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The mom personality.

July 19, 2015September 27, 2025preethi shanbhagLeave a comment

It’s a confusing life- that of a parent. As a mother, I have experienced a multitude of emotions I did not even know that I possessed in the recesses of my heart. After managing in hostel, strictly keeping off tv and books during exams, keeping jobs, getting and staying married, and keeping house, I thought I knew what responsibility was all about. But becoming a mother put a different spin on things altogether. The fact that there are living breathing humans whom you are solely responsible for, and can make decisions about, make it slightly overwhelming. Once a mother, you sort of develop an unexplainable personality change (or disorder?). Let me explain.

I love planning. Every single move of mine, every thought and its corresponding action is planned. The first thing that I do when I wake up is to make a time table for the day. And relish the feeling of ticking off stuff, once it gets done ( I know, I know, I have a personality disorder already!). This is the only routine of mine which has not changed for the past twenty odd years. Or so. Till I became a mother. And realized that the number of unticked items on my list seemed to be growing and things I got done also were haphazardly so. It took me a while to digest this and plan again. So, over the years, now I have started making a plan B and plan C timetables, in case the first one does not work out. Needless to say, my diary now looks like a station master’s at a busy train junction!

I have been through situations where I experience conflicting emotions about the same situation. Like, when my daughter suddenly throws a huge tantrum that I should not leave for work, but spend time with her, I am torn between despair, irritation and some weird sort of happiness. The despair is because the tantrum usually happens with people around, so I worry whether they will judge my parenting. Irritation because, I do love my work and like things neatly sorted – time for work, time for home and time for kids, and do not like it smudged (notice, notice… that there is no ‘time for me’ – which gets written in fine print of the parenting manual and hence you do not read till you are already a parent) And a weird sort of happiness, because there is someone who loves me so much that they do not mind making a big spectacle of it! I’ve never been loved that bad!

I crib about the lack of ‘me time’ and look back nostalgically at those times when reading a book meant sleeping only when it was done, when I could huddle under the razai on cold winter mornings to wake up only when I felt like, travel alone with a backpack on a whim and go out with friends for dinner on weekdays. But when I actually do get some time off like this now, and my kids are not around, I start missing them real bad. I get an urge to read out the nice part of my book to my son, cuddle with my daughter under the razai, crave for my son’s banter on a journey and prefer eating take away noodles from a shared bowl instead of going out. In short, I am not content this way or that!

It’s like I’m not myself anymore. And I do not know what I want.

But after two children, I have made peace with the fact that I will never be the same again. I’m changing with my kids and probably growing into a mom. And, that being a mom entails developing a new kind of personality. In my case, confused, frazzled at times, but absolutely loving it!

That awkward moment when…

July 12, 2015September 27, 2025preethi shanbhagLeave a comment

Some things never change. Nor do some emotions. Embarassment is one such. Happiness, a sense of calm, worry, sadness and urgency, I am used to and can quite often handle with experience. But I have a problem with embarrassment. It appears suddenly, catches me unawares and makes me really uncomfortable. I am quite the text book picture of embarrassment. I blush, stammer, make weird gestures, start feeling heat creep up my face and generally wish the earth would open up and swallow me. And, no I have not been able to learn how to handle embarrassment well. It is just there, sitting like a huge elephant in the center of a room and refusing to even budge an inch.

Well, assuming that something as problematic as this would have a ready made answer on google, I looked. And was amazed. Apart from detailed articles on where the origins of the word came, there were scholarly articles on each tiny aspect of this entity. There are different researchers who have divided it into many types based on causes and reactions to different situations. There are hundreds of youtube videos. Wow, I did not know that it was such a big deal. It felt good to know that I was a part of a larger recognized problem, not a freak of nature.

Embarassment –to put it simply, has over the years caused me a lot of embarrassment. Some of the situations which occurred, have been funny in retrospect, but have given me a lot of heartburn during. With age, I should ideally be wiser and calmer, but a few situations still have an uncanny knack of inducing mortification every single time they occur.

For example,

When I am in a chair car of the train, and the person opposite me stares intently and unflinchingly at me when I am trying my best to eat elegantly. And no, staring back does not make it better, nor does the person opposite avert his gaze. Try it!
When I meet someone I know and suddenly, my memory decides to desert me. The name plays hide and seek in my mind, and generally refuses to oblige the ‘seek’ part. And the person doggedly keeps asking me whether I remember his/ her name in front of a million others. I hem and haw and smile stupidly, all the while making excuses. Oooh.. the memory of this is already making me uncomfortable.
When I walk into a room filled with loads of people, and someone suddenly calls out my name aloud and beckons me. Everyone’s attention zeroes down on me, and I suddenly feel heat rising up my face.
When I am trying to fib my way through something, and I realize that half way through, the other person is not buying it!
When I make a big joke, that …goes flat.
When I am watching movies with my son, which have been certified to be watched ‘universally’ by our censor board, and suddenly there is a question which is really uncomfortable to answer. Like the time we were watching PK, (which incidentally was supposed to be watched under adult supervision for the child’s comfort —but ended up making the adult squirm) and my son curiously asked me what was happening inside of the dancing cars. My husband was hugely amused and shaking with silent laughter, at my bumbling attempts to answer.
And the worst, when I am anxious and develop a foot (and a huge foot at that!) in mouth syndrome. Like the time I introduced my friend’s father to a gathering as a public ‘prostitutor’, instead of public ‘prosecutor’! Needless to say I was at the receiving end of extremely cold stares from my friend for the rest of the evening, though I kept apologizing!

