Saturday, June 22, 2019

On Writing & Other Things

Dear Lord, has it been almost a year since I updated this thing?

Jeez. I guess I've had a lot going on.

Oh, who am I kidding. I'm just busy with work, and then updating silly things on Facebook these days. It's like something I read in Deep Work by Cal Newport, about a guy who said he could be writing 10,000 emails in a year that didn't eventually matter, or end up with a bestselling novel. Ironically, I couldn't deep enough into Deep Work. Must try and finish it...tomorrow!

Okay, but speaking of Novels hopefully which will be bestsellers....



So this little beauty of a cover will be on the shelves next month, along with some half-day decent writing inside it  ( at least I think so).

Apart from that, what's going on? Hmmm. Well, I'm working in the food industry now and am a few months into a highly interesting job marketing none other than pizzzzaaas, which is just so much fun! That's been keeping me terribly busy, and I've realized that ever since I've gone back into mainstream marketing leadership roles over the last few years, I've had hardly any time to write. This book, Those Days in Delhi, was written originally several years ago during the time that I was on my sabbatical.

I really am amazed by how much I wrote during that sabbatical. Even the sequel to my first book, 'Just Married, Please Excuse' could be out sometime next year IF I get around to actually working on the draft that I had created back then. Happily, my editors have already expressed interest in this sequel and that should theoretically provide me with a lot of motivation to work on it. But I think I have something else whirling around in my mind, and am yet to kick myself hard enough on the butt to get moving on it. From past experience, this will happen when it happens. Or then again, it may not.

At this point, as far as the writing goes, I can pause and take stock -

Just Married, Please Excuse ( 2012)
Sorting Out Sid ( 2014)
There's Something About You (2015)
When Love Finds You ( 2016)
Peanut Has a Plan (2016)
How I Became a Farmer's Wife ( 2018)
Peanut vs. The Piano ( 2018)
Those Days in Delhi ( 2019)

I know what you're thinking. Don't say it. You're thinking 'Hmmm. And what were you doing in 2013 and 2017?'

Just kidding. I remember good ol' Arco of HarperCollins saying to me in 2012 'When it comes to creating a social media presence, do it for your author profile, not for your book. After all, by the time you're 40, you'll perhaps have written five books.'

I'm 39 years old now. That's eight books in the Indian market. It's not meant any financial success at all. In fact, here's what young Peanut had to say about it a few years ago -


 That's right. She wrote 'My Mom is an author and a famous one. We're not really that rich like I expect other famous authors to be.'

Nice, Peanut. Real nice.

She wasn't exactly accurate about the famous part either. Over the years, my books would have reached a few tens of thousands of readers, and look how prolific I've been. But over time, I've also lowered my expectations of money and fame from writing. In fact, it serves me greatly in my professional sphere to be able to keep my author-identity and my work-identity separate. And not worrying too much about marketing and sales when it comes to my own creations is a real relief in so many ways. I wouldn't say anything cliched like 'It allows me to focus on the art form itself' - writing is merely self-expression for me, a great release, and more than anything else a way of just sharing my own imperfections with the world; which I hope in turn helps at least some people also look at their own imperfect lives with a little more humour and kindness and understanding. I think that's enough for me.

What else? Since last year, what has transpired? Vijay is still at it with his farming, resilient in the face of all the strange vagaries of nature, local panchayats, and what not, with some ten acres that he purchased in some obscure part of MP. The kids are doing well - young Peanut is now almost as tall as me ( I cannot believe how time flies), and Pickle and Papad are long-legged bratty pre-teens as well (gasp!). My sister and brother-in-law moved to Dublin, of all places, just a little further along from Gurgaon where they were our neighbours - we visited them last month and the place is just so nice. Wouldn't mind living there, if you ask me. The work scene is interesting and challenging, to say the least, although I will tell you that I can make a fantastic pizza now thanks to three weeks of in-store training ( with many of my friends remarking this is the longest I've ever spent in a kitchen). Music continues, and this year I am apparently going in for a vocal exam - the first I've ever given and my teacher is pushing me straight into Grade 5 (!) - I might fail, but I think it will be fun anyway, since Peanut and I are practising together. The piano and guitar haven't seen much progress, but I've decided that since I have trouble meditating, I'm going to be pretending my music is meditation. Well, it is really. Weekend Zumba and Strong by Zumba continue, although that's sporadic. I think it's largely thanks to practice during my sabbatical that I genuinely don't think any of this is too much. Okay, that's a lie, I have been feeling really frazzled of late, but I feel that it's not so much the doing of all of these things; it's in the thinking about it in a judgmental way 'Didn't practice today...what's the point...when will I ever finish that..and what about....oh dear.' You get the picture.

