Let girls be girls : The myth that is Gender Equality!


One thought that was been implanted deep into my unconscious being from the time I was little was – I am in no way lesser than my male counterpart.

But somehow as I grew older I interpreted the same as ‘I am equal to my male counterpart.’

I would have lived through this fallacy all my life had it not been for Motherhood.

Duhhh!!! The fundamental difference between a man and woman is the latter’s ability to reproduce – Like we didn’t know about it!

Read More…


Sleep and the Sleepless!!

The Internet says all ‘successful’ people wake up in the morning with a strong undying urge that drives them through their day.

Apparently, the internet is never wrong.


I wake up every morning with a strong undying urge too – the urge to go back to sleep.


I love it, I need it and I crave for it. If I am not doing it I am actively thinking about it.

I have had people tell me how they were awake all night for whatever reason – work, party et al. I don’t remember a time when I got excited about missing on a night’s sleep.

No. I am not really one of those lazy bums who won’t drag their ass out of the bed for anything in the world.

I am not really that lazy woman. I love to do some work – forcefully do my chores (or I won’t find space to sleep!). I also barely maintain some sanity in the house and within myself amidst all the juggling a modern mom has to do.

BUT I do all of it so that my mind feels content enough to sing a sweet lullaby and put me to sleep right away at night. No tossing and turning – no gazing at the sky – no counting till 100.

I believe there are just a handful of things that are really valuable. FOOD and a GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP being the top 2 in my list.

SO the aim is to work just about enough to fill my tummy and sleep peacefully at night.

SO I go to bed and zzzzzzzzz………

Hence my success – In being me (Yea! I am a superstar!!)


I wake up every morning I am eternally awake to fulfil my strong undying urge. The urge to work all the time.

I work for..umm..umm…because I love to work. I think it is a part of me. I love it, I need it and I crave for it. If I am not actively doing work, I am thinking of it all the time.

I have had people tell me they work for money. They get excited about bunking work. I don’t remember a time when I got excited about bunking work. C’mon how old are you guys – 13?? (Even at 13 I used to love to study though)

No. Do not mistake me for a nerd.

I am not. I love to have fun – workout – movies – trips – but all so that I feel rejuvenated to work again.

I believe that there is only one thing that is valuable in life – the ability to always think and execute new ways to work.

I eat and sleep so that I am energized enough to work again – Yeah the work pays to fill the families tummy, pay the bills, insurance and some future investment

SO I go to bed – toss turn – check the time – go to the loo twice – come back to bed – toss turn – check the time – peep over my wife who sleeps like a log and the cycle continues

Phew! Its morning and I can work again!!!

That would lead to some ‘success’ – wouldn’t it?!

At least one person happily pays the price for a whole family going to sleep peacefully and only to listen to the ‘Philosophy and eternal truth of life’ from me!

Fancy aint it and I can’t believe women complain of having workaholic husbands!!

Shut up. Will you!

Disclaimer: This is a sincere dedication to all those invites gone wrong.

So you meet some friend’s friend (& family) visiting your town at some get together. You are meeting them for the first time in your life. You feel nice talking to them.

Nice people, you think.

You then think maybe you must call them over home sometime. I mean you are not a people hater. You like socializing with all its pros and cons.

So in your head you say: Wow! Nice people. I actually have something to talk to them about, more than just the weather and traffic! It would be nice to have them over. I could put together a few quickies and we could all munch on and blabber while the kids can be in theirs world of pushing and pulling.

You clear your throat to put these thoughts in your head into words.

The conversation goes like this:

You: ‘How long will you be in Bangalore?’

Friend: ‘A month or so..’

You: ‘Oh that’s enough time. You must come over to our place sometime.’

You should have stopped there. But you didn’t.

You: ‘You should call us and then just drop in.’

Friend: ‘Hmm’

You: ‘Even if you intend to come during weekdays. Just call us and come over.’

Friend: ‘Hmm’

You: ‘You can even come on weekends. Just call and come.’

Friend: ‘OKAY. Got it. We will call you IF and WHEN we come. Don’t worry, we will NOT surprise you.’


