Salwar Kameez

It was worse than yesterday.

Today she wore her black corduroy pants, which billowed slightly at the thighs, with an over-sized pink T-shirt, that was plain but had a dark blue stripe, about an inch and half wide, running down from the left shoulder. She remembered having begged Amma to talk to Appa about buying those pants.

“They are all going to trek up the hill, behind our college,” she said referring to her new found friends at a junior college in India, where she studied for six glorious months. “Amma, I can’t wear my salwar kameez. Everybody will be in jeans!”
That was before she was awarded the scholarship for Junior College studies in Singapore. Yesterday, she had worn her salwar kameez; a long sleeved, shapeless tunic, that stopped above her knees and cotton pants that were slightly baggy at the hips and thighs and narrowed at the ankles. She had left the scarf at the hostel, even though she knew her mother would not approve of her wearing the salwaar kameez without the scarf draped across her shoulders.

She walked into the main hall at the Junior College in Singapore, where she had started JC1, four days into the school year. She had only set about getting a passport when she got the letter, in early December, informing her about the scholarship. Orientation was in full swing. It seemed to her she had walked into mayhem – there were girls in dark blue pinafores, light blue pinafores, boys in all white, white and dark blue pants, some with military-like buttons on their school uniform.

She should have easily disappeared into this disorder; shrugging dramatically to explain her attire as “On scholarship from India. Nobody told me to pack my secondary school uniform!” But cultivated arrogance was something she could not master, even many years later when she became the Country Head for a leading FMCG in Singapore. She felt as if the orange and green salwar kameez made her stand out, like how they made Sonia Gandhi or Manmohan Singh or other prominent leaders stand out in the huge billboards they put up before the elections, while the rest of the party workers formed the background. It felt like she could not go anywhere without being stared at. She did not know how she participated in all the activities that required her participation, but she did not flinch from any one of them. The school was awash with girlish giggles and boyish guffaws; everybody, it seemed to her, was laughing at her.

She wore the ill-fitting corduroy pants, T-shirts and the white sneakers today, in an attempt to blend in. So innocent was she, that she was not even aware of the fashion faux pas the fabric of her pants represented. She had only worn the pants on that one day when they had trekked up the small hill behind Fergusson College and quite forgotten how she had longed for her salwar kameez that day. Tears welled in her eyes, as she kept tugging at the T-shirt which already was un-fashionably hanging over the billowing pants, around mid-thigh.

She rushed to the computer room at her hostel after dinner. She had not felt like eating the vegetarian fare prepared for her by the bewildered caterer at the hostel. The caterer had thrown a fit when informed he had to innovate to provide vegetarian meals for the three Indian students - “I am not paid enough to create magic!” he had probably screamed in Cantonese. Many years later she was able to distinguish between the sounds of Hokkien, Cantonese, Teochew and Mandarin. That was when she had also learned to appreciate kai lan cooked the Chinese way, with garlic. Today, she just felt she would choke on the uncooked leaves and pushed the plate away when she found it had been cooked with garlic.

She was going to IM her parents, who had arranged to go to a neighbour’s house as they had a computer. But it was arranged they had to keep the interaction to minimum, the internet access was on a dial-up modem and the neighbour was conscious about his telephone bills. The conversation was a variation of their unsynchronized phone conversations, where they both stared to talk at the same time and then stopped simultaneously to allow the other party to speak.

Throughout the session, she reassured them that she was doing fine and was adjusting well, even though it had only been 2 days.

“It’s really great. There is so much happening. I am so excited,” she typed.

“Of course, I miss you guys”, followed in the next box, as her insides suddenly coiled.

“But we have this orientation thing, were there are a lot of activities. Nothing like anything I have experienced in India.”

“I feel great, Amma. Thanks for having the open mind to allow me this experience.”

She stayed back in the computer room, after they had signed off their goodbyes. The screen showed the record of their conversation. She read through the session, tears flowed freely now.

“I lied, Amma”, she typed. “I don’t feel great. I feel like curling up and crying.”

She clicked cancel and put her head down on the keyboard.

Take a Hike

I recently got ticked off for saying someone liked to go for hikes. It was an innocent comment, in admiration of an active couple, who in their 60s are still into hiking and trekking, activities which they have enjoyed since their youth.

