Naya: I want to be Assamese president of New York. No, wait, the Hindi one of Orissa.
And then today, a heartbreaking Naya-ism
Naya: Mommy, I want to travel again.
Mommy: Where do you want to go?
Naya: To Kashmir.
Mommy: There's a lot of fighting there now.
Naya: Then let's go when it's over.
Showing posts with label India. Show all posts
Showing posts with label India. Show all posts
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
NRI Sojourn
I am back. One day soon, I will post a recap of the day-by-day, play-by play of my time in Guwahati. Until then, just take my word that it was one of the most powerful experiences of my life--between witnessing someone die and being with all of my family under one roof (which finally happened to be OUR roof). Unlike when I went to the village in my childhood, this time I appreciated the rarity of the togetherness and tried to revel in it (in between enlarging photos, hunting for the right brand of mustard oil for use in puja, sitting on the river bank at 6 a.m. for yet another offering to the gods and grandmothers, publishing memorial books, buying more and more disposable cups and plates for all the visitors--all on a diet of boiled rice and potato once a day, the food mandated by someone long ago for the bereaved.)
Because my father couldn't come for his mother's shradh on the 13th day, nor could my mother come for her brother's, I flew to them and we made up our own US version. Shockingly, it was the first formal prayer I could remember my parents having in our house, Naya's annaprasanna not counting. The picture above is courtesy of dear Stony, a friend of my grandmother too, whom he lovingly called Jumbo Jet. Ironically, the gangly white guy at the ceremony of 70 people was the one, who besides we seven Kalitas or Mukuls, had spent the most time with her.
Anyway, once I hit my 20s, I stopped crying uncontrollably when I left India/Assam because the frequency of visits made that seem silly. When I left Assam last week, I felt like I was 12 years old again only I didn't have that angry question I always posed to my parents on the LOOOONG plane ride (usually the awful Romanian Airlines, remember) back: Why did you leave? I don't understand. Why wouldn't we want to live with our grandparents?
Nope, last week, as my uncles (and I) cried more over my departure than when Aita died, I knew the answer, thanks to living here for the last 20 months in an India better off than the one my parents left. As an aside but totally related, the number of people who want me to find government jobs for them in Assam is up to four... My maternal uncle's wife's brother ... does anyone know anyone in public works and engineering in Assam?
The US was more of a blur, although I am glad I went and felt my place for the shradh was more with my nuclear family than the extended. Nitin's show sold out, my brothers took a day off and we went to the beach to relax, etc etc.
On the flight home, a packed Continental nonstop worthy of a ballad, the plane was defined by NRI kids and their weary mothers, all going back for the summer. The one seated in my row was miserable, her mother told me: She has her friends now and doesn't want to spend six weeks in Lucknow. The two boys before me in the customs line were practically bouncing off the walls, they were so excited to see their cousins. And the kids behind me, upon hearing I moved to India, promptly asked their mom: "Why don't we live in India?"
I miss that innocence, miss having a grandmother to go to, even miss fighting with my brothers on the flight.
Naya-isms to round out your life:
(She remains in the US with Nitin, his parents and mine, busy with museum visits, swimming lessons, story hour at library, dance camp and her new best friend Antonio down the street, whose mother MY mother has been having coffee and play dates with. Like I said to my parents, if you had done all this for me, I would have been the most well-adjusted, all-American gal there ever was... No wonder she doesn't want to come back.)
She knows my brothers will let her dress any way she wants so as she wore a yellow-and-blue Fab India kurta with a pink and purple skirt, she did a curtsy before me and said, "In these clothes, I look like a stepmother!"
"Ata (grandpa) eats with his hands so he belongs in India, but I eat with a fork so I will stay in America."
Her pronunciation of binoculars is the definitive Indian accent - BINO-coolers...
And she also has taken to imitating my parents now on the phone. The other day, she sat behind the couch on her play cell phone and said, in Assamese: "Yes we are all fine. Only my mother died."
On that note, I am outta here...