Over years I have accepted these incidents as an uncomfortable part of my life, which I have to live with. Like say, a wart. Ugly, occasionally painful, but definitely there.

How about all of you??

How bad is it, doc?

July 5, 2015September 27, 2025preethi shanbhagLeave a comment

There are many cliches associated with being doctors. The near dictum that doctors are next to Gods. That practicing medicine is a noble, respectable, ideal profession. In the nineties, most children in India, I would safely say, grew up with an idea that their life would be made if they became doctors, or engineers. It was the rare parent that would allow his child to choose a profession apart from these two.

According to a recent study by the WHO, despite medical schools mushrooming all over India, we still are short of doctors. The state of a patient in rural India, who needs some form of emergency medicine is still abysmally bad. So,yes,we do need doctors.

But suddenly, it almost feels like doctors are everyone’s favorite punching bag. It is as if we are a group of individuals with dubious reputations, unscrupulous, unethical and those trying to make a buck out of the poor patient’s pocket.

It is therefore probably the right time to remind ourselves that medicine is, basically, just another profession. Yes, compassion is important, as well as a sense of responsibility. But then, those with an aptitude for both should not have difficulty in finding their way into this field, just as someone with good computing skills takes up computer engineering. To deglamorise, doctors study five and a half years for a degree which tells them how tackle certain ills in a scientific manner. We do not claim to be Gods, nor are we the devil reincarnate.

I do agree that there is a lot going wrong with the practice of medicine in India. But these wrongs mainly stem from a flawed, aged, system rather than the individual doctor.

Children as young as seventeen, I believe, rarely have the maturity to realize the seriousness of a profession like medicine. In the west, medical school would be an option to only those with an undergraduate degree under their belt. I personally know of kids who take up medicine because of the glamour associated with it or because of parental pressure. When you choose a profession for the wrong reasons, the outcome seems near obviously bad.

The presence of corruption in a system which deals with life itself. In conversation with one of vice chancellors of a medical school, I get to understand that the seat matrix in any medical school across India is decided by how many palms are greased rather than, how good the patient student ratio in the teaching hospital is. We see around us a number of med schools where professors exist only on office papers, and the teaching hospital needs to be filled with fake patients who are hired during MCI inspections. We PRACTICE MEDICINE. And where the practice of teaching is poor, the confidence of a doctor to handle a patient is obviously poor.

The weird attitude that once we choose to become doctors, we, as individuals, need to give up on material gains. The salaries of doctors in rural service is pathetically low for the amount of risk that they take. To quote Atul Gawande in his book, “Better” ,doctors in rural India are the most innovative and efficient. They need to work with patchy electricity, minus specialist help, have to work against unhealthy but traditional practices to the convince the family to get the patient treated. Hence, they learn to work with enormous amount of common sense. But, the rewards materialistically or otherwise are poor. They have poor roads, horrible infrastructure, no legal aid, their children have no good schools, due to which they would have to be sent away for their education. All the while, when media glaringly shows them, that their counterparts, with half the years of education, are earning fat sums, driving the newest eye candy, spending time in malls, living in penthouses, working in centrally air conditioned offices and sending their children to international schools. Who in their right mind would choose rural service?

As doctors we ultimately deal with lives. And people. And people with a million different personalities. And these personalities, when they are under stress of illness. But nowhere in medical schools are we taught the importance of good communication, on dealing with grief, on being calm during periods of stress or emergency. It is as if we are expected to magically source this information from some place in the universe and imbibe it. The art of counseling, is not hereditary. It needs to be taught. And as my dean in med school, Prof. Dr.B.M.Hegde would quote, doctors, needed to be trained to “cure rarely, care often and comfort always”. Poor counseling skills, automatically translates to poor patient care.

Law concerning self protection, medical insurance and negligence are alien subjects when we study medicine. We only get to hear these terms when we land, slap bang in the middle of a controversy. We do make mistakes. We are human. But, mostly the health of our egos and our bank balance depend on the good health of our patients. The pleasure we get when we see a critically ill patient walk back home with a smile on his face, is probably what keeps most of my fellow doctors in the profession, despite the grueling hours and non existant social life. Hence, if we were to be taught what to do when we err, we would definitely tread with more caution, rather be caught on tv appearing like a petty criminal.

If we are a society concerned with health, then we have to understand that we have an individual responsibility towards our health. Poor lifestyle habits, not following the doctor’s advice and skipping doses, and then blaming the doctor for poor health despite taking expensive medicines is simply playing the blame game. Not acceptable.

To summarize, we need a multi pronged approach to start a change in most of these areas. Able law makers,thinkers, senior doctors and the public at large who should first understand the flawed but totteringly functional system completely. And then attempt change. Only then, we can hope for the health of the country as well as its doctors. Till then, still happy to be a doctor and enjoying it despite the hurdles!

RIP Padiyaar mam

June 30, 2015September 27, 2025preethi shanbhagLeave a comment

The beauty of the Western ghats is unparalleled. The different shades of plush green, the cold chilly wind, the clouds taking a walk with you, the mist shrouding the trees and the gushing sounds of a hidden waterfall somewhere close by. If this picture makes you yearn to take a trip right-away, hold on, this is not all! At the beginning of the ghats, there is a small quaint police station across which a lovely lake and a garden exist. Just across the garden, the aroma of hot vadas frying in hot sizzling oil, wafts towards you and pulls you along towards the ramshackle cart. Hot vadas, spicy chutney and hot milky tea – now we are talking heaven!

