Growing together... In marriage

Coming from an Indian family guarantees that the topic of marriage was brought up at least twice a week since I turned 20, several days a week since I graduated college and multiple times everyday once I had spent over a year working after graduation. On having seen glimpses of the ups and downs of marriage in my immediate family, I'd often wonder if the ups in any marriage were worth going through the downs. And when the marriage topic started taking over all of the family's conversations, I turned towards the women in the house, married friends and obviously the internet to find out what people thought. I heard opinions that ranged everywhere from "marriage is magic" to "being married is like being imprisoned" and everything else in between. But somehow the women in my family convinced me that having someone to even fight with (not that you'd only fight or argue) is a blessing and that growing old and building a family with someone is a beautiful experience and missing out on it is something I don't deserve. When I did get convinced that marriage might not be all that bad, I was worried if I would be able to make the right decision about the person I'd marry. I then thought that in an arranged marriage, that responsibility is shared and that the core of my faith teaches that there is a reason behind everything God intends to happen to you. So with that belief, I set on.

Almost one year after my marriage, I now look back at the indecision, nervousness, excitement, anticipation and all the emotions that come before marriage, and also at the tumultuous journey that the first year of marriage usually is; and reflect on what it has been and how it has changed me. But most of all, I look at the companionship with my husband that has grown over the months and at how we have imbibed in ourselves, qualities of the other. At times, just reflecting upon the fact that somebody that was a stranger two years back is now the person I spend most of my day with, the most important person in my life, leaves me in awe of how quickly relationships can develop over a short span of time. It is amazing how someone who hasn't known you or your story for the first 20 or so years of your life can suddenly start reading your mind, your mood, understanding your likes, dislikes, sleep pattern and what not!?

In the months after marriage, I have started enjoying his playlist of a specific few Tamil songs from the late 90's and early 2000's; learnt to make tea to his liking; appreciate (if not share) his love for biryani; accepted that a guy could never have enough shirts in shades of blue and varieties of plaid; observed that a basketball player will forever be tempted to exhibit his basketball skills even if its scope only extends to throwing trash into the trash bin at home; been awed by his amazing culinary skills; accepted that eating Indian cuisine for most part of the week is still okay; been introduced to and made to like classic Hollywood movies; become accustomed to the idea of lazy weekends as opposed to my "let's go to the city!" weekend mood; and become familiar with dialogues from numerous Tamil movies and realized that it is possible to come up with a dialogue for every situation; and most of all have been at the receiving end of such care that I often feel like I am being spoiled! At the same time, he has also begun to like Italian and Mediterranean cuisines; learnt to put up with my taste of music; become accustomed to my extreme excitement at little things; become understanding of my need to have the house be sparkling clean at all times and forced himself to accompany me to the city on weekends, even though he absolutely loathes the crowded city streets.

There are the things you eventually get used to in a marriage. But there are also things that you constantly do for each other just because you know how much it means to your spouse. There maybe things that were explicitly conveyed to you, but then also there are things you learn about them over time. While my husband knows that it is the lovely little notes he leaves for me at home before heading to work, surprising me with desserts (often the Hershey's chocolate mousse cake, but really any dessert would do), finding movies for us to watch that he knows I'll like for sure and spoiling me with makeup. However, he has also discovered over time that nothing makes me quite as happy as him surprising me with a clean kitchen at the end of a tiring day or pancakes for breakfast on a lazy weekend morning or just sitting beside me, calming me down while I panic and rush at the last minute to finish assignments on time.

But what matters is not just how much we've both become accustomed to the other's likes and dislikes. It is also how we've both developed mutual interests and begun traditions of our own. I don't claim to be an expert in marriage. But, I speak out of experience when I say that for a marriage to work, mutual love is usually not enough. There needs to be open mindedness and willingness to change and adapt. Naturally, in a marriage there will be great, good, bad and awful days. If on the most awful of days, there is hope, then the marriage has succeeded. However, the effort needs to come from both sides and the secret to a happy marriage is in putting in the effort and finding someone that would put in the effort. I consider myself extremely fortunate that I have someone that not only brings love, but also effort into the marriage.