Oops. That’s is obviously not what you meant.

You have an option to just leave it there BUT all the crisis management skills come together in your head and say c’mon clear this mess.

So you continue messing it up further.

You: ‘Oh no that’s not what I meant. I mean you are here only for a month and am sure you have plenty of relatives and friends to visit and we may not be your priority, So I mean just make time whenever you can and don’t bother if it will be inconvenient on a weekday as well.’

Clearly they wouldn’t have thought of a weekday visit as inconvenient until this point. And then you get that narrow eyed stare from your partner which says ‘Don’t you utter a word more.’

And I close my case here My Lord – utterly disappointed with my social skills.

Henceforth, maybe I should just get off with a ‘It was nice talking to you.’

My Genie!

Try this.

Go to Google.co.in.


Type: ‘How to’ in your search window.

Trust me what you find will make you laugh, gasp and think.

Your most recent search will be followed by – ‘How to Kiss’ or ‘How to get pregnant’.

WHOA!! All I wanted to search was ‘How to make a no-bake cheese cake’ and it prompts me to this???

Is it Google or is it me? Is it trying to imply something – anything???

I am intrigued. I would have expected it to prompt me with ‘How to safeguard yourself from terror attacks’. Alas no.

‘Who’ and ‘What’ had less embarrassing answers though.

I am curious.

I go to Google.co.uk I do the same exercise.

It says: “how to make pancake” and “how to make money”.

Obviously as important as a kiss or getting pregnant!

I do the same exercise for a lot of other countries. It is thoroughly entertaining.

Then I get back to my google.co.in. And gaze at the screen after typing in ‘HOW TO..’ Deep breath.

I can hear all my non Indian friends smirking and thinking ‘you desperate people!’. I am trying hard to come up with a comeback line – which could be:

  1. I think it is a huge conspiracy. The world which includes Google is plotting against us as a Nation.
  2. We love research. We research everything.
  3. Remember Kamasutra? We own it and want to know if Google can compete.
  4. We are a nation of 1.25 billion but we still need to be sure if we have been doing it the right way.

Cannot come up with anything else.

Do I need to be embarrassed with the result flashing on my screen?

Does it say that this is all that we search for?

Do I need to be ashamed about the words staring at me from the screen?

A lot of things brush through my tiny brains – some defensive, some offensive and some questionable.

I know if I click on one of it, a range of youtube videos will take me through the whole process.

No Thank you. Not that I think it is gross, but just that I’d like to think a few things are naturally bestowed upon us and long existed before the age of Google.

So we must have done something right then – we can’t be that uninformed.

Welcome to the age of technology where we can do a google search for ‘How to pee’ which will give you a very logical and descriptive way of emptying your bowels!

Thank you my search engine for being by my side through good times and bad – for being the genie who has answers to everything – even things which needn’t have answers!

Thank You Come Again!!

So when you meet those umpteen number of family and friends in some wedding; you meet, greet and when it is time to say good bye you casually say : ‘ You must come down to Bangalore sometime. Visit us when you do. It will be fun.’


It is evident that you don’t really mean it.

But some of them think you do.

Friday evening, the phone rings.

MIL answers and all I can hear is “Ehh?? Haan. Okay. Tomorrow?? What time?? Who all??’

Then a detailed conversation about kids, family, extended family ensue.

After about 10 minutes into the conversation she is about to hang up when she pauses and asks again ‘Who did you say you were??’

Whaa!!! What was she thinking all this while???

Now I was almost sure that she may just say ‘Oh sorry. It is a wrong number’.

She hung up. I was staring at her, eyes narrow and sarcasm brimming out of them. I say ‘So you talk to someone for all this time – everything from my son’s potty habits to his grandfather’s property – and at the end of it you don’t know who you were talking to?? Well done!!’

She rolls her eyes and says ‘How am I to know if they say – ‘Hello Ganga….I am Hari from your hometown, we are coming to Bangalore. We will visit you tomorrow. How is Sabarish and Geethu??’