Since my childhood, whenever we would climb down the Agumbe ghats to enter hot sultry Mangalore, we would have a customary, compulsory stop at Padiyar mam’s vada stall. Through globalization and commercialization, the stall, which actually is rather a fancy name for a tin pushcart with plastic sheets hung across to prevent the drizzle, remained the same. Rows of cars, bikes and buses would be parked across the already small, winding road. Weary passengers who would climb down to stretch their legs would invariably be drawn towards the stall and the tasty aroma emanating from there.

The USP of the stall though, was without doubt its owner. Mr. Padiyar, who knew each and every customer by name, somehow with great clarity remember where each one’s child was studying or getting married. It somehow made you feel as if you had wandered into an indulgent uncle’s house in your neighborhood.

And the vadas. Exactly the same taste year after year, decade after decade. No expansion of the menu, no fancy improvements of the stall and no HR people. It was a sort of niche place, with only one item which was world class. Whenever we would go, he would en quire about our education, how our parents and far flung relatives were faring, and introduce us whomsoever around was interested in listening to his banter. As a teenager, this used to embarrass me greatly, but not enough to forgo the vadas! I would mutter under my breath as to why he could not just leave me alone. Every single time when we passed the ghats by bus,(which was, I am ashamed to say, was quite often, given the extent of my homesickness!), I remember, I wouldn’t go home, without the vadas sitting comfortably in my stomach.

After my MBBS , I went to Mangalore quite less. Though the trips were less frequent,when we would occasionally pass by for a wedding, a meeting or a conference, we would eagerly look forward to the stall being open. Padiyar maam (mam,which meant uncle in Konkani and kannada) would always remember. It was like homecoming. What was irritating earlier, seemed like warmth later on. He would have ten conversations side by side with different customers, but still manage to remember them all! We got to know that with this tiny business, he had managed to educate his son and daughter, who were in excellent positions. When a patron questioned him as whether he would close down to go and stay with his son, he nixed it aggressively. This is what he loved, he said, and what he would do till the end!

I met him about a fortnight ago, on my way to Manipal. Little did I know that it would be the last time. A week later he was admitted to a hospital in Shimoga with fever and delirium. It was so sad to see him and realize that he was unable to recognize anyone, let alone the thousands of friends he had made over the years. In a span of one week, he deteriorated, was diagnosed to be having a rare disease, and died. It was unbelievable. Someone whom I had seen hale and hearty, and in the pink of health , suddenly disappeared.

I never imagined that I would experience a deep sense of loss about his death. After all, he was not related to me, nor was I in constant touch with him. But feel sad, I did. I could not shake off that heavy feeling through the day. Later on, I happened to see condolence messages on whatssapp and facebook, and realized that so many more must have felt the same about him.

He was an integral part of the travelling experience. Somehow the forest and the landscape feel incomplete without him, the hungry traveler bereft. The eager wait for a few minutes respite, a soul warming snack , and comforting conversation is no more going to happen. Padiyar maam, we miss you. RIP!

Are women their own worst enemies??

June 28, 2015September 27, 2025preethi shanbhagLeave a comment

I am in a sour mood today. This usually happens when my day starts badly, or my daughter is in a god awful fussy mood or when one of my patients is not doing well. Today, the reason happens to be none of the above. Instead, it is because one of my patients told me very nonchalantly that she was pulling her daughter out of school. The girl in question was an 80 percenter, was so popular that her teachers apparently came home to beg her parents to let her continue on. But the parents were unmoved. The teachers went a step ahead and dangled a scholarship carrot which would reduce the financial burden. No difference. They explained that the college which would accept this girl was not co ed, wondering whether that was one of the parent’s concerns. No avail. Coolly, the mother tells me that she decided against it, because, hold your breath…. paying the city bus fare was not worth it!

This probably happens to many thousands of girls across India. But what pricked me most was the amount of carelessness that the mother displayed when she spoke about her daughter’s plight. She tells me that the girl cried for a while, stopped eating well and finally accepted her fate and is now working as a maid. The more I got flustered, the more calmer the mother seemed. My arguing on her behalf did not make one bit of difference. I asked her whether she did not want her daughter to be in a better financial, social position than she herself was in now? She parrots that the matter is closed and she is happy now. I ask her how she would have felt in that place. She says she was never interested in studies. I wonder whether she did not feel some amount of pity when the girl cried. She coolly denies it. And THIS makes me so mad!

I have been party to many heated debates with my friends and relatives on the matter of whether women were in fact women’s worst enemies. The topic itself used to drive me crazy. Outwardly calm, I would be fuming inside at anybody who would condescendingly support that statement. I would argue against it and sulk for the next few hours at least.

I am, I feel, slowly having to eat my own words. The amount of discrimination I see in my everyday practice is to put it mildly, is enormous. Over a period of time, I feel I have become over sensitive to it.

It creeps in so mildly, that its over before you think up a sarcastic retort that you hope will teach them a thing or two.

The wilt in the voice when they say, “ Oh, I have ONLY three daughters”, (no matter that they are all double graduates), or when they say” Please keep me healthy till I PUT my daughter into a good home” ( as if it a piece of furniture you want to sell). Or when a patient as old as my granny pats me on my head and says “ Hope you have a son who can follow your path”. Or when they proudly claim” He is my ONLY son” (after three daughters who were sired hoping for them to be sons). When relatives of mine think a hundred times before letting their daughters go to some hobby class far away from home, because “these times are soo bad”. One of my friends once told me that a patient of hers who was grateful for the care given, pulled her aside and thrust a hundred rupee note into her hand as a contribution towards her daughter’s future wedding. The implication being that it was a burden!