A true blue honeymoon adventure

I'll start off with a confession. I never learned how to swim. After multiple failed attempts at trying to schedule swim classes, I just gave up at some point last year. But when I took it upon myself to plan our delayed honeymoon, I felt a tinge of regret at not having learned how to swim. Anyways, I ignored the regret and planned us a relaxing one week on board Royal Caribbean's Oasis of the Seas cruise ship for a combined birthday-honeymoon trip, in the 2nd week of May. It was this cruise that pulled me through all of March and April. When we finally boarded the ship and it set sail into Caribbean waters, we were in for a week of gorgeous views, beautiful waters, an unlimited supply of food, my chance to get photographed in some beautiful summer outfits and as we discovered later, some moments of reflection as well.

Almost immediately after setting sail, we found ourselves surrounded by water and only water. The vastness of the tiny part of the ocean we traveled through, still amazes me. For somebody that is not very familiar with sailing, it takes a while to get used to the idea of being in the middle of the ocean with nothing but water everywhere you looked (of course except for the luxurious interiors of the cruise ship). Once the sun sets, the darkness that surrounds the ship is something that can't be imagined or explained unless one experiences it first hand. As the ship arrived at the breathtakingly beautiful Labadee in Haiti on day 3, we were looking forward to ziplining on the world's longest zipline over water and trying our hands on a couple more adventure sports. Amidst my awe of the beautiful Caribbean landscape, excitement at trying the zipline and a teeny bit of fear at being on this adventure sport - beach paradise without knowing how to swim. But who lets fear take over on their cruise honeymoon? So I ignored that fear, packed a bag full of beach essentials, doused ourselves with sunscreen and almost hopped my way out of the cruise ship looking like a true hijabi Caribbean tourist, accompanied by my husband who couldn't really understand my obsession with the beach.

As soon as we got on land, we went around trying to book our adventure sports for the day. After leaving the parasailing kiosk disappointed because they were sold out, we went ahead and reserved spots for the zipline adventure. My husband then suggested jet skiing. That's when my fear began to peek again. But he convinced me saying that he'll drive and I can just sit behind him and enjoy the view. Reluctantly, I agreed. After the 20 minute long information session, I began to feel a lot more confident and slightly excited. There were about 15 people on the group with us and two instructors/guides. One of the instructors would be on a jet ski at the front of the group and the other behind and we'd all be moving in a line. There were about 10 jet skis, either with a single rider or with a driver and passenger. My husband and I were on the last jet ski, followed only by the instructor at the back. We were prepared for the adventure with life vests and my husband wore an additional vest with handles on either side for me to hold on to. At about four spots in the ocean, we'd all regroup and then start off again. Once we started moving, I realized I'm going to be spending the entire time praying with my eyes closed, rather than enjoying the view or the experience. But it would have been a shame to not look at the gorgeous landscape, so I tried to overlook the fear and make use of the chance; while my husband tried to scare me even more by speeding.

After the third time we regrouped, where we were met by some locals selling handmade objects on kayaks, we started off again. As the rest of the group started moving, we took off too. At one point, just as I was starting to finally feel at ease on the jet ski, we made a sharp turn and the jet ski toppled over, dropping us into the ocean. For a handful of seconds, I found myself under water, drinking in a lot of sea water. I had accepted the fact that this could be the end when I realized that we were wearing life jackets and we'd resurface. Right about then, we did resurface. In all this chaos, I hadn't let go of the handles on my husband's vest (which I'd later tell him is a metaphor for how the rest of our lives will be!); and he was holding on to the jet ski. As we called out for help, the instructor that had been at the back of the group, and the men on the kayaks were making their way towards us. Once they reached us, they'd asked to let go of the jet ski, to which we furiously protested and then realized that it was the smartest thing to do at the moment. As we let go of the jet ski, we went underwater again. This time, as we resurfaced, we held on to one of the kayaks while the jet ski was being turned over. The instructor then helped us on to the jet ski and called for a new one. We waited on the malfunctioning jet ski, in the middle of the ocean, waiting for the replacement to arrive, soaking wet. I was shivering - both because of the wetness and panic, while my husband stayed calm and kept smiling throughout. I'd never understand how one can keep calm after having fallen into the ocean, but his calmness kept my panic under check throughout the episode. Once our new jet ski arrived, we were able to continue on and join the rest of the group at their last regrouping session.