Sometimes I look at back this video and want to kick this happy smiling sorted version of me in the shins. But then I remember how I was genuinely so excited  to share this idea with the world - the idea that you can do so much more with your life. My happiness actually shines through in this talk, and I meant every word.




By the way, just because I felt like I had a little extra time on my hands, this year I also have got got trained and certified to be a coach. You know - the life coach, executive coach variety? I've currently managed to do about 25 hours of coaching, and am aiming at accreditation sometime next year, but not putting any hard timeline around it yet. I have 6 coachees from different walks of lives and the weekends that I get to sit down with them for an hour or so each are amazing; this simple thing about giving someone the space to just talk and be themselves, it opens up so many insights and is as fabulous an experience for as it seems useful and productive and sometimes, fascinating for them. I feel as though sometime in the future I'll be doing something serious in this space.

Finally - yes, I turned 39 this year. I'm much older and a little wiser than when I started this blog, oh, 12 years ago! And this year I did the best possible thing by way of gifts - I threw myself a party (okay, Vijay did all the actual work), but I curated a list of books that I wanted my friends to give me and each of them sent or bought me 2-3 books - I've got a very, very rich library of books to go through this year. It's such a win-win. They didn't have to think much about what to get me; no clutter in my house with vases and sweaters; no heartburn about getting the wrong gift; no wastage of money because the average outlay was a few hundred bucks. I just wish I'd thought of this several years ago. There's nothing like a great bookshelf to make some people happy.

Which brings it back nicely to the theme of books. I don't know when I'll write next. I don't know what I'll write next. But I do know that I'd like to just do it my way. 'Those Days in Delhi' is an unusual book in itself, very different from my previous ones. It's set in Delhi of the nineties and is a pretty personal tale, told with humour and love, and I'm hoping it resonates with a large number of people, who will relate with the trials and tribulations of growing up as an awkward, middle-class kid. It may or may not sell a huge number of copies. I just hope it makes a number of people laugh and maybe sniffle a little as they are transported back to their own days of summer holidays and peacock feather hunts and climbing mango-trees and being the misfit in middle-school. That's actually enough for me.

Until later.




Sunday, August 12, 2018

Parenting Lessons, Mostly from the Kids


God Vs. Ma

Pickle is very fascinated by an author of funny poems, whose name escapes me at the moment. But he has been reading out poems from a big fat black book to us and one of his favourites is one titled God Vs. Ma - all about the contradictory instructions that children get from God ( play with lovely stray dogs) versus Ma ( don't touch him, be careful). You get the drift.

So the kids were debating in front of me about who's right in general - God versus Mom. And Peanut says slyly -

'Well, you know, that's hard to decide...because God is also very important...and Ma, well, she's here right now and listening so it's hard to tell the truth.'

Thanks, kids.

What's the Time?

At the bus-stop, Pickle displays his usual patience. 'Mom, what time is it?'

'It's 8.15 a.m.' I say automatically.

'How can it still be 8.15?' He demands. 'That's what you said earlier too.'

'Yes.' I admit. 'But earlier was 10 seconds ago.'

'It's not 8.15, mom.' He whines. 'It's LATER and the bus is LATE and...'

'Oh, just give it a rest, Pickle. It'll be here soon.'

'Show me your phone!' He insists.

'No!' I put it out of reach.

'MOM' He grapples for it, and finally grabs my other wrist and looks at the time on my fitness tracker, just as the numbers on it changes.

'See?' He says sagely. 'I TOLD you it was wasn't 8.15!' The bus pulls up just then as he finishes triumphantly. 'And the bus is LATE.''

The kids pick up their bags and run off, and I swallow my irritation and stand waving at them. I silently wish them a good day, but even more, their teachers.

So Good a Tune

We're walking around the colony together, Pickle and I and he's humming to himself, a bounce in his step.

He's enthusiastic but a little tone-deaf and so it takes me a while to figure it out.

'Pickle?'

'Yes Mum?'

'Were you just humming...the National Anthem?'

He beams. 'Yes Mum.'

'Er, why? You know we're supposed to stand at attention with it, right, and...'

He bursts out. 'I can't HELP it MUM it's SO GOOD a tune they made it! Na-na-na-na-mana-adhinayaka..na-na-na...'