In her favor, she advocates

  • He called her by her name – Ganga.
  • Asked about Sabarish and me by our names.
  • Spoke about all of my father in law’s relatives. More bad than good.

So obviously he knows us, especially after point 3.

‘But who is this Hari??’

‘In my defense, in a clan of some 50 – 60 cousins, their kids and grand kids, how would you differentiate a Hari from a Ravi??’

True. Hari Ravi Sashi are all just the same. Can’t say one from the other when you have only seen them in wedding and funerals.

So we know someone from Father in law’s family is coming to visit us tomorrow, with family. They say it is a casual visit.

And so we hope.

We also hope that it wasn’t an appointment taken by some spooky crook who got to know of us from some social media site and thinks he can rob us of the million dollars (because million rupees doesn’t sound that cool) we have locked up in our Godrej locker and flee away to his happily ever after land.

Next afternoon, Sabarish gets a call asking for directions to come home. He tells them promptly.

In about half an hour, at about 3.00 pm the doorbell rings. We open hesitantly.

We are greeted by 1…2…3…16 smiley faces – not 4 or 6 but 16!!!

16 – 8 small ones, 8 adults – 4 families!

I scan across every face – my eyes going up and down like a Bharatnatyam dancer as I do so.

Nothing familiar. I reach the last 3 and recognize finally! 2 smiley kids and 1 smiley woman I know.

The smiley woman says ‘Geethu was so sweet when she called us over at the wedding last June, we just had to come. We are all family. You know all of them don’t you?’ She points out to the crowd.

I could see MIL and Sabarish stare hard at me from the corner of their eye. Damn! I was just being nice to your relatives for God’s sake!

This world is not meant for soulful and compassionate beings such as I…I wish I could vanish.

She introduces everyone to everyone. A lot of gibberish happens..

I can only vaguely remember what ensued. Maid hurrying off to the grocery store to buy milk, juice, goodies to feed 16 tummies.

Hyper active kids climbing everywhere and everything. Strangers walking in and out of all the rooms..I could see they felt very much ‘at home’ – quite effortlessly.

It was dinner time and they were still very much at home. So food had to be ordered in.

By now we were almost certain the crowd is here to stay and that we would be stuck entertaining total strangers for the rest of our lives!

By 11.00 pm, we somehow stuffed all 16 into the minivan they came in and packed them home!

They yelled out and said – We had a nice time. Will visit again!!!!!!

Hell no.

After they went, we scanned the house just to make sure they haven’t left any little one around.

The house looked like a zoo. We sat down for an afterthought. MIL and Sabarish on one side and me on the other. I feel like a criminal being questioned.

Fine!!! It was a genuine attempt gone grossly wrong! All I said was ‘visit us sometime’ which got interpreted as ‘pay us a surprise visit along with all your acquaintances in Bangalore. We love entertaining unknown people.’

Yes. I shall use my words more judiciously henceforth..

Lure my mind not!


I am driving my way to work and I am fiddling with the various buttons/switches on the car still trying to figure out what many of them do anyway.

All I can hear the radio scream is:

‘Wake up to the chirping birds. Step out into a garden full of lovely flowers; Buy a property at ABC villa properties and this dream could be yours..’ – says the realty commercial on one FM station this morning.

I roll my eyes and punch the next button to hear silence. I increase the volume. No use. Utter silence.

Damn! My stereo is broken, another unexpected money drain, I think.

Just then the radio blares: ‘Is this the silence you wish greets you every morning?! We assure you a silent, most peaceful haven – far from the hustle bustle of the city…’

Whoa! 10 secs of air time wasted on … silence???!

I hit the next button again and I hear:

‘Can’t find like-minded people? Buy a home at —— and be sure to find neighbors you can go jogging with, who you’d love to call home for tea….’


3 radio stations – 10 minutes of drive – that is 30 minutes (?!) of airtime for realty commercials??

So apparently the ingredients for my Dream House is as follows:

Main ingredients:

  • Chirping birds.
  • Flower/vegetable garden to step out into.
  • Silence – even if it feels ghostly – is a key factor.
  • Jogging park.
  • Like minded neighbors.