When we reached the shore though, we quickly moved on to lunch, some time at the beach and our breathtakingly beautiful ziplining adventure before it was time for the ship to set sail again. However, once we reached our state room on the ship and had time to contemplate on the happenings of the day, was when we realized the magnitude of what had happened earlier that day! Thinking about those few moments I spent underwater, gives me goosebumps even two months later. It was an experience to truly realize the vastness and beauty of creation, the fragility of life and how big of a blessing it was to be in each other's company through it all. It was quite a honeymoon adventure, but also, drinking all that salt water somehow miraculously got rid of a stubborn cough that had refused to go away for days. What we had planned for was a different and unique honeymoon experience, but it turned out to be an adventure of a lifetime!

My Indian Wedding (Last Part)

For how much time goes into preparing a bride for her wedding and for the initial few days of meeting new people on her husband's side of the family, no one really prepares a girl for her first or so year of being a bride. Certainly no one prepared me for my "grad school wife life". I would forever ask myself if starting grad school within a month of getting married and moving in with the husband was a good idea. To say that the last 4 months have been an absolute roller coaster ride would be a gross understatement. While I was navigating the unfamiliarity of being a wife and living with just one other person, I had also gone back to school after a break of 31 months to start on a competitive graduate program. These last four months have been a whirlwind of everything and for days, had me caught up in the fear of missing the beautiful moments that are unique to the initial few months of marriage, amidst all the chaos.

What the best and the worst part of an Indian marriage are, happen to be the same. It is the fact that Indian marriages are the union of two families and not just two individuals. While it is beautiful, it is just as chaotic as it sounds. Add to that, getting used to managing a house and spending half the day by yourself, when you're accustomed only to noise. The first month of marriage was already seeming difficult. Then I started school. The heavy workload on top of all the other new things in my life, and I stumbled. Badly. That stumble was what taught me my first lesson in marriage. That you marry so that one person doesn't have to take it all on themselves. You have another person, exclusively to yourself, to lean on. There have been stumbles along the way and each time has taught me something new. The most important of which is to share. In a marriage, what people often forget is that neither person can read minds. If you don't share with your spouse, they can't possibly know what you're thinking of and how you're feeling. If you don't share with each other, you won't know how one person's actions make the other feel. You also can't expect your spouse to help you if you don't share your thoughts with them. This was a lot easier for my husband than for me and along the way, I have realized multiple times how important it is to share with each other. Equally important is to realize that anything you put into a marriage is multiplied manifold. The more love and understanding and effort and respect and support and patience you put into a marriage, the more you get. Similarly, the anger and frustration and irritation you put into a marriage will also be multiplied. Every day teaches me something new and and every lesson learnt is a step taken towards a successful marriage.

Four months is a relatively short period and I can't claim to be an expert in marriage yet. But over this course of time, I've realized that what they say is true. All marriages have their fair share of good, bad and ugly days. The most trivial of things can lead to the ugliest of fights and the most controversial of topics an be discussed without any issues. Without the bad and ugly days, we would never realize truly how beautiful the good days are. In spite of how hard a marriage can be, it can be much more comforting and supportive if you let it be. And the beauty of marriage, like everything else in life, lies in the little things. It is the late night drives on dark and empty highways; the lazy days that are completely spent on the couch eating home-delivered pizza and binge-watching movies; the impulsive trips to get ice-cream and then lament about the unwanted calorie consumption; both of us trying to find solutions to homework problems assigned to me; going bowling and trying to beat each other at it; cooking together and/or for each other; having snowball fights in the living room; listening and singing to mutually favorite songs together; him shaking his head watching me at my craziest; talking for hours without realizing the time passing by; and in all the little things we do together on a daily basis.

Like Shashi (the character played by Sri Devi) says in the movie English Vinglish, a marriage is about helping and encouraging each other. The success of any marriage relies greatly on combined effort. Being a roller coaster ride, it comes with its fair share of excitement. What is important is to stick together through all the ups and downs, to rely on each other, to learn to share the load with each other, and above all, to love, to respect, to be understanding, to forgive and to encourage. The bad and ugly days are all part of the package and will only make the marriage stronger, emerging out of those.