He continues to hum the tune, skipping alongside me. I smile and let him violate the rule I don't even know who made up. It's nice that a kid actually likes the tune. It is a pretty cool tune.

Doesn't quite know me yet, but he will

The twins are excited to have been put into the Sports program at school. Which is nice because it helps channel their excess energy, of which they have a lot, and it keeps them at school longer these days which is always nice for me too.

Papad says 'I'm so happy with morning sports! And I made a new friend! He's SO nice and he plays really well, and he was on my team. I like him!'

I'm glad. 'Really? That's great. What's his name?'

Papad looks confused. 'I'm not sure. I'll ask him tomorrow.'

'Well that's great.' I'm always amused how kids don't think details such as names are necessary for establishing friendships. 'Yeah, ask your new friend tomorrow.'

Papad seems to be thinking it's time to confess. 'Actually, he doesn't know I'm his friend yet. But I'll tell him that tomorrow too.'

I stifle a chuckle.

'Yeah, son. Good idea. Do that.'

Bad Parenting

'So, Mom.' Papad says. 'I have a queschun. '

'Okay, what?'

'Is it Man Day Tory to go to college?'

'Yes. It's mandatory.' I secretly marvel at his growing vocabulary even as I swallow my horror at the question.

'But then how will I play football in the World Cup?'

'Er,' I don't know the details here but it's best to nip these things in the bud. 'You can play football in the World Cup and study, you know. You'll just have to make sure you continue to read and study for the exams even while you're on the field, in the bus, and so on.'

He considers this for a moment and then concludes. 'I think I'll just skip college.'

'Oh no you can't.' I say immediately, and then more gently 'It's Man Day Tory, remember?'

'What does that mean, Mom? Will the police come and arrest me if they find out I didn't go to college?'

I know very well what I'm supposed to say at this point.

'Yes, son,' I nod slowly. ' That's exactly what will happen. Best to avoid it.'

It's just easier this way. I'll tell him some other year, if it comes up again.

Making Herself Useful

Sundays are really weird for me. I can't quite wait for the chance to breathe. But when I do get an hour that looks suspiciously free, it bothers me and I become very restless and start tidying up. Just like my mother used to weekends.

Peanut has no such qualms - she can lie about on the sofa languidly for hours, reading or re-reading one of the three hundred books that she has somehow secreted into the house. But right now, she's been in infected by some strange kind of enthusiasm, possibly from her pesky brothers. So she's practicing some sort of Taekwondo kicks by herself in the drawing room, and narrowly misses kicking my ear as I pass her carrying an armful of books to put on the shelf.

'Peanut.' I scold crossly. 'Stop that. And why don't you do something to make yourself useful?'

Peanut stops with the kicks and begins bobbing up and down on the spot itself. 'Okay Mom. Shall I scream because I'm happy? Is that something useful?'

I'm about to tell her off but I open and then shut my mouth.

'Whatever. ' I manage finally, in a gruff manner. 'Go ahead if you must.' I walk away as quickly as I can, get into my ear and cover my ears as the high-pitched squealing begins.

Truth is, that's probably a pretty good way to spend a Sunday.



Sunday, June 10, 2018

Hindustan Times Reviews 'How I Became A Farmer's Wife'

I loved this! View it on Ht.com


Midway through this narrative, one pauses to wonder what the fuss about being a farmer’s wife is all about. In these troubling times when farmers are in the news for all the wrong reasons, no woman in her wildest dreams would think longingly about being a farmer’s wife. Neither did Yashodhara Lal, a working mother of three hyperactive kids, whose life swings between the extremes of managing a dreary boss and a husband in pursuit of creating a steady supply of organic milk from his own farm.

Part memoir and part fiction, How I became a Farmer’s Wife is really about the quest for change, for something different from the repetitive conditioning of urban life. Outwardly everything looks calm, but the turmoil within disturbs life’s rhythms. The comfortable steel-and-chrome high-rises of Gurugram with their challenges, the author seems to imply, are like a tea cup with soggy biscuit bits lumped at the bottom to destroy the tea-drinking experience.

In the now familiar genre of tales of techies quitting their high-paying jobs, this story is about the coming to life of Vijay who, only a short while before, was slump-shouldered and resigned to his daily routine. That he found a new meaning in cows and crops is only part of the story; that his better half finds comfort in yoga as she unwillingly pursues a corporate career to help him with his dream is the second part. ‘Why don’t you take up yoga again; you seemed to feel a little better at that time?’ is the subtle advice given by the budding farmer to the lady of the house. Lal successfully captures the change sweeping through her household, the delicate moments, the cheeky encounters, and the weird incidents as she writes of what it takes to be a farmer’s wife.