I am sure most of us have been through circumstances similar to these on a regular basis. And thinking back to most of these instances, the person who would have sighed the discomfort happen to be women.

Like the word BITCHING. Well accepted, commonly used and quite often by women, but so discriminatory. Somehow, it makes me feel small. Makes me feel ashamed to be a woman.

Like when I see photographs of female genital mutilation, and the people who restrain the victim are always women!

When I read reports in newspapers of mothers in law being held for dowry harassment. When I hear about two heroines having a “cat fight”. When women talk ill about other women and judge them as being characterless. Elderly women in the household who in the behest of upholding traditions of the yore, harass the younger ones. When working women are not cut any slack at home the way their spouses are. When younger women make specific demands of not wanting to live with or care for their in laws even before meeting and gauging them.

And somewhere subconsciously, it does seem as though women are the ones holding the others behind. In their defense, maybe, just maybe a few of the factors influenced their way of thinking:

Women who are less educated, end up believing myths and misconceptions easily. And because they have no solid knowledge of why what is being done, they assert themselves, mainly in front of other younger women, for all the wrong reasons. That is probably the only way they can wield authority, which defines them.
Women who marry so young that they have no idea what they are missing in their youth. The frustration shows through in their middle age, when they are angry with others who seem to have enjoyed more than they have. They end up judgmental- a classical case of sour grapes.
Some others who have been brought up in the above two scenarios who think that it is the normal way of life and repeat the cycle.
And though I seem to be repeating myself way too much, I have a serious grouse against the typecasting ways of the television soaps, which mouth dialogues like “ a girl’s place is always next to her husband” , “ Once married, only my dead body will go back to my maternal home” or “how will you ever live alone in this big bad world( and hence you need marriage asap!) and the like… I’m sure you get the thread. In most homes, people from all age groups between three to a hundred sit glued to watch these. Probably subconsciously start believing that this is the way the world thinks.

I agree these may be oversimplifications, but at least they may help us to start the rehab work.

The theory of women being women’s worst enemies may not actually be true. We hear stories of women having done great service to their fellow beings and the world in general. Women who brave the odds and manage to reach the top.Women who have helped out their children and displayed grit and determination in helping them reach great heights. I feel strongly that these are the stories that need to be venerated, celebrated and followed in media, kept as mandatory reading since primary school, as dinner table discussions in most homes, and as heroines of prime time tv. The social media network and the internet, still only reaches very few.

And then hopefully, this adage will die a fitful death!

A trip into a jungle.

June 13, 2015September 27, 2025preethi shanbhagLeave a comment

I have often had the experience of hunting for something very important or valuable all over the place, only to find that it was sitting just there, under my nose, all the time. You end up wondering why you had not even thought about starting your search there! This was exactly what I felt when I visited the Bhadra wildlife sanctuary.

Just about 32 kms from where I live (in Shimoga), nestled amid the Western Ghats,is the Bhadra wildlife Reserve, which gets its name from the river Bhadra, which feeds the jungle. It is accessible through a government jungle lodge, a breed which is getting popular for people who want to gel with nature, alongside basic but necessary amenities.It is now a popular weekend getaway, with the added attraction of water sports like banana boating, water trampoline and kayaking which was what made us venture there in the first place.

I have been to the resort many a times with friends of ours, to have a lazy lunch after a frenzied session of romping in the water with kids and hence, would have no time or energy to indulge in a safari on a hot afternoon.Luckily for me, last week, I was booked into the safari inadvertently, because my daughter refused to go without me. I climbed into the safari jeep cribbing at first, but by the end of it, I was so serenely, blissfully happy that I have made return plans ASAP.

Bhadra jungle reservoir lies on the border between the districts of Shimoga and Chikamagalur. It has a large water reservoir as a part of it and has been declared as a Project Tiger Reserve since 1998. The actual jungle is situated about 4 kms from the River Tern Jungle Lodge, which is named after the terns which throng the place for breeding. As the jungle is a part of the Western Ghats, there is an amazing amount of bio diversity.I can safely claim that I have never seen so many trees, animals, birds and insects ever in my life in a short span of two hours, apart from in a zoo!

The jungle is lush, green and so very silent apart from the incessant creaks of some insects interrupted by a burst of chatter by the monkeys. Trees are so densely packed, that sunlight seems to be struggling to make its way through. And then suddenly there is a huge meadow in between left behind by the receding waters of the reservoir, where we sight upon a large herd of spotted deer.

Though we saw no tigers or elephants( I am told that you usually see the elephants coming in herds of 60 to 80 all at once to drink water early in the morning-what a grand sight that must be!), we had our hearts fill with a hoard of smaller, unexpectedly cute, strange and interesting animals.Whenever I used to read in the papers that the western ghats were a hot spot of biodiversity, and home to thousands of species of animals, I used to be skeptical. A lot of what I saw of the ghats were of the road side view,when I traveled. Now, I know that human habitation and intrusion probably makes the animals decide to venture backwards into the heart of the forest, which again offers little solace as trees are being felled indiscriminately! I wish all of you people could come and have a look at the magnificence of nature, so we could protect it all before it is too late!

two huge gaurs looking at us — *two huge gaurs looking serenely at us*

We saw tree snakes aplenty, slimy, bright green and thin, but were too scared to click snaps when we saw them up close and personal! Spotted deer, giant red squirrels, serpent eagles, spotted owls, peacocks, marsh crocodiles, monitor lizards, langurs, and a wide variety of birds of all colors, supremely unperturbed and oblivious to our curious gaze and hushed cries of excitement when we spotted them. It was nice to see that the animals seemed to be unafraid of our intrusion. We were glad to feel accepted by them.