My Indian Wedding (Part II)

The day of my wedding had been everything I dreamt of and nothing like I imagined. For the amount of time and effort and money that goes into planning and organizing a wedding, time seems to speed up on the day. I have spent the last two weeks examining every single picture taken at my wedding. I see myself smiling and laughing and in conversation and making all sorts of faces. Yet, I can't seem to associate many of these pictures to any of my memories. I can only remember the excitement and anticipation.

I vaguely remember the night before the wedding. It was close to midnight by the time my family and I returned home after a pre-wedding function. I remember not wanting to change out of my beautiful off white and pastel orange outfit or undo the elaborate bun my hair had been tied into. I remember people running up and down looking for clothes or jewelry or accessories they'd planned to wear to the wedding. I also remember seeing everyone wide awake at 1 in the morning, crossing off things on the to-do list. Somewhere deep inside my head, I also remember my mom looking for her phone. I barely slept for 4 hours. My last night's sleep as an unmarried woman was short and uneventful. I don't even remember anything from the first two hours of the morning of my wedding. I was woken up at 6 and sent to take a quick shower so that I'd be on time for the beautician who decided to show up early. There was only one thing on my mind - to shampoo my hair thrice, as per the beautician's instructions. I cheated and stopped after the second time. I enjoyed the dressing up part though, every moment of which is vivid in my memories. I had the red silk saree and jewelry of my dreams. I let the beautician get my face camera-ready and then tie my hair in a braid. I let her pin long strings of jasmine flowers onto the braid and then apply my favorite red lipstick on my lips, completing the look I had always hoped to achieve on my wedding day. Sometime before the lipstick, I remember being forced to drink a cup of warm milk and then my friend gave me a tiny Twix bar to calm down the nerves. Once the makeup and hair were in place, it was the jewelry's turn. My mom put a gorgeous choker around my neck, other pieces of jewelry followed and I watched myself being transformed into a bride. I would always try to imagine myself in bridal attire for years before my wedding, and watching that transformation happen is a truly surreal experience - one that would always be engraved in my mind. Makeup and photo sessions later, I suddenly found myself at the wedding hall, eyes following me as I walked to the stage, slightly nervous, extremely excited.

While I waited for my husband to arrive, I had ample time to catch up with friends I hadn't met in years and also to pose for a thousand pictures. I was nervous about a permanent artificial smile being plastered onto my face since I had been constantly posing for pictures. At one point the photographers told me not to look like I was being forced to smile. Hmph! Try posing for pictures for hours at a time. I enjoyed exclusive attention for about a couple of hours. As soon as word got out that the bride groom had arrived, my entire family, closest friends and cousins, the photographers who were making me hold props from the stage decor for pictures and all of my bridesmaids disappeared in a flash. I was left alone on the stage without any instructions or expert advice. What if I made a total fool of myself infront of a 1500 people? My little 9 year old cousin felt sorry for me, came up the stage and offered me some of his popcorn. Since my nervousness was beyond anything I could handle, I thought I might as well eat some popcorn. He and I patiently waited on the stage as my husband walked into the hall, followed by almost all the people at the wedding that I recognized, and surrounded by all the photographers. He was made to take one step at a time so that every step is captured in pictures and with every step, I became more of a nervous mess, unsure of how to while away time till he reaches the stage and how long I can look at him without making the gaze inappropriately long for an Indian bride, trying to decipher what color tie my husband finally decided to wear, while also keeping an eye at the guests. I don't think anyone cared about how long my gaze was, since they were all craning their heads to take a good look at the bride groom. The half minute that followed the bride groom party's arrival the stage were the longest half minute of my life. I remember looking at the wedding contract, my right hand and the pen I was holding in it shaking. I took a deep breath and signed on it. And it was done.

As my dad brought my husband forth to the place I was standing at and we were surrounded by family members taking pictures and feeding us sweets and conduct the ceremonies afterwards, I was still trying to come to terms with the fact that I was now married. I had a wide smile plastered onto my face, expressing my excitement and happiness and relief, while also masking the disbelief I was experiencing. Everything afterwards is a blur - a vibrant and happy blur, but a blur nevertheless. We were congratulated by a lot of people, most of whom we did not recognize. But, it was an absolute blessing to have had so many people turn up for us. As we moved on to lunch and posing for pictures together, reality began to hit; that the last couple of hours we spent at each other's side, without stepping away for a minute, was actually a metaphor for how marriage should be and how we should take life forward once we left that wedding hall. The relief on my husband's face mirrored mine. We were beyond relieved to have made it. Post-wedding is a whole different story. But we left that hall by each other's side, hoping for and starting on our happily ever after.

