Teaching T how to adult

After school, T and her best friend walked together, holding hands and chatting away. When we got to their car, everyone had a round of big hugs and we went our different directions. A few steps after her best friend left, T asked me to carry her bag because it was heavy and the weather was hot. I refused to carry her bag, so she broke down crying, "why does no one listen to me.. why does this keep happening to me?"

My heart broke and I was annoyed at the world for hurting her. She refused to say if anything happened in school, refused to give any reason for her dramatic declarations. I could have picked up her school bag, cuddled her and made it back home. Instead I gave her the option of walking with her school bag or leaving the school bag there and we walk home. She chose to walk with her school bag.

This is my tough love approach, because life is tough and unfair. If a school bag is the trigger point for something else that is going on, I wanted her to learn to talk about it, deal with it and then carry on. Because while she (I) is (am) still feeling sorry for herself (myself), life is still going on.

The period problem

I vaguely remember the first time I started my period. I was a late bloomer, probably around 12 years old when it happened. Luckily, because of biology and my friends, I knew what it was about and what to expect. It started one afternoon when I was at home. My pee was red, so I went to my mom and calmly told her "I am bleeding". She said ok and pulled out an old saree from the cupboard. She cut a few large squares from it, fashioned a belt of sorts from a thinner piece and showed me how to roll and tie it up around my waist - my first 'pad'.

While I was proud to have started my period, I hated those cloths. I hated how thin and leaky they were. I hated how they gave my vag a wedgie if I didn't roll them up correctly. Sometimes I would tie the belt a little too tightly to ensure the pad stayed in place and would end up peeing through it because I couldn't untie the belt quickly enough. Then there was the daily washing and drying of the bloodied cloths, decorating the bathtub like awkwardly placed throw blankets. I very quickly outgrew the novelty of having a period and being 'womanly'. After a number of periods, I ditched the clothes and graduated to pads. These were so much better and when I discovered pads with wings, it was a match made in female heaven. Tampons were not an option for me then - I think because it needed to be inserted into the vagina, and I was growing up in a setting of female chastity in all forms.

When I went to university and mingled with the world, I tried tampons and thongs, but pads were my go-to period catcher.  They were easy to use and easy to get rid of; I had light periods and no period pain, so I thought I managed the menstrual phase pretty well. Then I visited Kerala, India and had a period there - and I had no idea how to get rid of the bloodied pads.

There is no proper garbage disposal there. People either burned their rubbish in the backyard or threw it out on the streets. In Ernakulum there was a dustbin just outside of the house, which was a dumping ground for all sorts of waste (including a whole toilet!) and was emptied infrequently. Sometimes I would sneak the triple rolled up pads into that bin and hope they ended up far away. Edathua was even worse. There was no dustbin anywhere near, so while my cousins were fishing in the front, I would creep around to the back of the large plot and use sticks to try and dig holes in the clay ground to bury the pads. On the recent Indian trips, the pads share the same bag as the nappies, and end up in some distant dustbin or unofficial landfill.

Menstruation itself is uncomfortable. You feel bloated, you ride an emotional roller coaster, your uterus contracts painfully because it is wasting an egg and you sometimes feel like you are carrying weights between your legs. The blood part is a side effect and having to deal with period blood does not have an easy solution. My experience with period was that they were part of being a woman, a little gross and not something you talk about. It was a private event. One of my university friends, on the other hand, once explained how she and her sisters showed their younger sister how to insert a tampon. With my two girls, how will I approach periods? Will it be an exciting step or an unpleasant procedure? What type of period catcher will I advocate for them to use?

I recently watched the Bollywood movie 'Pad Man', which is about menstruation. The problem was not the cloth itself, but rather the proper cleaning and disinfecting of the cloths, so as a solution, pads were used. While pads are a clean and efficient solution, they are also expensive and environmentally bad, because they end up in the landfill. In addition, India's garbage removal system is appalling and almost non-existent in the villages. That is why women use cloths instead of pads. There is no way a woman could properly get rid of a used pad in a village! And the use of tampons would not fly well at all, no matter how much easier they are to dispose off. These days, menstrual cups are being introduced into some rural areas, and they tick the boxes on sanitary, cheap and reusable, providing a reasonable solution to part of the period problem.