*can you spot a camouflaged monitor lizard on the log of wood?*

Some important facts you should know before you get there:

It is about 300 kms from Bangalore by road.
The lodge has no television, so if you bring kids along, get something to keep them occupied.
Be careful as you can see snakes often all over, apparently most being non poisonous. This is not to scare you, but so you can get rid of your phobia before you visit!
Information regarding the place is available on the internet.

Must see, must visit- definitely a worthy trip into the jungle!

bringing up mother!

May 30, 2015September 27, 2025preethi shanbhagLeave a comment

Volumes are written about how to bring up children. Everyone who is someone seems to have their own theory about how best to do it. If one feels that sparing a rod helps spoil the child, then another radically different one claims that children should be raised as free spirits. Magazines, newspaper articles, google searches and even pamphlets distributed with newspapers are taking over the task of telling mothers today, in great detail, about what their children need. Starting from the absolute need to enrol your child in a so and so preschool, to the need for developing multiple intelligence, about how you need to be their ‘friend’, how vacations and quality time are most needed and so on.

When I was a first time mother, I felt that parenting can be learnt by the book, and that books of psychology (both pop and serious!) would provide answers to all my parenting queries. It was shocking to realise that a lot of my beliefs were misplaced. The second time through, I was confident about how practical experience with my first child would pull me through the mothering confidently. Again, I came out confused and scrambled.

Taking care of two children and being a working parent seemed to mimic the experience of being put through the wringer of a washing machine on more days than less. I would wonder about the glowing pictures of mothers and happy kids that I would see in commercials and decide that it was just a marketing gimmick. No woman in her right mind could look that peaceful with two growing kids! At about the same time, I did notice that there were women around me without any high flying degrees, lesser help at home and still considering adding a third child to the list! And, surprisingly, there was no hint of panic anywhere visible on their face or demeanour. The more I interacted with them, the more I came to realise that these people had mastered the art of really enjoying their kids.

Lately, I have come to realize that you have to unlearn almost anything and everything that you heard, read or were qualified in. Of course advice helps, books give you confidence, but on the whole, it is a process of learning new things and going by what you feel is right.

On my earlier list of priorities, I had things like disciplined routine, spending time with the child doing some educational but interesting activity, making sure that I was adhering to the school’s guidelines for being an almost perfect mom and hence as a result of all these, having two perfectly behaved angels who would do me proud. Of course, I would put no pressure, but why would they need it? They would already be perfect.

Think about it- we have many such ideas which tell us how to mould and change our child. But in the process, we have hardly thought about how we, as parents need to change and grow alongside our children. Probably because it is so didactic and sad, many of us do not enjoy the process of parenting. We do love our children, but wish that they behave impeccably all the time and that their problems would sort themselves out miraculously, and they grow into poster kids who make us proud!

Both my children have temperaments as different as chalk and cheese. The one who mostly an introvert would suddenly shift gears in the most inappropriate of occasions! The other one who was wholesomely an extrovert, would choose to be at her grouchiest best on occasions when her amicability needed to be on display! And this was just one difference. The obsessive in me sought to find control, discipline them (by fair means and foul- by which I mean, scolding,pleading,bribes and emotional blackmail), but nothing seemed to work.

Then I thought of a civilized way of solving things. I told them that I would make a list of things which I appreciate about them and one more of things which I did not. They could make a similar one about me. And we would swap lists and try to change the things which were in the list of “not so cool”. They took a minute to ponder before they accepted my suggestion. After about 10 minutes of intense concentration, the papers were handed to me. My list was pretty long and winding about each one. I again told them that it was only their behavior that was targeted, and I loved them in spite of “not so cool” stuff- just as explained in psychology text books. We went over each item of my list, with murmurs of assent and dissent. And then it was time to open the list they made. I prided myself over the fact that I was being an intellectual parent by allowing my kids to poke holes in my parenting method. When I did open the paper, I was surprised to the list empty!

My son smiled sheepishly saying, “Well, we tried, but there was nothing that I could list in the negatives. And the rest is all positive. So, I did not take the trouble of writing! sorry”. To be honest, I know that I’m not the best mother in business. I am lazy some days, so involved in my book that I will not listen to their stories on some other, have strict rules about their behavior when we go out, have a certain fixed idea about how they should dress, occasionally lie my way out of things and have double standards. And I also know that at least my son is now old enough to spot these foibles of mine. I was so humbled and touched to be given a clean chit despite all this. This probably is what is called unconditional love, something which we forget to dole out as we age!

Well, my children taught me a valuable lesson that day. To love completely without holding back, accept our faults but still love, nonetheless. It sort of melted my overbearing sense of discipline. Now I don’t seem to mind lego blocks over the floor, unfolded sheets, waking up uncomfortable with a toy under me, books all over the house, and an occasional piece of cookie on my bed! I can tolerate tantrums better. I don’t fly off the handle and think about how my life was cleaner and easier before kids.I still haven’t changed completely, but I am on my way, and can slowly feel the spring creeping back into my step!