But my usage of the word 'hiking' elicited a snort-smirk combo of such gargantuan proportions, that the original intent of the comment was totally hijacked.

Apparently hike is a pretentious way of saying "walking through the woods".

The dictionary defines hike as "a long walk in the country". So presumably it is an acceptable word to define that activity. Much as swim is an acceptable word to describe an activity which is to "move the body through water by using arms, legs etc." and walk is an acceptable word to describe the activity which is to "move by putting forward each foot in turn".

But apparently somewhere through evolution hike has earned some sort of snob appeal. Of course, where there is snob appeal, there must be the anti-snobbery brigade - ridding the world of the scourge of vainglory by eliminating the use of reprehensible words such as hike and trek. A fatwa has to be issued against both people who enjoy this immodest activity and those who defile the sanctity of unaffected conversation by uttering words such as hike and trek. (As with any religious edict, intent, context or an understanding of the character of the offender are no mitigation.)


We live in a world where the hip quotient is revered as much as anything else in defining our choice of clothes, vocation, holiday destination, leisure activities - pretty much in every sphere of our life. And fads and fashions, as with physics, follow the newtonian law that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. So you also have the proliferation of the anti-hip.

The proponents of both views are in essence similar - they think they are uber-cool for either embracing a trend or totally holding themselves above such trends. In expressing his disgust at the usage of the word hike, presumably due to the implied hip quotient of the activity and thereby the perceived pretentiousness of people who engage in these activities - my friend proved himself to be as totally consumed by the very affectation that he sought to decry as indeed the self-proclaimed hiking aficionados. To me - it seemed like they were 2 sides of the same coin.

So here's the deal. 'To hike' is a perfectly acceptable verb to describe the activity of walking through wilderness. Yes, there may be people who emphasise the accoutrements of the activity and thereby appear pretentious. But there are people who genuinely enjoy the activity. The existence of the former should not necessarily tarnish the character of the latter. Much as deifying trends is annoying over zealous vilifying is equally annoying.

Perhaps, the next time someone snorts at an innocent statement, I will just ask them to take a hike.

The Unimpressed

"Hey, your school has been mentioned in the newspaper," I shouted to my son. I showed him the paragraph where the principal mentioned that XYZ school uses motivational speeches and Homework Clubs to help children deal with exam stress.

My 10-yr old literally dived into the paper to read the article but when he emerged from the papers he wore a patently unimpressed expression.

"Well," he said shrugging his shoulders, " motivational speeches just means random babbling by the Principal on assorted topics. Homework Clubs? They are no fun .... they are menial!"

Thank you very much, young man, for sharing your views.

Credit Card

Bombarded with yet another long list of items that she wished to buy, I decided it was time to teach my 7 yr old daughter some basic lessons on personal finance. I was trying to explain to her that there is only finite supply of money we have access to, which means we need to save and therefore delay gratification. Made for an extremely interesting conversation:

Mom : If you had $5on Monday and you spent the $5 on Monday on menthos, markers, keychains, stickers and everything that you wanted, how many dollars do you have left?

D: Zero dollars.

Mom : What if you need to buy an exercise book on Tuesday? You have no money left.

D: You can give me the money.

Mom : But I can only give you $5 every week - and I have already given that to you. So I have no more money left.

D: Appa can give me. I saw he had many $5 notes in his wallet.

Mom : O! But all Appa's $5 will be gone when he buys petrol on Monday. Then he will have no $5 to give you.

D: (silence)

Mom : You will have no exercise book then. So do you think it was correct to spend $5 on Monday on things that you did not need?

D: But I like menthos and keychains.

Mom: But you will have no exercise book and teacher won't like that. But if you only spent $1 on Monday, how much you have left?

D: Four dollars

Mom: Yes - then you can buy your exercise book on tuesday, right?

D: It's ok Amma - if I have no dollars, the Bank can give me the money!!!!!

The concept of having to have money in bank first before you can withdraw from the bank was bewildering to her.

We headed to the supermarket after this conversation, to buy things for her birthday.