There are also the stigmas and superstitions around menstruating women and how they are supposedly unclean. In some parts of India, menstruating women are not allowed to cook or live inside the house, they cannot enter the temples, and girls usually stop going to school while they are on their periods. Even the Bible has a lengthy description in the Old Testament of how everything a menstruating woman touches is unclean. She has to count off the end of her period, plus seven days and two sacrifices to be considered clean again! Menstrual seclusion is a global and still occurring practice among different cultures, religions and countries. All because a woman is doing what a woman does.

Periods exist because women give birth. It is part of life and as natural as growing old and getting white hair. I grew up with a stigma around menstruating and it is a stigma that I am going to break with my girls and husband. I want my girls to be bold enough to ask their father to buy sanitary products for them. I want them to scream, cry and eat a bag of chips, and understand that their personal hurricane was mainly because of hormones. I want them to be able to go to a male cashier confidently with a pack of pads. I want them be able to ask for a tampon as easily as they ask for a tissue. I want them to be comfortable socially as their body goes through a very natural womanly experience. And I want them to support other women in understanding that periods are natural, beautiful, a nuisance and a powerful thing.

A Suitable Boy: book review 12 years apart

A Suitable Boy by Vikram Seth is a mammoth of a book, both in size and content. It is nearly 1400 pages long and weaves the stories of four families in post-independent India. The main storyline is that of Lata and her mother's quest to find a suitable boy for her to wed. Lata's suitors are Kabir (fellow student and successful player on the university cricket team), Amit (an in-law and a poet) and Haresh (shoe businessman and mom's choice for marriage).

I read this book twice. The first time I picked up the book was when I was in university and struggling to find myself within the identities of my culture, my race, my family and my interests. The second time was a few years after marriage, with a home to manage. About 12 years apart, and a lot had happened to me to change my circumstances and perspectives on life, which also influenced how I related to each suitor.

University me was carefree, impetuous and passionate. After the years of staying with my parents and having most decisions made for me, I loved my freedom to decide the who, what and where in my life. It was all about me, with minimal thought to culture, race and other socially defined boundaries. So I applied this same view to the Kabir / Amit / Haresh triangle. Lata's relationship with Kabir was juvenile love. They courted each other with shyness, and there were occasional medium gestures to make you feel like they took the feelings seriously. However, it was apparent that Kabir was committed to cricket and his medical career, and he wanted to deal with the relationship complications by just winging it. Even me, in my coconut craving haze, could see that it was not a long term love. Good first love though!

I adored Amit from the start. I found him to be mature, witty, funny and sensitive enough to not be arrogant. I loved the riposte in the Chatterji family, especially between Amit and Kuku. So when Amit had feelings for Lata, in my mind, he was a perfect catch. His poem to her was subtle but so very passionate, and I was swooning every step of the way, on Lata's behalf.

Haresh came across as ambitious, determined and a little square. He fit the description of the perfect arranged marriage, which was what Mrs Mehra was after, but lacked the charm and vitality that the other characters had. His moments of love were not magnificent declarations, but rather straightforward letters, which to me was just plain boring. Haresh was the one to cliff, the one who was there to show Lata that there were better options.

So I was furious with the ending! I could not figure out why Lata made her decision for an arranged marriage when she could have had love and hot romance!

Fast forward to the second time reading: I had an arranged marriage and fell pregnant after 2 years. I was semi-employed, living in a new country, far away from my immediate family and worrying about my mom, my dog, my life, my husband, my kids and my in-laws. This time around, I read through all the history bits and learnt more about the long term effects of the partition of India. I bristled that Maan could chase after a courtesan with very little repercussion but Lata suffered her mother's wrath when someone saw her talking to Kabir. (I felt more strongly about this because I have 2 girls and I want them to be equal in the world.)

Kabir was still an intense and shallow love interest for Lata. The romance developed because he payed attention to Lata, not necessarily because they communicated on a deep level. Definitely the one to cliff!

I still adored Amit, his one-liners and his kindness. He looked after Lata when she visited the family. She was comfortable in his company and probably felt extremely self-conscious when he would spontaneously reveal his feelings for her.