With the choice thrust on her, there is little the author could do but float in her partner’s dream world of fresh milk and organic gobhi. The list of items coming out of the leased farm did grow in the dream sequence, but it was really only the milk which started flowing with a few packs of organic veggies tossed in. The family was forced into the on-the-job-exposure of getting into farming with some surprising results. Away from tabs, weekly visits to the farm were engaging experiences for the kids. Choosing nature over technology, they learnt to be empathetic towards puppies, cows and the crows. But it did take some getting used to. Jatropha sounded like Jethro Tull to the author, and her children took a fancy to savouring dung cakes. Still, farming turned into an engaging and entertaining vocation for everybody. Despite her initial reservations, Lal soon discovered the similarities between tending to cows and to children, and her sympathy for Vijay translated into unconditional support for him as a farmer.

Written with wit, flair and purpose, How I became a Farmer’s Wife chronicles the mid-career crises that many techies often go through. But farming is not easy, and it soon became clear that comprehending weather vagaries, understanding crop rotations, learning to milk cows, and dealing with rural eccentricity is more challenging than punching keyboards in air-conditioned cubicles.

Towards the latter half of the story, the author realises that success is more than winning the race. Even if the transition wasn’t entirely completed, the experience did create a farmer in her husband and made her accept herself as a farmer’s wife. The passion Vijay exuded and the freedom he acquired lifted the morale of the entire family. As the couple rode out of the farm for the last time, Lal writes that she felt a distinct sense of connection with her husband. Finally, the parallel tracks had begun to merge.


Saturday, May 26, 2018

You Can Take Her Out of the Corporate World...

'When are you going to call that lady about the painting and all?'

We're driving to the mall, and I'm asking Vijay about the ONE thing that I've asked him to do to get our house in better order. Over the last few weeks, I've had someone come in, check out the place and email us a quote.

'Soon, soon.' He grunts, squinting against the sunlight in his eyes. Vijay doesn't believe in sunglasses. He thinks only show-offs wear sunglasses. I am wearing my new sunglasses and turn towards him, exasperated.

'Soon?' I cry. 'You've been saying this for DAYS. I've gone and done all the scoping and pre-work for it...all I'm saying now is step in and just get it done! Call her up today and just fix the start date...I'm travelling anyway so much in the next couple of weeks, you'll have to supervise everything, and...'

'Oh, yes, of course, I will.' He says soothingly, his eyes crinkling even further. He casts an amused glance at me. 'I understand my role better now...so...YOU did all the hard work of calling up someone and getting them to come and submit a quote...and I have the simple task of just actually getting it all executed, right?'

'Right.' I mumble unconvincingly. 'Now, it's just about...'

'Execution.' He swoops in. 'Naturally. All the management decisions have now been taken...now it is just about the rigor, the details, the actual doing of the work...so I must take over. Because as the boss, you just need to set direction and targets and review, right?'

'Don't be so silly.' I say coldly and turn to look out the window.

'You can take Yashodhara out of the corporate world.' My husband muses as we hit the highway. 'But you can't take the corporate world out of Yashodhara.'

'Very funny.'

'No, I'm serious.' He insists. 'It's like...even if I were to tell you...let's just do nothing...you'd still want to see a plan around it.'

'Now you're being...'

'Yes...what has to be done?' He uses a high-pitched whiny voice to imitate my pretend-reply. 'Nothing? But we have to plan for it....(deep voice) Why?....(whiny voice)...Because if you don't plan for doing nothing, how do you know that you might not accidentally end up doing something?...(Deep voice) But, but, no one is going to do anything! ...(Whiny voice) Yes, but unless we do a weekly review to make sure that no one is doing anything, someone might end up doing something! Just put it on my calendar okay, send me a meeting invite...

I glare out of the window ignoring him, while his conversation with himself continues. My children in the back seat aren't sure what the hell is going on, but that doesn't stop them from picking up the gist and laughing along with their father at me. Ha ha ha, Bossy-Mama.

No wonder why some weekends, I can't wait for Monday to be here again.



Saturday, May 12, 2018

First time out, Sample Chapter ( Chapter 4) from 'How I Became A Farmer's Wife'

(Pleased to let you know 'How I Became A Farmer's Wife' is getting rave reviews! Get it here on Amazon, and here on Flipkart, or at any bookstore near you! And don't forget to review it please.)