For Garnish :  a club house, sports amenities and so on.

Now at the next signal, I do a mental analysis of My Home versus the Dream home.

  • Bird Chirping..well..crows count as birds don’t they?? – check.
  • Flower/vegetable garden – I can potentially convert my limited space on terrace into the Hanging garden of Babylon and then step onto it first thing in the morning OR I can continue to step out into cow dung/dog shit et al that welcomes me on the road my gate opens into. Well, either way it is nature and there is nothing more Holy than cow dung – Go Mata Ki Jai!
  • Pin Drop Silence – Hmm. Hmm. Don’t know how that feels. The closest I can remember is my 1st grade teacher holding a cane in her hand and saying PIN DROP SILENCE, and all of us felt small and helpless. NOPE. No silence thank you.
  • Jogging Park – Well, the treadmill has successfully been transformed into a clothes line. So now I imagine a clothesline as long as the park – the New Dhobi Ghat!! Wha!!! Maybe I can do the same with the park some 5 minuted from my home?
  • Like minded neighbors – I believe I am unique. I do not want any other like minded person around me because that would mean people who can read my mind around me. My world would then come to an end. Moreover, I am happy with the absolutely diverse crowd around me by all means – social economical cultural and religious diversity is what we stand for remember??
  • I can however do with a clubhouse and sports facility; not because I will use it but because I can brag about it – I need something to brag about don’t I?! I obviously can’t brag about the dung or the crows..

Voila! The conclusion thus formed is: my home is my dream home. Well done!

I must admit that this reflection struck in only after I saw a hoarding which stated – Register now for Your Dream Home – starts at Rs 88 lakhs only!

That is quite an expensive dream and then when I thought of all the maintenance required to keep the dream house dreamy – damn I’d rather not have it!

I rang up Hubby to tell him about my realization. He is Euphoric about my transformation from a thankless wife to a content one. I almost saw him jumping hooting and doing a Naa Nana Naana to the commercial people.

Noone can mess with my mind now, he thought. I am past all the material love – a halo appears above my head.

And then the next 2 minutes of my drive enlightened me about how ‘Diamonds are forever’ and if Raymond is for a complete man then diamond is for a complete woman..umm..yes..I somehow am willing to be called a ‘woman’; a huge step from the ‘girl’ or the ‘lady’; for a diamond.

And then I ring Hubby dear again, His voice was still buoyant from the previous call. I then tell him: ‘So my darling husband, I do not need that dream home. Not now.However I could do with a diamond set for now, because the commercial says and frankly I can’t come up with an argument otherwise and if you wish to differ hubby dear, then tell me why am I not ‘Worth a Diamond!”

And he sighs! Not quite there yet! Some day..

Am sick – Hurray!

As a child I was quite healthy. I have never been hospitalized for anything. My first hospitalization was to pop out Dhruv (Oops I think I see all the world’s evil conspire to get me sick now…)

I was those unfortunate few who got a certificate for 100% attendance – (FYI : All my colleagues that was in school, now I genuinely fall sick – Aging does that to you.)

I was one of those who desperately wanted to fall sick or get a fracture so I will be pampered. My parents have always treated fever, cough, cold, stomach pain, headaches as normal and so if I make a fuss of it I only get a lame “It is all part of life” for an answer (I know! Talk about deprivation!!)

Here! I grew up longing to get a fracture just so that I can get the cast signed on by my friends. How cool was that!

And then this past week I got an awful head/shoulder pain. So much so that I could only look straight – a perfect 90 degrees between the chin and the neck.


If I had to pick up something from the ground, I would sit down, head still straight, eyes down and pick it up and then get up, my upper body as balanced as a kuchipudi dancer balancing a pot on her head.

If someone calls me from the left or right, I would do a full body rotation like those endorsing work place fitness DVDs.

Hmm..So this was turning out to be a revelation of all the other things I can do with my life – a kuchipudi dancer, a fitness guru..

Hot packs did not work nor did all the pain relief balms and sprays.