Friday, April 25, 2008
The Royal Treatment
So I have been holding out on where we went last weekend... Read on...
http://www.livemint.com/2008/04/25000400/A-touch-of-royal.html
Even before any probing, pressing, caressing, the new spa -- Kaya Kalp -- at the ITC Mughal in Agra invokes sensory overload
S. Mitra Kalita
New Delhi
About 99,000 sq. ft of massage and treatment rooms, workout and yoga space, gardens and fountains. Lavender wafting through the air. Stark red pomegranate motifs on floors and walls, a nod to Emperor Babur’s favourite fruit.
Spa junction: Bathe together in the couple suite. (Photograph courtesy ITC Mughal)
Spa junction: Bathe together in the couple suite. (Photograph courtesy ITC Mughal)
But being overwhelmed is not relaxing and so, the real test of the just-opened Kaya Kalp–The Royal Spa will actually be in transporting the stressed-out set to places far, far away from big and busy. Based on my recent experience, it will succeed precisely because of the attention to the little: water fragranced with cucumber and orange slices, the delicate cymbals chimed at the end of an ayurvedic treatment, decorative marble candle holders reminiscent of the behemoth ode to love nearby.
Offerings range from salon standards—haircuts, manicures, pedicures and facials—to elaborate packages known as “journeys” that can last up to three hours. The spa claims it is Asia’s largest, as well as the first in India, to offer the Turkish bath known as a hammam.
And so, I began my journey.
I lay on a marble slab, stripped of clothing, dignity and tension all at once. The steam around me blinded, suffocated, hypnotized but dozens of candles danced through the haze, their light bouncing off tiny mirrors and creating rainbows around the room. Just when fainting felt imminent, hard sprays of cold water awakened and invigorated. In life, two distinct stages force human beings to be bathed at the hands of another: childhood and old age. Thus, the hammam, a meeting of a sauna, bath and massage in one, might startle those of us in the active, independent purgatory of middle age. But it is well worth getting over such inhibitions because being cleansed, lathered, rubbed in this manner felt like the very embodiment of what a spa should be.
“Remember a spa is about water,” reminds Christine Hays, the operations head who has spent the last eight months overseeing the conversion of ITC Mughal’s gardens into this decadent space. She recounts how the spa designers sent pieces of electrical equipment for modern-day treatments and she simply stored them away, explaining: “Everything has to be so natural and hands on.”
For the unique, transcendental experience, the hammam (Rs4,400 for 100 minutes) should be tried. But, if you’re looking for a strong rub with your knots and stress in someone’s firm hands, this might not be the best option. The 30-minute tension reliever (Rs1,500) is a more affordable blend of the pointed nature of Thai massage with the longer strokes of, say, a Swedish.
The entrance to Kaya Kalp (Photograph courtesy ITC Mughal)
The entrance to Kaya Kalp (Photograph courtesy ITC Mughal)
Notably, here, I finally learnt to embrace ayurvedic massage. In massages past, I have often just wanted to get up from the oily table and yell at the well-intentioned women in sync to stop sliding and teasing, to start applying pressure already. For those who value the healing and natural elements of ayurveda, ITC’s spa offers three rituals. I tried the hot herbal poultice massage (60 minutes for Rs3,500), which relies on a ball of herbs dipped in hot oil— “You could eat it,” Hays assures—to move across the body. The pressure of the ball on the joints across my legs and arms was especially welcome. And the soft wad perfectly juggles gliding yet applying pressure; there is none of that panic-inducing feeling that someone’s fingers might fracture your spine.
Kaya Kalp also offers a chakra balancing gem stone massage (60 minutes for Rs3,000) that seemed to incorporate similar elements as the herbal ball, but with the use of stones; this is also the massage given to couples during the Taj Mahal romance journey, which, for Rs15,000, gets the two of you three hours of rubbing, bathing, feeding and loving (the masseurs give you a 5-minute knock as a warning before entering so you can go wild in the tub strewn with rose petals).
Roses and red are striking themes throughout; some massages begin with dipping feet into a bowl of water with petals. The observatory garden outback is still being worked on, and when it cools down, outdoor massages will be added. The pool, which is only for users above the age of 15, follows the sharp lines and maze-like arrangement of the garden. At night, the candles, shooting fountains and sprays of mist overhead inspire literal and metaphoric reflection.
“The Mughals were known for opulence,” explains Anil Chadha, general manager at the ITC Mughal. “They were very aspirational.” That puts them pretty much on par with the target customer here.