‘Chapter One.’

The words confronted me mockingly. I stared at them until my eyes blurred.

Another morning, and I’d been up since 6 a.m., sitting blankly at my desk, unable to compose a word. What was this nonsense! I had the plot, structure and the experience—I knew what would work. It should have been easy to get going. I leaned back in my chair and put my palms over my bleary eyes. This was horrible. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the end of my writing career. I hunched my shoulders, defeated. It had been an hour. I’d might as well give up and go make some tea.

I pushed my chair back and got up. Both Papad and Pickle had sneaked in during the night and they lay on my bed, limbs entangled, looking like Siamese twins. I looked at them fondly and covered them up with the blanket they’d kicked away. It was so much easier to be fond of them when they were asleep. It was amazing to me, how deep they were in slumber, with not a care in the world. So unlike us poor adults. I stepped out and found the other poor adult already in the drawing room. He was gazing at his laptop.

‘Hey Y!’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Come here! I’m looking at options for farming.’

Uh-oh.

‘I’m going to make some tea.’ I headed for the kitchen.

‘Already made two cups. Come have yours.’ I peered shortsightedly at the side table. Two steaming mugs of tea lay waiting. This was unusual. ‘Okay.’ I came and sat down next to him. ‘Thanks.’

‘You know, hon,’ he said conversationally, ‘it seems as if the more profitable options are going to be dairy and poultry.’

‘Really? As if you’re going to do poultry farming!’

‘Why not?’

‘Yeah, right. What’s Papaji going to say when you tell him you’re rearing chickens?’

‘Maybe he won’t mind if I explain the business logic behind it to him …’ Vijay’s voice trailed off as he realized how hollow that sounded. The strict vegetarian, Brahmin diet that Papaji had followed all his life was sacrosanct. Secondly, as a professor of physics, he carried an old-world academician’s distaste for all things business.

‘So, have you spoken to Papaji about your idea?’ I said craftily and sipped on my tea.

Papaji had been my collaborator in recent years—we were both united in convincing Vijay that he really wasn’t cut out for entrepreneurship. Papaji felt particularly strongly about this. He had worked in the same job all his life at a University in Jaipur. He believed it was important to stick to your field, even though he never understood what Vijay and I did professionally. Either way, our working in an office was certainly better to him than the vagaries of business, which he associated with money-mindedness and, inevitably, cheating.

 ‘I’ve been talking to him.’ Vijay continued to stare at his laptop. ‘He thinks I can’t do it.’ He looked up and gave me a level gaze. ‘But this time, I’m not going to let him talk me out of it.’

‘Or you, for that matter,’ remained unsaid at the end of that sentence.

I shrugged. ‘Poultry’s probably out?’

‘Guess so,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘But I think dairy appeals to me much more anyway. That way, we will also get to have fresh cow’s milk for Papaji—it’s really good for your health, especially in old age. Yes …’ His eyes became dreamy again. ‘And I’ve always liked cows.’

 ‘Huh?’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Since when?’

‘Since always,’ he said breezily. ‘You don’t know everything about me. I like them; they’re sweet.’

‘Cows? Sweet? And you have a problem with dogs?’

 ‘Cows don’t bark or bite,’ he said gruffly. ‘Anyway, milk is something which everyone needs regularly. That’s why if you get a good customer base, supply a reasonable quality, which of course we will, the margins will work out. With dairy, the profits come in sooner because if you buy the cows, you can get going immediately—there’s no lead time unlike in the case of crops, and …’

‘What are you reading?’ I peered into the screen. ‘Wikipedia for farmers?’

‘No.’ He shut the laptop a little defensively. ‘I’ve watched a whole lot of videos. Been up for the last three hours.’

‘What? Since four in the morning?’

‘Yeah, when my alarm went off, I figured I’d do a little research here and keep an eye on Papaji from this room. He’s gotten up only three times so far.’

 ‘You’ve barely slept! How are you going to do a full day at work?’

‘Ah, I’m fine!’ Vijay said carelessly. ‘I’ll just drink tea through the day. Got to go meet Aunty later too.’

 ‘Today?’

‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘Now that Achu and I’ve decided we’re doing this, might as well move fast. We just need to convince Aunty that we are trustworthy. If this meeting goes well and we can get a basic agreement in place, we’ll go see the land on the weekend. It’s in Rewari.’

‘How are you agreeing to anything without seeing the land? That’s the first step, right?’