Thanks my babies! In the process of bringing you up, you are teaching me valuable lessons and definitely helping in my upbringing!

Memories of kashmir.

May 24, 2015September 27, 2025preethi shanbhagLeave a comment

Every time I visit a new place, there are a few things about it that I end up storing away between the folds of my brain. These memories are unique, customized and last me forever. There may be things which everyone remembers, important monuments which I may forget, but these special memories stay with me and make my experience unique. Thanks to digital cameras, (the old ones meant that I lost quite a lost of my pictures because of over or under exposure) and now smart phone cams, most of what I want to retain comes easier to me. Kashmir gave me many such favorite moments which I wanted to share.

A few of the photographs have been borrowed from our friend Dr. Deepak, courtesy a better camera to capture the same scene as compared to my phone cam.

1.This photograph was taken early in the morning from our houseboat on the first day of our trip. It was a cold chilly day, and we saw this couple start their day of work as usual. They seemed oblivious to the scenery around them, concentrating steadfastly on their work of fishing. They worked in harmony, no words needed. The mountains in the back, the bluish light of dawn and still waters made for a beautiful click.

On the way to Pehelgaum, we spotted a roadside stream and stopped for a photo shoot. There were some girls from nearby villages watching us curiously. We were reluctant to approach them at first, wondering how they would react. Finally when we did ask them, they were really excited and did an entire photo shoot with us! I love the smile on the first girl’s face. Such happiness!

This was a lovely sunset at Nishatbag, Srinagar. All of us tired after a long day. We were supposed to go to a Kashmiri friend’s home for dinner. There was a little bit of unease owing to the fact that, the area we were venturing into was a little unsafe, within the old city of Srinagar. Most of us were worried, but had no energy to think of an alternative. So we just sat and stared. And then came across such a lovely sunset,that it left me spell bound.
Well, the old city did come across as a scary place. There were no street lights, small gullies, houses packed against each other, and an eerie silence. There were broken down dust coated maruti cars, old scooters and small joints where boys stood smoking cigarettes and staring at people passing by. But, on the plus side, we got to see an authentic kashmiri house, which is so different from the ones we live in. There are huge completely opaque gates in front of every house. There are innumerable neat glass windows, but all are firmly shut.Even if a few of them are, they hide the innards of the house with gossamer thin lace curtains from which you can see some partly hidden faces peering out! On the first floor of this house, there was a small kitchen cum bedroom. Then on, upstairs a room with a single light bulb and huge pillows to lean on to while sitting on the floor. The floors are made of wood and carpeted. Food is served on a mat, and we need to pick whatever we want sitting around it. But the food compensated for any fear that we might have experienced. Our hosts, in an attempt to make us feel comfortable told us that they had stopped eating non vegetarian fare three days ago, to prevent us from feeling uncomfortable when we ate from the same china! Though we had not even thought about this, we were touched that they had been so thoughtful and hospitable!Each dish was finger licking tasty and we felt royal washing our hands from a huge samovar (a kettle like apparatus made of silver).
This photograph is my favorite. It looks like the snow is starting to form a wave and trying to move on. It almost seems alive to me.
We trekked on to a mountain about 7000 feet above sea level at Sonmarg. We were out of breath, cold and out in the open with frozen nose tips.Though it was beautiful, there seemed to be a hidden element of danger lurking somewhere. A sudden thought came unbidden that if we were actually trapped on to this mountain with no one around, it would have been really scary. This was when, as if on cue, we happened to spot a small hut across the expanse of snow. Our guide informed us that it was both a mosque and a temple for people who had strayed to pray for their survival. Unfortunately it was closed, but the image stayed.
This is a Chinar tree up close and personal. The leaves resemble maple trees and the color is a vibrant green belying the fact that the tree is at least 400 years old according to the board stuck on it. It feels so new and so old at the same time.
Kashmir is such a photographers paradise that you cannot help clicking away continuously. It is one place where you wish your eyes had inbuilt cameras to film what you saw continuously to remember for a later day. Choosing these few were a difficult task, so I hope you enjoy it and feel a little whiff of kashmir inside you:)

Jannat.

May 17, 2015September 27, 2025preethi shanbhagLeave a comment

*a view of srinagar with hazratbal shrine in the background*

There is a sense of trepidation at the beginning of any holiday. Especially when a holiday is hard earned, and has burned a reasonably big sized hole in your pocket. When I am travelling so far away from the place I stay, and when I know that the place I am going to was and is a place which has had a troubled history. Kashmir. The name itself generates a gamut of emotions from within. A sense of fear,awe, a thrill of excitement, a surge of patriotism and a burning urge to go on and explore despite all of these.

They say that first impressions are the best impressions, and aptly, the sight of Kashmir from the plane window was enough to convince me that this was a holiday well taken. I have always had a thing for the mountains. They make me somehow invigorated. At one end, they convey a sense of peacefulness, and wisdom akin to an experienced patriarch quietly observing life and whose presence gives you a sense of security like no other. At the same time, they feel like someone young, rough on the edges, dangerous but beautiful like a sorceress. Bewitching, dragging you into her spell to never let you go again.

*love at first sight- a view of the valley from the plane*

And Kashmir is a valley nestled between a ring of such mountains. Looking out from the window of any hotel room is guaranteed to give you a glimpse of all kinds of mountains. Some, dark, gloomy and jagged and others on which the clouds seem to be caressing the rich carpet of snow on top. The valley is filled with houses with slanting bright colored roofs which glitter in the sun. Everything appears sharper than it does in the rest of the world, as though you were looking through a HDR camera filter. One could keep looking forever and not get bored. Every look is click worthy and you finally get exhausted just trying to sort the photographs you have clicked in over enthusiasm.