Like the backs it kneads, Kaya Kalp has a few kinks to work out. For a place that has promised such a Mughal experience, background music veered into the new age or elevator ambience at times. The couches and interior décor feels heavy, expected of the Mughals, but not necessarily cozy. The addition of some rituals, such as tea or healthy snacks while you wait, might help loosen the atmosphere up.
While prices are affordable by five-star spa standards, a few packages blending the works—say, manicure, pedicure, facial and massage—would likely do well, especially for the stressed who are time pressed. Unquestionably though, ITC Mughal’s spa has admirably fashioned itself into a destination in a city where most are lured by another awe-inspiring structure. So, while visitors are off seeing the fruits of one man’s devotion, stay behind, for Kaya Kalp is a divine place to pay homage to what should be your greatest love of all: you.
http://www.livemint.com/2008/04/25000400/A-touch-of-royal.html
Even before any probing, pressing, caressing, the new spa -- Kaya Kalp -- at the ITC Mughal in Agra invokes sensory overload
S. Mitra Kalita
New Delhi
About 99,000 sq. ft of massage and treatment rooms, workout and yoga space, gardens and fountains. Lavender wafting through the air. Stark red pomegranate motifs on floors and walls, a nod to Emperor Babur’s favourite fruit.
Spa junction: Bathe together in the couple suite. (Photograph courtesy ITC Mughal)
Spa junction: Bathe together in the couple suite. (Photograph courtesy ITC Mughal)
But being overwhelmed is not relaxing and so, the real test of the just-opened Kaya Kalp–The Royal Spa will actually be in transporting the stressed-out set to places far, far away from big and busy. Based on my recent experience, it will succeed precisely because of the attention to the little: water fragranced with cucumber and orange slices, the delicate cymbals chimed at the end of an ayurvedic treatment, decorative marble candle holders reminiscent of the behemoth ode to love nearby.
Offerings range from salon standards—haircuts, manicures, pedicures and facials—to elaborate packages known as “journeys” that can last up to three hours. The spa claims it is Asia’s largest, as well as the first in India, to offer the Turkish bath known as a hammam.
And so, I began my journey.
I lay on a marble slab, stripped of clothing, dignity and tension all at once. The steam around me blinded, suffocated, hypnotized but dozens of candles danced through the haze, their light bouncing off tiny mirrors and creating rainbows around the room. Just when fainting felt imminent, hard sprays of cold water awakened and invigorated. In life, two distinct stages force human beings to be bathed at the hands of another: childhood and old age. Thus, the hammam, a meeting of a sauna, bath and massage in one, might startle those of us in the active, independent purgatory of middle age. But it is well worth getting over such inhibitions because being cleansed, lathered, rubbed in this manner felt like the very embodiment of what a spa should be.
“Remember a spa is about water,” reminds Christine Hays, the operations head who has spent the last eight months overseeing the conversion of ITC Mughal’s gardens into this decadent space. She recounts how the spa designers sent pieces of electrical equipment for modern-day treatments and she simply stored them away, explaining: “Everything has to be so natural and hands on.”
For the unique, transcendental experience, the hammam (Rs4,400 for 100 minutes) should be tried. But, if you’re looking for a strong rub with your knots and stress in someone’s firm hands, this might not be the best option. The 30-minute tension reliever (Rs1,500) is a more affordable blend of the pointed nature of Thai massage with the longer strokes of, say, a Swedish.
The entrance to Kaya Kalp (Photograph courtesy ITC Mughal)
The entrance to Kaya Kalp (Photograph courtesy ITC Mughal)
Notably, here, I finally learnt to embrace ayurvedic massage. In massages past, I have often just wanted to get up from the oily table and yell at the well-intentioned women in sync to stop sliding and teasing, to start applying pressure already. For those who value the healing and natural elements of ayurveda, ITC’s spa offers three rituals. I tried the hot herbal poultice massage (60 minutes for Rs3,500), which relies on a ball of herbs dipped in hot oil— “You could eat it,” Hays assures—to move across the body. The pressure of the ball on the joints across my legs and arms was especially welcome. And the soft wad perfectly juggles gliding yet applying pressure; there is none of that panic-inducing feeling that someone’s fingers might fracture your spine.