Extensive research followed, all search engines got to work and Sabarish sort of concluded on cervical spondylitis.


Meanwhile Dhruv interpreted my pain quite differently.

So he would go behind me and then call for me and I swirl around since I can’t turn. He giggles. And then again and again and again.

Anything for entertainment!

Meanwhile I decide to give it one more days’ time. I was sort of confident a good night’s sleep will relieve me of it.

At night as I was going to bed, Dhruv happily purring by my side, I tell Sabarish ‘If this neck thing kills me, tell our son his mom truly loved him. Tell my parents and your mom not to fight and that my son would need everybody’s collective love to make up for mine!’

Sabarish stared at me ‘Drama queen – sleep.’ He stopped at that.

‘Oh and ya..I love you too.’

‘Sleep. NOW.’

Next day it wasn’t any better, we decide to go to the clinic.

I see the doc and feel like a kid again, almost hoping he gives me a candy.

‘Mrs Sabarish..’

Off goes the candy wish out of the window…really…when am this sick you call me ‘Mrs’???

‘What is the problem??’

‘I am dying out pain – here –on the neck and shoulder region. Cannot turn. Head hurts too’

He doesn’t take a second look, says ‘It is nothing, a simple sprain maybe or a posture issue. 2 tablets a day will relieve you of the pain in 3 days’ time.’

How can it be nothing?? All this pain for nothing? A sprain?? That doesn’t even sound fancy!!

‘Oh No No No! I have a 2 year old son Doc. I can’t behave robotically with him. He thinks its fun and robot-robot is our new game, my batteries may run out soon!’

‘OK, I will give you a heavy dose of painkiller, Injection. Will relieve you soon.’


I continue putting on my illness face. Go to the casualty and sit down sighing heavily. They beckon me to a bed – I get up, slowly, still keeping the illness face.

I lie down and they put in the pain killer. Instantly I could turn my head sideways to about 70 degrees. Science I tell you!

I went home happy as happy can be. The short handicap sort of opened windows of reality in my life and I conclude : Falling sick while still a kid maybe fancy but falling sick when you have a kid is far from fancy!

The wish to fall sick for attention is sort of irrelevant when you have toddler back home who thinks robot robot is an awesome new game!

I reach home and yell ‘Dhruv!! Amma’s home…neck is better!!’

‘What?? No more robot robot?? I loved it maaa!!!’

There you go…parasite!

The decision.

So after about 4 years of staying with my mom in law, I now dare to declare that the advantages sort of overpower the disadvantages… (Mom, please ignore, you know am kidding!)

My brains get hopeless when I need to decide about small things in life. Well, I think my brains have taken the punchline ‘small things are all that matter in life’ way too seriously.


Let me explain.

My mom in law decides about all insignificant not so significant things at home. She decides on what gets made for breakfast, lunch and dinner. She decides on what veggies to buy from where. She decides on has a say on umm…maybe any kitchenware or appliances that are bought at home. That’s all her domain.

How trivial! I roll my eyes over her question ‘what do we cook for breakfast tomorrow?!’ Seriously? How silly! Just make anything.

I give her a few suggestions and she will decide on one of it and then both of us work towards getting that on the table (yea I do my bit once the decision is taken – cutting chopping grinding and all the background work involved in Indian cooking!)

All is well till now. I am in my oblivious haven. I have bigger things to think about than what to make for breakfast tomorrow.

Then one day she announces she is going on a pilgrimage trip over the weekend.

Silence follows. I realize that am awkwardly quiet and quickly respond saying ‘Oh wow! Wonderful.’ What where how etc follows. She leaves the Friday night and returns on Monday morning.

My mind is a volcano of after thoughts. Calm down. Its only 2 days.

Had it been 2.5 years ago (Pre- Dhruv era), I would have jumped at such an opportunity – more on that later!

Friday afternoon arrives. My mind is a potpourri. Most of the afternoon is spent thinking about all the things I know to make and can be made quickly so I get to spend enough time on things other than cooking.