‘That’s not how it works,’ Vijay said lightly and, I thought, a trifle dismissively. It made my hackles rise.

‘Oh no?’ I spat out. ‘You don’t want to see the land before you decide you’ll be renting it? Because that’s too … logical?’

‘Hey, relax! I just meant that it’s important to establish a rapport. Besides, she’s an old lady; she’ll want a certain amount of respect shown to her. She is attached to the place, has built it up over many years, and there’s the whole ashram thing. We have to get her to like us. And, of course, we will see the place before we put anything on paper. Today, we talk to her and if it works out, she’ll get to meet you and Varsha on Saturday and she’ll see we’re also nice family men and …’

 ‘Saturday?’ I exclaimed. ‘I have my Zumba class on Saturday morning and the kids have Taekwondo in the afternoon. We aren’t going to be able to make a trek to some place hours away!’

‘Hon,’ he said pleadingly, ‘this is important. I’m not going to make any big decisions without you.’

He had me there. I remembered the number of times I’d had book launches in the last few years and he’d juggled his calendar to be there, playing proud husband, and overenthusiastic photographer. I couldn’t believe he was seriously contemplating this, but I had no choice other than to go along with it. He’d discover in time that this was impractical and unworkable. Besides, I knew that coercing him into anything only increased his determination to do the exact opposite.

I shrugged. ‘Okay. See how it goes when you meet her today. She may wonder what you’re actually going to do with the place since neither of you know anything about farming.’

He looked at me for a moment and then opened up his laptop again. I sipped my tea—it was now a little cold— and watched him type into the Google search bar: ‘farming consultants in Gurgaon.’

I put the cup aside and stood up wearily. It was time to wake the kids for school. At least one of us needed to stay in the real world.

                                                                          *****

‘It’s my turn! Gimme!’ I sighed and paused for just a moment outside the front door. They were at it again.

Vijay’s voice floated out: ‘Now … hey! I told you guys to get ready, we’re leaving at ten thirty. Your mom’s coming back now … no, Pickle, no hitting! I’ve told you … no, you give me that … ’

I pushed open the door and entered the house, sweaty after teaching an hour of Zumba. The kids were glowering at each other, and Vijay was holding up the bright blue tab I’d brought home.

 ‘Why, Y, why?’ He looked harried. ‘Why do you give them these things? They’re obsessed with them.’

‘I don’t give it to them to use all the time!’ I defended myself. ‘They’re helping me with research for the kids tab we want to develop.’

‘Oh, great idea.’ Vijay rolled his eyes. ‘Let’s get kids to ruin their eyes so we can make more profit. That’s a great value system at Optech. Anyway, everyone, get ready now … we’re going to see a farm, kids!’

‘Hey!’ I wasn’t going to let that one go so easily. ‘What do you mean value system? You’ve sold jam and squash to kids, which you’ve always said is nothing but sugar. This will be an educational tablet, and will keep them away from other devices … it’s …’

‘Yes, okay, okay! Can we please go now?’ Vijay pleaded. ‘Are you going to have a shower?’

‘Of course.’ I breezed past him. ‘I’m all sweaty and sticky.’

 ‘It will be dusty at the farm,’ he cautioned. ‘Well, kids, you guys don’t bother with a shower, just get your jackets on. You’ll take too long and get dirty there anyway.’

‘Okay!’ All three of them were agreeable to this. I rolled my eyes. As if they’d been falling over each other to bathe this early on a weekend. By the time I came out of my room ready to leave, Vijay had our lunch packed into dabbas.

‘Sukhe aloo ki sabzi and poori,’ he announced to me. ‘And we’ve got water. Let’s go!’

‘Kin I take my tab?’ Pickle smiled at us winningly.

I hesitated for a split second, but Vijay cut in, ‘No! We are going to a farm, Pickle.’

‘I am Farmer Pickle on my Hay Day farm na, Daddy!’ Pickle reasoned. ‘That’s why I want to take my tab—to compare.’

‘Don’t compare,’ Papad said piously. ‘Compare is a bad thing.’

‘Okay, no. Forget your tab now, Pickle,’ I said briskly and his face turned sulky. ‘And don’t you make that sulky face or you can just stay behind, mister.’

‘Fine. I’ll stay.’

‘And I’m taking away your tab, so don’t think you’ll be playing with it,’ I affirmed.

‘No!’ He stamped his foot.

‘No fighting, guys.’ Vijay started to usher Papad and Peanut outside. ‘Come on, let’s all go and have a nice time at the farm! Peanut, put away that book; you’re not taking it!’