Kaya Kalp also offers a chakra balancing gem stone massage (60 minutes for Rs3,000) that seemed to incorporate similar elements as the herbal ball, but with the use of stones; this is also the massage given to couples during the Taj Mahal romance journey, which, for Rs15,000, gets the two of you three hours of rubbing, bathing, feeding and loving (the masseurs give you a 5-minute knock as a warning before entering so you can go wild in the tub strewn with rose petals).
Roses and red are striking themes throughout; some massages begin with dipping feet into a bowl of water with petals. The observatory garden outback is still being worked on, and when it cools down, outdoor massages will be added. The pool, which is only for users above the age of 15, follows the sharp lines and maze-like arrangement of the garden. At night, the candles, shooting fountains and sprays of mist overhead inspire literal and metaphoric reflection.
“The Mughals were known for opulence,” explains Anil Chadha, general manager at the ITC Mughal. “They were very aspirational.” That puts them pretty much on par with the target customer here.
Like the backs it kneads, Kaya Kalp has a few kinks to work out. For a place that has promised such a Mughal experience, background music veered into the new age or elevator ambience at times. The couches and interior décor feels heavy, expected of the Mughals, but not necessarily cozy. The addition of some rituals, such as tea or healthy snacks while you wait, might help loosen the atmosphere up.
While prices are affordable by five-star spa standards, a few packages blending the works—say, manicure, pedicure, facial and massage—would likely do well, especially for the stressed who are time pressed. Unquestionably though, ITC Mughal’s spa has admirably fashioned itself into a destination in a city where most are lured by another awe-inspiring structure. So, while visitors are off seeing the fruits of one man’s devotion, stay behind, for Kaya Kalp is a divine place to pay homage to what should be your greatest love of all: you.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Nursery admissions opus
Everything you could ever want to know about schools, India, admissions and us.
http://www.livemint.com/2008/04/05001858/Wanted-Exceptional-parents.html
Enjoy...
http://www.livemint.com/2008/04/05001858/Wanted-Exceptional-parents.html
Enjoy...
Sunday, March 30, 2008
A question...
Am hoping some RNRIs will write in. When things don't go your way in India - the gas is out, the maid doesn't show up, traffic -- what do you do? Is there a magic thing I can say or do to keep from getting so angry and cursing a whole country instead of that piece of the puzzle...
Monday, November 20, 2006
Dupatta or pants-suit?
Getting dressed for work today put me in a quandary. A few years ago, when I reported a series for Newsday on the new Indian economy, I wore salwar kameez to most of my interviews. In years past, I have switched between pants and salwars, depending on the setting. This morning, I wondered.
So I settled on a lime-green and blue suit that has a Nehru-wannabe kind of collar. As I did my makeup, I looked at the Lakme sindoor stick in my bag with a pang. Should I put a drop of it on my hairline so folks know I am married?
I had the same question last fall, as I reported on the new India for the Washington Post, and my sister-in-law dragged me with her to a Diwali party. About to sport the sindoor, my niece Ananya said with exasperation, "Mitra Chachi, do not put on the sindoor. It makes you look old and this is Delhi: Nobody wears sindoor anymore!"
I put it on anyway and retorted: "Ananya, without the sindoor, I would not even be your chachi!"
But this morning, I passed and tried to part my hair to the side. The wedding ring's enough, I reasoned. Although all the forms I filled out did ask me for the name of my father/husband...
So I settled on a lime-green and blue suit that has a Nehru-wannabe kind of collar. As I did my makeup, I looked at the Lakme sindoor stick in my bag with a pang. Should I put a drop of it on my hairline so folks know I am married?
I had the same question last fall, as I reported on the new India for the Washington Post, and my sister-in-law dragged me with her to a Diwali party. About to sport the sindoor, my niece Ananya said with exasperation, "Mitra Chachi, do not put on the sindoor. It makes you look old and this is Delhi: Nobody wears sindoor anymore!"
I put it on anyway and retorted: "Ananya, without the sindoor, I would not even be your chachi!"
But this morning, I passed and tried to part my hair to the side. The wedding ring's enough, I reasoned. Although all the forms I filled out did ask me for the name of my father/husband...
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