Now Haresh, on the other hand, was a changed man. He wanted to have a successful career in order to be married to anyone, even Lata. He was pragmatic in his approach to work, his romancing of Lata and his relationships with the people around him. While passionate love might not be high on his list of priorities, he had everything else covered - good social standing, got along with the family, steadfast and honest. Still square, but a square that you could work with. Now, although I still didn't fully agree with her choice, I understood why Lata married Haresh.

Our great blender adventures

Living in NYC, we jumped into the healthy living bandwagon. Took a few years but here we are - body conscious people, exercising regularly, eating salads and gulping down juices and smoothies in an effort to get more veggies and fruits into our body. I was on a salad diet for a while and after a while it started to get to me. Not the leaves - that was ok, but the variety-cost correlation. I used to order in and pay nearly $15 each time for someone to add sprouts and thai peanut dressing to leaves, or mix up goats cheese and beets in a bowl for me. In the end I had to settle for buying the leaves, salad dressing and toppings from the grocery store, while pushing daily variety to the side.

Smoothies, however, were our extravaganza. Whenever we were in the shopping center, we would buy a smoothie or two, because it was the best solution to thirsty, tasty and healthy. The kids loved it, and I was pleased that we all had our shots of vitamins and minerals under all the ice cream or milk base. Life was good.. until our friends brought over a few jars of homemade watermelon juice. Yummy, refreshing watermelon juice that we finished over dinner in one night. "Buy a blender", they said. "Best thing ever. You will use it all the time to blend everything."

Visions of readymade juices floated in my dreams. Bottles of watermelon juice, carrot juice (I had a giant bag of carrots in the fridge at the time), healthy morning smoothies, fruits turned into tropical thirsty quenchers, juices turned into ice cream - the possibilities were endlessly delicious and convenient. I even pictured myself wearing leggings and running around everywhere with a reusable smoothie bottle in one hand (and my hair looked great!)

"We will buy a blender," we said. "Loads of fruits and veggies too. Healthy us!"

I found a recommended blender on Amazon that had an affordable price tag. Figured that we would see how we go with that before committing to those $300 juice marvels. On the day that the blender was due to arrive, I went out and bought a huge watermelon and a couple of bottles. That evening, I set the kitchen island: watermelon, knife and cutting board, bottles and the blender in the box. M came home and with great excitement, we opened the box with the blender. Took it out, admired the sharp blades and different compartments for juice and pulp and then got ready to juice.

Cutting a full watermelon into smaller pieces is bloody hard work! That took a while so we decided to just do half today and the other half the next day. After some chopping and smashing we were finally ready to juice. Juice bottle on one side, container of watermelon pieces on the other - and we started! The blender was super loud as it crushed the watermelon pieces, splattering flesh and juice everywhere in the pulp compartment. When the juice finally started to flow, the excitement level in the room went up! We had maybe about 2cm of juice in the bottle when I noticed that nearly half of the watermelon pieces were already in the blender.  Then we realized that that the pulp compartment did not fully seal and the blender had leaked crushed watermelon pulp down the side and all over the the kitchen island. There was no point trying to clean up - we had to wait until the juicing session was over.

When all the pieces were in, we had barely a glass of juice. If each of us had two sips each, we would finish it straightaway, no need for a bottle, thank you very much. Our beloved basic blender simply pulverized the fruit pieces. There was no filtering or straining the pulp. We did that manually, feeding the pulp through the juicer a couple of times to try and extract as much of the juice as possible, making an even bigger mess everywhere. I was determined to have more than two sips of juice after all the effort, but soon, I gave up. Two sips it is.

Clean up was another mission. Pulp and sticky juice everywhere except inside the specially purchased glass bottles. The next day, we decided to eat the other half of the watermelon, because that way everyone would have enough to satisfy themselves.

A few weeks later, I bought another huge watermelon. Thought we would give juice making another shot. It took about 1 week of nagging M to get him to cut and juice the watermelon. I added an apple or two to get more juice. We went through the whole chop and blitz process again and got about 2 glasses of juice which went into the bottle. The bottle stayed in the fridge for another week before I tossed out the juice and stored the blender and juice bottles in the back of the cupboard.