 ‘I’ll read in the car.’

‘You say you feel carsick, and this’ll make it worse. Forget the book.’

‘Just a few pages, Dad.’

‘Fine!’ Vijay was clearly reaching the end of his tether. ‘Why don’t you all just stay home then? I’ll go to the farm by myself.’

‘Fine!’ The rest of us shouted in unison.

‘What nonsense!’ Vijay exploded. ‘Everyone in the car. Now!’

The kids hunched their shoulders and dragged themselves out of the door. ‘Wait! Say bye to Papaji,’ Vijay said, remembering in the nick of time. They all piled back, shoulders hunched, disappeared momentarily into Papaji’s room and slouched out the door again.

I went in to say bye to Papaji too. He was in his chair in front of the TV, with Pawan hovering at the back of the room. Papaji smiled at me, his eyes crinkling and white hair glistening.

‘Yashodhara.’ He was the only one who ever called me that. ‘You’re going too?’

‘Yes,’ I admitted in a resigned manner. ‘We’re all going, Papaji—to see the farm!’

He seemed amused by this and laughed, his eyes crinkling even further. ‘Well, enjoy yourself then.’

‘Yes, Papaji,’ I said obediently, and went on after the others, a little hunch-shouldered myself.

                                                                       *****

The car ride was less than enjoyable. The twins were cranky because they’d knocked their heads together while scrambling into the car. I asked them why they had to rush and they said it was because they were scared the colony dogs would bite them.

After they calmed down, Peanut started to squirm, saying that she was feeling carsick and really needed to sit next to the window. The twins, who had each claimed a window, took exception to this and a loud argument ensued.

I yelled that we had another row in the back of the Innova and one of them could move there, which Papad did most sulkily. The food had been placed in the back seat, and much readjustment was required before he was settled there. And even after that, he kept claiming that the food basket was touching him on purpose just to trouble him.

The drive was inordinately long, and to make things worse, we kept taking wrong turns. I looked out at the dusty, crowded road; the fat, painted trucks in front of us; the numerous roadside vendors hawking their wares; small shops packed together in ramshackle buildings. What godforsaken place was this—it was even worse than Gurgaon. Where was the space anywhere near here for a farm?

‘Achu’s sent a Google Maps pin from there!’ Vijay announced. He was sitting in the passenger seat next to Kamal and looked rather comfortable compared to me sandwiched between our children. He opened Google Maps on his phone and said, ‘Oh ho! Kamal, peechewala right turn tha. U-turn lena ab aage se.’

I sighed and elbowed Peanut a little to get her to give me room, but she took it as an invitation to lean her head onto my shoulder. It was uncomfortable, but I leaned my cheek against her soft hair for a moment. She was a sweet kid. I opened my mouth to tell her so, when she whispered, ‘Mom, I think I might vomit on you.’

I elbowed her more roughly and she straightened up and gave me an evil grin before staring out of the window again. The twins were quiet now. I glanced around to find out why. Ah. They’d both gone to sleep. Wonderful, I thought. If they ever took even a five-minute nap, they bounced around till midnight. I hoped we’d get to this farm place soon. We were now out on open road and making good speed.

Vijay exclaimed ‘Look, hon!’ To the right, I saw fields, the grass a lush dark green. Now this was more like it.

I turned to the left and saw a huge field full of yellow sarson—it was quite beautiful against the blue and sunny autumn sky. ‘Look, Peanut,’ I urged. ‘Sarson!’

She turned, but by that time, we’d already gone past the field. ‘What?’ she asked.

‘It was yellow and very pretty—sarson.’

‘What’s sarson?’

‘Uh, it’s…sesame?’

 ‘Like “Open sesame!”?’

‘Something like that,’ I murmured, my eyes peeled for the next field.

‘Er, sarson is mustard, Y,’ Vijay reminded me.

‘Whatever!’ I shot back. I knew that.

‘Yeah, whatever,’ Peanut repeated. I frowned at her. Even though I was sceptical of this entire exercise, I thought a nine-year-old should be more interested in the world around her.

‘Well, just keep a look out and you’ll see another one.’

After another few minutes, Vijay said, ‘Hey, wait, wait! There are two roads up ahead … But the map … Arre, yaar, no signal here! Kamal, ek minute roko.’

The car stopped and Pickle and Papad both stirred awake, making resentful little noises followed by sleepy cries of ‘Are-we-there-Mom?’ and ‘This basket is still touching me’.