I send an empty mail to Sabarish, the subject of which was ‘what do you want for breakfast tomorrow?!’ to which he replied ‘Anything is ok.’

How helpful!

Idli dosa parathas or maybe exotic stuff appams idiyappams. I even googled a few breakfast recipes; not because I don’t know them but just to know the possibilities.

After spending about an hour over idli, dosa, upma, appams, parathas., I let out a heavy sigh. I can’t remember the last time I thought so much about anything in life – which degree to take –No – who to marry? – No – when to have kids – No. But apparently what to cook for breakfast seems to be the most difficult decision till date.

I think after the announcement from MIL, I felt empowered in a very weird sense – I am in charge of the house, I need to feed my family, If I don’t cook they starve and die!

Drama! (And maybe just maybe to prove that I am a better cook!)

So much research has gone into the resourcing, time estimation and plan of action for breakfast tomorrow that it gave me a headache.

I go home feeling very indecisive.

Once at home, I see MIL as excited as a little girl on her birthday would be! She quickly runs me through all the do’s and don’t’s as usual – I have been through that list so many times I can even tell it in my sleep – Make sure all the doors are locked, switch anything remotely electrical before you sleep, In case the power goes off the candles are on the yellow box on the window sill, If Dhruv gets difficult DO NOT spank him etc etc..

Just the usual home alone cautions (MIL refuses to believe we are two responsible adults with a kid, she thinks we are 2 toddlers and a baby left home alone!)

Just before she leaves, she stops and tells me – ‘I have made enough dosa batter which will last for 3 days, so just make dosa or idlis tomorrow morning; there are veggies in the fridge so you can make a sambar or a palao for lunch, and just eat out for dinner!’

I love her!! I so absolutely love her for making such a crucial decision of ‘what to cook for breakfast lunch and dinner’ so incredibly easy for me!!!

So, what are you cooking for breakfast tomorrow?

Care for some breakfast cereal and milk???

I had an expat friend visiting me a couple of days ago.

Frankly, it was a very bizarre situation. I almost relived the culture shock of a new bride at her in-law’s.

So this is the first scene in my kitchen every morning:

  • I buy a packet of milk, cut it open and pour it into a vessel, especially designated for milk only (or else the water smells of milk or the milk may sour up and the endless possibilities to freak my mom in law!)
  • Then I put it onto the stove and watch it – patiently as if it were a work of divine art – I am pretty sure if I stared at any other inanimate object with so much concentration I could reduce it to ashes.
  • It warms up then boils and rises till the brim –which could be about 8-10 minutes. I further simmer it for another 5 minutes.
  • So that the milk is ‘purified’ which sort of translates to making it devoid of most vitamins A-Z. Any further heating and the milk might just decide to become colorless.
  • And then throughout the day I find myself subjecting milk to constant torture of warming, heating and cooling process – Heat it up for tea/coffee – let it cool so I don’t burn my tongue etc.

Expat’s question: ‘Why would you subject milk bought off the store to so much cruelty? Boiling – heating – cooling – warming – cooling??? ‘

I bite my lips and put on an intense look in my eyes and say – ‘that’s how I like it’. (Later I google and discover apparently milk is supposed to be boiled not more than once and then warmed not more than twice so as to keep its nutrients intact – Oh yea Science, I dare you to tell my MIL this!)

Thank God I came up with a conclusive statement rather than an honest justification which could only go: ‘Umm because my grandma did the same, so does my mom and mom in law – I don’t like to question existential practises. I like following tradition – quite blindly.’

The expat doesn’t stop there. ‘So, do you like your breakfast cereal with warm milk too?’


My mind says : Damn! I may like to have boiled brown rice with ketchup or bread dipped in orange juice! Stop questioning my practices!

Instead I say : ‘Umm..Nahh of course not. However breakfast cereal is a very western concept and we believe in elaborate cooked meals – rotis, idlis, dosas, upma. (o boy! We do!!).’

The expat’s eyebrows curl up at these random syllables put together – dosa idli roti upma???

Never mind. Then, I hurriedly change the topic to global warming, polar belts melting, pollution –  anything to ward her attention off my small world and dutiful routine!

