost buried uner the eager kids)restlessly pushing my hair out of eyes especially when stressed which was almost all the time, briskly walking nay almost running with long impatient strides learned over the years of trying to keep pace with my much taller brothers, sari tied to accommodate that fact, and a bag carelessly slung over my shoulders, overflowing with student papers, makeup gone by mid-morning often replaced by streaks of chalk powder. You get the picture.

And then there was Malini, daintly dressed, sauntering leisurely, color coordinated completely with matching accessories and jewelry with not a hair out of place in her long braid, setting the new fashion rules for not just her envious colleagues but the growing teenage girls. Yet, beyond this superficial veneer, we both were hard-working dedicated teachers who shared a deep friendship which went beyond the classrooms. Here Malini and I are with another colleague and a student who is wearing a sari on Teacher's Day when the kids role-played as teachers and we teachers secretly prayed that they understood our pain. That is what is meant by eternal optimism!

Almost every afternoon, Malini, I and a couple of other young colleagues would walk over to Malini's place, have lunch, hang out and end up often spending the nights at her place. She lived near the school so her home became our usual haunt with her kid brother forcing his company on us till he was unceremoniously thrown out of her room. How he loved our gossip! Remember in India, unmarried children continue living with their parents so we came to know Malini's family very well. Rather, I became a part of her family and she of mine.


Here we are the youngest high school teachers (I am in the center and Malini is on the right in gold color sari) who hung out together and ended our school day by going over to Malini's place or all over town enjoying our singledom. Each of lived with our parents even as working adults and still followed the family rules. In short, we were very sheltered even as working women so any life's knocks hit us harder because in reality we were still big kids living at home under our parents' protection, right till we married.

I will never forget one trick that her evil brother and his friend played on me. Malini and her folks lived in a big bungalow (a large single-storied house)from the British days in India. It had many rooms along with the customary nooks and crannies which took on a life of their own in the evening hours. It really could be quite scary at night. I recall one evening, these two horrendous college freshmen, probably to pay me back for throwing my weight since of course Malini let me do all the dirty work, convinced me that there was a ghost in that house and they rapidly kept pointing out where they were seeing this strange apparition. Each time I turned around, they said it had moved elsewhere till I almost started believing that I saw the tail-end of the spirit. Of course, it did not exist but by the time, dusk fell, I of course started seeing things and was literally on the verge of a heart attack out of sheer terror, till her father stepped in and put an end to that nonsense. I never forgave the rascals who when I turned around were doubled with laughter along with my soul-sister wiping tears of sheer mirth from her eyes... She had joined them. I realized that day that I can come up with some inventive profanities and being bilingual surely expanded my repertoire!
Malini and I are having outdoor Sunday lunch at a very upscale country club in Delhi to which her family belongs. That is her father in the background-he continues to have a special soft corner for me from the days when he was truly my saviour around her rascal brother and his friends!

Here we are both at a colleague's wedding with another young teacher who was also single and actually a CPA who just came to spend a year as a teacher. Needless to say, he loved hanging out with us single girls as we were much more fun than the older more low key and conservative crowd who had been teaching for donkey years in the school. I am in deep red and Malini is an gold colored sari

Another incident that I recall very clearly is a trek (my one and only and you will soon see why) we took with the school kids to the town of Mussoorie situated in the foothills of the Himalayas. Without prior hiking experience and having just recovered from a severe bout of malaria, in a foolhardy manner much against my parents' sound judgment, I decided to join Malini who again convinced me I was just fine (did I tell you - her brother used to call me her "stooge" because she somehow convinced me to give in in all her crazy schemes) to chaperone the school kids on an almost 34 kms uphill hike in the treacherous hills. Of course, as expected, I collapsed part of the way and just couldn't move an inch. Squatting and wailing that they should all leave me to die in the hills and move on without me, it could not have been a more dramatic sight. I was a mess uncaring that my students were watching in malicious fascination their strong teacher in this crumpled state. Cutting my histrionics short in a matter of fact manner that she certainly can certainly dredge up in an instant (you wonder if the batting of eyes was a figment of your imagination), my friend scolded me and told me to get a grip. Miraculously, she made me get up till literally bolstered by two strapping male students, I dragged myself to the top into town which by the way is at an average altitude of 6,600 ft . How I hated her then!

Here we both are with our students after the pretty steep uphill climb in the hills where I seriously thought, I was going to die.

Once in Mussoorie, I conveniently developed amnesia about my previous embarrassment and once again vigorously took on the role of a senior teacher and started lecturing the kids to watch out for leeches, the blood sucking parasites, that are abundant in these hills. Sitting in a restaurant I pontificated at length about how the kids should be careful and dress appropriately till someone pointed out something dark red on the side of my neck. I am not kidding when I tell you that my blood-curling scream could be heard over the mountainside! Shrieking like a banshee, I dragged Malini to the god-forsaken dingy bathroom of that small eatery in the hills. Stripped and shivering uncontrollably from disgust and cold, I gritted my teeth, till my friend who had doubled up with laughter could follow the instructions of the eatery owner who also with a barely suppressed grin had shown her how to remove the damn parasite with salt and matchsticks. Clearly these hill folks took such creatures in their stride! Well fed, the sucker fell off easily. With my now hugely wounded pride, I refused to subject myself to more good -humored ridicule and rode back next day to the base like a Diva in a cab eagerly volunteering to chaperone a girl student who had developed a raging fever, leaving Malini to handle all the rambunctious students. That was my revenge and Malini was not fooled. It was only under dire threats of very tough history tests that I was able to suppress the hysterical giggles of the kids. That was an amazing adventure! Needless to say, trekking shall never be on my resume as a curricular activity!




After that disastrous hiking incident, I made sure I always went on safer and saner trips with the kids. Here we are at a couple of picnics! While I labored hard over teaching the kids about the Rise and Fall of the British Empire and India's freedom struggle, I also played hard with them and that is what made life so wonderful as a young teacher in Modern!

When I announced suddenly one day in Jan. 1987 that I would be quitting my job to join my new husband in the US, she and the rest of the school could not believe it because once you joined Modern School, you continued till you couldn't. I would not be arrogant if I ventured to say, based on the reactions of my kids and their subsequent feedback and continuous attempts over the decades to remain in touch with me till today, that I was their "favorite teacher" and left teaching in a blaze of glory and at the height of my career. It was poignant all-around for a number of reasons... My years were so wonderful and enriching at Modern that I could not imagine teaching ever again in a different environment. It was season for a reason and time to move on as I could never give my heart like this again!



Here I am being given an amazing sendoff after I announced that I was leaving for the US to start a new life. This was a very emotional time undoubtedly!

Coming back to Malini-leaving my best friend was really really rough. I still remember getting a hysterical call in the middle of the night in my first few weeks in DC. It was my friend, very emotional at my absence. I don't remember a word of that conversation, other than we both were in tears. There are too many memories to share but suffice it is to say that we grew up together in those years. Coming from similar over-protective and sheltered backgrounds including the good ole nuns, we went through many youthful trials and tribulations sharing many laughs and tears. It has been more than two decades since I left India, yet despite our different life experiences, our bond is still strong as ever. It is one of those friendships that even if one does not connect for years, when we do, we pick up immediately as if there was no gap... Our saga continues.

Cheers to our Karmic bond my friend!

And long live Modern School!!!

Now let us move on to Candid Carrie's Friday Foto Fiesta and see what's going on!