We were on what looked like a deserted road but I then saw what Vijay had already spotted some distance to the left. Just in front of a small chai stall, was a group of five old men wearing dhotis and pagris, sitting on two charpoys with cups of tea in their hands.

They gaped at us curiously. ‘Bhaisahib!’ Vijay tried to sound as earthy and rustic as possible. ‘Yahan se Rewari kidhar padega?’

Immediately, all five broke into enthusiastic chatter. We stared, a little baffled, as they all spoke simultaneously.

‘Rewari?’ One old man raised his arm towards the road leading left. ‘Lekin jana kyon hain?’

‘Wahan se chhota padega,’ said a second, pointing to the right. ‘Waise wahan se bhi ja sakte hain,’ he admitted, pointing to the left.

‘Aap net se aaaye honge, hain na?’ chuckled another at the same time, confidently pointing to the right.

 ‘Net se kuch nahin pata chalta, Dilliwaale bhaisahib!’ This last one struck them all as a very funny joke and they all started cackling loudly.

Vijay somehow processed this and seemed to come to some conclusion, ‘Okay, thank you.’

‘Welcome! Welcome! Thank you!’ The old men were laughing merrily at us. I realized that the kids and even our usually robotic driver Kamal were giggling at the old men and their animated talking over each other. Vijay was shaking his head in amusement as he told Kamal ‘Left se chalo’.

I couldn’t help cracking a wry smile.

This might turn out to be an interesting visit, even if nothing else ever came of it.

(Liked this sample chapter? Get the book 'How I Became A Farmer's Wife' here on Amazon, and here on Flipkart, or at any bookstore near you!)

Sunday, March 18, 2018

How I Became a Farmer's Wife

I'm very pleased to announce that my newest book 'How I Became A Farmer's Wife' is now on pre-order! :)

You can get it at bit.ly/HowIBecameAFarmersWifeBook

I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it - which is to say, a lot!

It's about to get Muddy, Messy and Mad!




Mild-mannered Vijay is the perfect good-Indian-husband—responsible and predictable.
Well, at least he was, until he decided to turn Farmer. 

Vijay’s unsuspecting wife Yashodhara is caught off guard when, tired of the rigors of city life, he actually buys seven cows and starts dairy farming! As if she didn't have enough going on already, what with her high-octane job, three children and multiple careers. 
Plucked out of their comfortable urban existence in the steel-and-chrome high-rises of Gurgaon, the hapless family is thrown headfirst into a startlingly unfamiliar world, complete with cows and crops, multiple dogs and eccentric farmhands, a shrewd landlady 'Aunty' and the occasional rogue snake.
Things heat up further when some unexpected godmen land up as co-habitants of Vijay's farm, and strange goings-on ensue.
Will these earnest but insulated city-dwellers be able to battle the various difficulties that come with living a farmer's life? 
A laugh-out loud romp that'll leave you wanting more.

(Pre-order now at bit.ly/HowIBecameAFarmersWifeBook

Friday, January 26, 2018

Why I'm Glad I Had Kids. They're Amusing.

I'm hurrying my kids up for school and going "and don't you lose your Vogmasks! You know they're expensive!"
"Yes!" Says Pickle " 18 thousand rupees!"
"Well, 1800 but whatever." I am then overcome by guilt. "but if you ever do lose it, it doesn't matter. You know you're worth like a million million INFINITE rupees to me, right?"
"Why not dollars?" Papad pipes up, conversationally.
I stare at him.
"Just go to school".

*****
I think I just got the most earnest, best compliment in the world.
By my seven year old, Papad. He hugged me tight while saying Goodnight and declared
"I wish I could get YASH tattooed on my SOUL!"

*****

I hear my twins arguing about something. They are speaking rudely to each other. 'Tu ne kyon kiya?' 'Maine nahin, TU ne...'
I interrupt 'Guys, speak nicely. And you know you're supposed to say Aap to each other.'
They pause for a second to look at me. Pickle then turns back to his brother, and bows his head, making a sweeping gesture with his arm, announcing 'Papad, Aap bahut bade gadhe ho.'

*****

And because some things are just worth recording for posterity - 

1. Peanut's old letter to our old help Rinki when she learned that she was getting married. 


2. Peanut impressed by the tallest building in Dubai


3. Peanut sends a clear message about her brothers


4. I find Papad's diary with the following filled in rather matter-of-factly


5. A rather formal invite to a small picnic gathering


6. Heartbreaking to know you're not the favoured one. It's hard being a twin.