I wait for her to leave and then ponder over the milky discussion.

Really is there another way of having breakfast cereals and really can milk be just poured off the packet and drank?

What a waste of my 20mins every day (Precisely why I haven’t actually risen to the heights I am capable of conquering – those 20 mins may have made all the difference – imagine Newton boiling milk when the apple was supposed to fall on his head – see the point?).

I have never till date enjoyed having breakfast cereals. I had a pretty deprived childhood which involved all things junk but not breakfast cereal – maybe the sugary goo doesn’t really qualify as junk!

So I introduced myself to them only when I started staying alone and had little time to cook, which is when I wondered why on earth would I eat this soggy slushy mush when I could just have a toast of bread and a glass of warm milk?

Never really went back to cereals till this conversation happened.

I then poured a glass of warm milk and put it in the refrigerator (more milk torture!)

After about an hour I took it out. Emptied some cereal into a bowl and poured some cold milk into it.

Put a spoon into my mouth – Crunch Crunch Crunch – really??

My disconnected mind thinks in patches ‘cereal not equal to soggy? Crunchy – really?’

All these years of ignorance! Now I know why half the world wakes up to breakfast cereal. Bye Bye Idli Dosa Upma – I have now found my nirvana – Now my family will wake up to the goodness of breakfast cereals!

Holy cow!

So, I buy a new car. Well it may not be a BMW or an Audi, BUT it is MY BMW/AUDI.holy cow copy

Yes it may be this meagre four-wheeled thing which is pulled by an ‘engine’ and not an animal or a man. But I have dreamt of owning it – from God knows when!

To buy it, Sabarish and I took quite the same effort that we took to find each other!

Am serious.

Our purchase was quite similar to how Indian parents hunt for the perfect match for their kids now. All Non – Indians, welcome to India!

Now that surely is a lot of effort.

If you still aren’t convinced, read on

1. We went through a lot of websites short listing our choices from our budget constraints and aesthetic expectations. Read – Our parents checked out a lot of matrimonial websites, short listing our potential partners according to our preferences about looks, education, values, ethic etc

2. We read all the reviews we could find online about the 2-3 cars we short listed. Read – They asked their entire network of friends and family around the world for what they think of the prospective bride/groom

3. We Test Drive the cars so that we get to know how it behaves. Guys now go easy on this interpretation : Just read , parents let you talk to each of the nominees for a stipulated time during which you will need to understand the chemistry you share.

4. You zero in your choice of car….and the wedding bells ring.

I  take the car out of the showroom, in the presence of my entire family and friends , with the showroom officials bursting crackers and blowing trumpets –  Much like a wedding party!

I drive the car slowly and carefully, making it awfully obvious to all my fellow drivers that it is new and just out of the showroom, thereby they are expected to keep a 3  feet distance from it. And I reach my house. Park it onto the side of the road so that I can open my garage which is longing to take in my new car.

As I open, I notice a cow walking lazily down the road (No. I don’t live in a village. I am talking about Bangalore City here.)

This is a normal scene, I ignore it with a smile. ‘GoMatha’ (Mother Cow) has come to bless my new car.

But then she decides that she is feeling itchy. I sense it. I throw my keys, push the garage door and start running towards her, almost with the intension to scratch her head for her.

My family is yelling to the cow from within the car – shooing it. She unfortunately does not seem to understand their lingo.

I hop, skip and jump only to see her gleefully itching her head on my bonnet. My car’s bonnet – yea whatever. The pain was the same.

I hit her on the back and yell at her (am too scared to pull it off, for I still maintain my life is a tad bit more valuable than my new scratched car ). She turns around wondering what the mad woman in me is upto and continues to walk lethargically (clearly not understanding my lingo again.).

And there am left with a BRAND NEW SCRATCHED CAR, cursing and yelling my lungs out to the cowherd who is nowhere in the picture.

Damn you! Couldn’t you just pee on it instead?!

Welcome to India, where the sacred cow is perhaps the only being who can have her way with almost anything in life!