*these are real flowers being sold on a shikara*

Srinagar, the summer capital of J&K, is a large, sleepy city surrounded by lakes and gardens. The lakes are filled with shikaras (boats) and house boats. The boats men told us that they were born on small boats on the Dal lake, and as soon as they were old enough to learn to swim, they were taught to row and given a boat of their own to go about their everyday work, like the way we own bicycles! It is a common sight to see small kids in uniforms and hijabs being rowed by their mothers to and from schools. The houseboats in itself are grand affairs built in with intricate carvings, wall to wall embroidered carpets, four poster beds and delicate cutlery to eat out of. Our cook rowed back and forth in his small shikara to bring us piping hot food from his home, which happens to be (no prizes for guessing), another boat!

*a samovar from which hot tea (kashmiri kahwa) is served*

The city of Srinagar, is bustling and full of traffic. The best view of the city comes from across the Dal lake, with the backdrop of the Hazratbal shrine. This shrine contains the hair of the Prophet, which is displayed to devotees at different times in a year. This shrine allows people of all faiths to pray and visit. Lal Chowk, which got its name from the massacre of a few militants in 1963, looks like any other market area from any city across India. The only difference is the silent presence of army personnel everywhere carrying rifles and walking about as a routine. Apparently, according to our guide, incidences of stone pelting, and street fights between the police and locals are so common that they don’t scare them anymore! At first the omnipresent presence of the convoy of army trucks and so many weapons around makes you uneasy, but as time goes by, just like the kashmiris, you get used to them and then they seem to fade away into the scenery.

Another amazing landmark is the Adishankara temple. It is said that Shankaracharya climbed on to this peak and meditated, before he set up a shrine there. The small cave which he meditated in has been preserved intact. And it seems easy to understand why he chose such a place. It offers a grand view of the valley below, and mountains around. It must have been a hundred times more beautiful in his time, if that is possible. It also must have taken a lot of will power to close his eyes to meditate as against just continuing to look.

The Mughal gardens and Nishatbag are abodes to huge chinar trees which are hundreds of years old and have probably witnessed the turbulence and grandeur of Kashmir with equal poise. The gardens reminded me of the Forbidden City of Beijing, China,in the way they are built. The first portion for the commoners, an area behind for the harem and ministers, then on for the king and the queen. There must have been so much similarity in the culture and systems of the yore!

Away from Srinagar, the roads are winding, small, with small quaint picturesque villages all over, which gives it the name of Switzerland of India. But in contrast, most villages up close have dilapidated, burnt down houses, age worn creased faces of the villagers telling you of their suffering, schools where kids have to walk from afar, and people sitting idly smoking hookahs. Through their travails, people seem to have learnt to enjoy the small pleasures of life. We saw in these villages, boys lazily playing cricket ( incidentally, I never knew that Kashmir produced cricket bats and has so many bat factories), villagers distributing free rotis in wicker willow baskets as a part of some festival, giggly girls doing their washing near crystal clear streams just off the roads. It may be a sense of acceptance that keeps them happy, or maybe the sight of so much tranquil, natural beauty around them. Or maybe it is just the sight of the mountains.

aru valley, pehalgaum -- wish I had a house there — *aru valley, pehalgaum — wish I had a house there*

Gulmarg, Sonmarg, Pehalgaum each offered us snow and mountains to our hearts content. These places seem to be made for early morning walks to watch the sun rise on the mountains, listen to the gurgling, rushing sound of rivers, hot kahwa steaming mist on my spectacles, smelling the clear mountain air with a hint of pine, lazy evenings of huddling in front of warm fires with monkey caps and shawls, and a persistent sense of confusion whether you want to finish the book you started on the plane or just soak in the scenery for future reference (for once, I chose the latter).

Kashmir is a land of contrasts. The natural beauty is so abundant that you are scared to blink lest you miss something. But the cities and towns are crowded, stuffy and basic though quaint in its own way. The people are so extraordinarily hospitable and warm, that you wonder whether the history of violence and terrorism that haunts the place was all but a myth. You feel as if you belong, but then somewhere at the back of your mind, there is a voice nudging you that you may not be let in so close.

Definitely as our kashmiri guide called it — “jannat”, albeit a troubled one!

Food, glorious food.

May 9, 2015September 27, 2025preethi shanbhagLeave a comment

To call myself a foodie would be an understatement. My love affair with food began quite early. Even as a child, I was somehow drawn to food the way sugar draws ants. In a way, my obsession with food and books have a mutually common base and an intensely satisfying connection with each other!

By virtue of being a painfully shy kid, I was always happy hiding behind books, which acted as my comfort zone. My earliest memories of reading go back to when I was 7, and when I was given an Enid Blyton book of a circus girl, Carlotta, and her adventures. For someone who had a secret appetite for adventure, her life almost seemed magical. More awe inspiring though, were the different kinds of food described in the book. I must say, Enid Blyton was a master in making the most drab of foods seem so gourmet like, that I grew up on fantasized versions of Ginger beer, sandwiches, lemonade (which I later discovered was a fancy name for nimbu pani!), boiled eggs, fresh fruits, jam, pickles, midnight feasts and picnics over the hillside. These were the dreams that my childhood was made of. I would almost smell the mountain air, feel the texture of the sandwich and hallucinate the taste of ginger beer. Through Malory towers, Famous five and Five find outers, unconsciously I became a fan of food.