We piled our cart with things for loot bags, pizza, and her birthday gift. As we approached the cashier, she asked me "Amma, how much money do you have?" "$40, I think." She was silent, but her eyes ran over all the things in the cart, and she looked a little worried. As the cashier rang in the purchases, her eyes were peeled on the little rectangle that rose above the register to indicate the total cost. She got shifty once the numbers raced past $40 and let out a soft "Whoa" when the green numbers finally said "$140.40."

I could almost hear the silent prayer she uttered while I rummaged through my wallet in search of my credit card. Her eyes lit up when she saw that magical piece of plastic that could instantly wipe away the deficit of currency notes. There was a spring in her step as she helped me carry the purchases to the car.

On the way back, as is her habit, she recounted everything we did at the supermarket. She rounded up her re-cap with, "And Amma ,the cashier was so kind, because she let you use your credit card." I could already hear soft admiration in her voice as she uttered the words credit card.

I tried explaining to her that I still need to pay for the purchases. I explained that at the end of the month I instructed my Bank to pay the credit card company all the money spent over the month.

Her eyes widened, "See Amma, I told you - if you don't have the money - its ok - Just Ask The Bank to Pay!" (I am sure she added a 'Stupid' - at the end of the sentence in her head.) Exasperated at the circularity of the conversation, I tried again to clarify. "But I have to save money and put some money in the Bank, before I can ask the Bank to pay for my credit card. If I spend all my money, and have no money in the Bank - I will not be able to pay my credit card bill, sweetie!"

"It's simple," she exclaimed triumphantly. "Just put your credit card into the bank. When there is no money .... ta da Credit Card."

End of Lesson One.

In memorium

Dev has become an avid newspaper reader. Recently he came by asking what an effigy meant and then told me that he read the word in an article about the suicides at Foxconn, the Chinese plant of the company manufacturing parts for Apple products.

I thought I would test the conscience meter on this digital-native 10-yr old.

"If you had an i-Phone or an i-Pad and knew, that to produce it people had been put through an almost inhumane working environment - leading them to commit suicide even - how would you feel about using the instrument?"

"Well, I first need to find out if somebody really committed suicide trying to make the parts of my iPhone," he began. "If I do find somebody died making the iPhone for me, then I will use it even more. You know, in memory of that person."

It was said with such sincerity. Not quite with the sneer that would accompany this retort if a hip materialistic wannabe was putting down a pain-in-the-ass tree hugger.

Ah, the innocence of childhood.

Conversations with a 6-yr old - Again

Dev: Seriously, you are lost in the carpark? Why don't you turn the GPS on?

10-yr old Dev is approaching adolscent levels on the 'absolutely annoying' scale. "Seriously" is a word that prefaces every sarcastic utterance - which is to say, anything uttered by Dev.

Div: The GPS will not work in the carpark. Right, Amma?

Mom: Umm Hmm ....

Div: It needs sunlight protection.

Mom: What?

Div: You know the lady will say, when we enter B1, "sunlight protection lost"

Dev: Aaaiyyyoh!! Its SATELLITE RECEPTION. Seriously, Div!!!!

Conversations with a 6-yr old

"You mean Thatha had an accident?" queries Div.

"Yes, in July, remember I told you. He was hit by a scooter." replies Mom.

"Has he died? " Div asks.

"No, sweetheart. You spoke with him last week (December). He fractured a bone in his hip.", Mom replies patiently.

"Oh. Why did the scooter hit him? Was the man on the scooter not looking? Was he looking this side? " bang, bang, bang - last question accompanied by a sideways cock of the lovely 6-year old head.

"Yes, he was not looking carefully," still answering.

"Oh you mean Thatha was here (left palm indicating rough spot) and the scooter was here (right palm about six inches away. NB :drawing not to scale) and the man was looking this side (head turned away from palm representing Thatha)? "

"Umm Hmmm.."

"Oh. Thatha was walking to the car or what?"

"No Thatha does not have a car, he was walking back home."

"Oh. Did he know the way back to his home?" (because it could be a very valid reason why he was involved in a accident, he may have been lost)

"Yes, he did."

"Hey Amma, that is Farveenisha's home!" Thatha dumped. "When can I go to Farveenisha's home to play? "

(Total Minutes elapsed from question 1 to change of topic - 2 minutes)