My make believe games involved getting some food from the bakery, putting it in a basket, laying it out and having imaginary picnics with myself, and of course my books for company! Over the years, my love for food diversified from street food and chaat to food from north Indian restaurants(which in the 80s were the only alternative cuisine available in Shimoga) and later a fetish for Chinese. Even as my memory for other important things fails me at that most crucial of times, like names of people whom I am definitely supposed to be knowing; food memories never deny me that favor. I still remember the taste of Hakka noodles made by a small Chinese joint in Shimoga which shut shop a few months later due to lack of regular patrons (other than me, of course!).

Over the years, my love for books and food grew in equal measure, both competing for the first spot. My college days in Mangalore opened new avenues to explore, the best of both worlds. I think I must be the only person who spent all her pocket money on food and the library. I am sure though, that I am the only person in the whole world who read loads of crappy mills and boons only to enjoy the description of food which is described in it rather than the romance! I was introduced to fancy names, french food, Hors d’ oeuvres(which by the way, I still do not know how to pronounce), wine and the mouth watering deserts like Crepe Suzette which I enjoyed by proxy, through these books.

Back then, the only kind of food writing that I knew of were cook books, which describe cooking in a really dull, drab way, measuring each ingredient in great detail, and eventually spoiling the spontaneity of it all! Which is why, I love the way Nigella Lawson cooks. Just by instinct- a handful of this, a sprinkle of that, a bunch of coriander torn right out of the garden, whisk it all together, and viola! You have a drool worthy dish in front of you! Any ways, I’m digressing, which usually happens when I am talking food.

Coming back to the point, I only got to know that there was a genre’ called food writing when I discovered a book at a sale. The book called “Endless feasts”, edited by Ruth Reichl, is a collection of articles that various food journalists in Europe and America. The book describes delicious traditional breakfasts of Maine, the grandiose dinners at Ritz in Paris, and stories of how Italian home food is made. Though being a vegetarian meant that I could not even try most of what was described, the descriptions were enough to make my mouth water! From then on, I was hooked! Every book shop I went to, I would scour in the cooking section for hidden gems like these. They are really difficult to find, and when I did chance upon one, they would be quite harsh on my purse! Nevertheless, over the years I have managed to make up my very own small yet tasty food library! In fact, these are the only books which I return to again and again, when I am in distress. They are my therapists!

For those of you who dig books like these, a list of my favorites:

1. Eating India, by Chitrita Banerjee — which describes the different cuisines of India elaborately along with the history attached to each kind of food. For example, the culinary mastery of chef Pir Ali, who delighted the Nizam of Lucknow’s English guests by presenting a pie which contained tiny live birds which flew away when the crust was opened! Maybe, some connection to the English rhyme, sing a song of six pence….. Such anecdotes makes each dish interesting and each cuisine worth exploring. Different cuisines of India are thoroughly explored and tasted, leaving you slightly full and satiated, by the time you put the book down.

2. Kheer,Korma and Kismet, by Pamela Timms — who is a Scottish Journalist, living in Delhi. This book describes the yummy street food(my favorite kind) of Delhi in vivid detail, down to romantic gully names like Hauz Qazi Chowk,Ballimaran and Chawri Bazaar which elevate the food from the streets to something more exotic and something for which you want to catch the next train to Delhi in a tearing hurry. Daulat ka chaat, phirni, chana bathura,kheer… I’m coming!

Hot tea across India, by engineer turned writer Rishad Saam Mehta. I have always been a lover of coffee, but this book converted me. The book describes the author’s tryst with different types of tea all over India and anecdotes built around it. It describes a journey he took on his bike and how he encountered diverse people, simple meals, different but tasty versions of tea. Definitely my cup of tea!(pun intended)

3. Choclat, by Joanne Harris . Though this book is about a bigger something, with a moral behind the story and all that, the main attraction remains … yes,the chocolate. Believe me, when you read this book, you can actually smell the warm smells of bread and hot chocolate emanating out of the book. Pralines, marzipans, pastries, hot chocolate and bonbons creep into your dreams and give you a feeling of fuzzy happiness.

4. It is said that Delhi is a city which has been rebuilt eight times! Each time it got looted and destroyed, it rose again like a phoenix from the ashes. For someone who has gone through so much gore, the city looked calm and composed when we visited it in the winter.

5. Eat, pray love, by Elizabeth Gilbert . Well, to be more specific, the EAT part of the book. That someone could travel to an unknown place, just to experience eating made me feel as if I was reading about a kindred spirit! I would soo do it, if I could just brush my other responsibilities under the carpet! And to go to Italy, would be icing on the cake, but I would be happy just about anywhere! After this book, I don’t feel so weird anymore for being in love with food.

6.The temporary bride by Jennifer Klinec. This book is a non vegetarians delight. It describes the various kinds of food prepared in Iran, and how two people fell in love while exploring food. Some of the food described slightly grossed me out, but nevertheless, I would certainly recommend it for the lovely description of the food given.

There are many more such books which describe food with the love and attention that it deserves on my wish list. With instagram, good reads and tv shows, my ongiong love affair with food has reached new proportions. But, how much ever these tempt me, there is nothing like the comfort you get when you are curled up with a good book, a cup of chai, a plateful of pakodas, or a bar of dairy milk crackle, or a bag of kurkure, or french fries, or paneer chilli or…hmmmm… the list goes on.