My Indian Wedding (Part I)

Getting married is a huge life change. After almost an entire month of being married, today is the first time I’ve felt even remotely like my pre-wedding self. My wedding has been life altering for me and life has altered in the most remarkable ways. But after having experienced my Indian wedding, I have come to define the word “chaos” in different ways. What happens in an Indian household getting ready for a wedding is its own kind of chaos. I was completely oblivious to this chaos until I landed in India, about 25 days before the big day. The moment I saw the house, I knew it was going to be a homecoming like no other.

I was home after 2.5 years and I was home as a bride. Apart from the bridal treatment which included a pre-breakfast of eggs and plantain, breakfast, pomegranate juice at 11 am, liberty to sleep whenever I wanted to, lunch, post lunch vegetable soup, tea, fruits and dinner; there was also a lot of shopping to look forward to. I received the most pampering for the first time since I was a baby and it was truly a vacation. That lasted for about a week. As we neared the wedding, the tension in the air was also reaching its peak. People were losing their tempers at the drop of a pin and my mom and aunt were looking for ways to make the days longer than 24 hours. I tried to retreat to a corner of the house and become invisible, but the flaring tempers spared no one. An Indian parent (or responsible adult in the family) at a child’s wedding, is usually at their multitasking best and also in the most stress they’ll ever be in. It’s fun to watch from a distance. Only from a distance. With inviting over a 1000 people, never ending shopping, dealing with caterers, decorators, arranging transportation and stay for the guests, and trying to and finally giving up on pacifying angry relatives complaining about a non-issue, you’ll get to see them deal with it all.

But my pre-wedding days were also some that I will cherish for the entirety of my life because of the time I got to spend with close family and friends. My mom and I had always wanted my wedding to be an occasion for the entire extended family to get together and spend a lot of time together; and it was exactly that! We had about 4-5 days before the wedding when the house was packed with people - laughing and eating and bonding. I met cousins that I hadn’t had the opportunity to spend time with in years! I had a huge group of girls (and my brothers) that made sure I looked good, ate well, laughed enough, kept my sanity, found some peace and quiet in the house to make phone calls to my fiancé (now husband), and walked into marriage without too much nervousness on this huge life change. I was, like every bride, extremely nervous, but at the same time, felt immensely blessed. There were too many blessings in those days to count. But there was a special blessing, an extremely special one.

My cousin Shahnaz (who can single handedly take 33% of the credit for me keeping my sanity amidst all the chaos) had come over with her little boys Yahya, 4 and five month old Dawud (also known as, my little Dodo). What her little boys did to add life and cheer and laughter into my pre wedding days, no one else could have! I was meeting little Dodo for the first time and this little boy was my companion as I shopped for my wedding. His love for bright colors and his charming smile made wedding shopping a win-win for us both. He was there through it all - shopping, pre wedding functions, wedding, post wedding, all of it! Holding him and playing with him and talking to him not only helped me disappear from the chaotic action, but also calmed me down in a way only a baby’s laughter could. While Yahya was getting everyone excited by running around and sharing his excitement at his aunt’s wedding, Dodo stayed with me and became my personal ray of sunshine! Having always been a person that loved to spend time with little children, I could not have wished for any better time to bond with my nephews. 

The other 67% of the credit for me keeping my sanity through it all, having every bit of fun and looking like the bride I’ve always wanted to look like, goes to a team of young people aged anywhere between 10-25. My maid of honor who could give Monica of F.R.I.E.N.D.S serious competition, my little sister who is also my own ray of sunshine and laughter, all my bridesmaids (including my friend of 15 years, Wardah who was with me through all of it, providing the kind of comfort and support only a close friend could) and my brothers that were put through an insane amount of work during those days.

The days preceding my wedding were their own kind of special - packed with abundant blessings! I have always believed that the best kind of blessings are the people in our lives and my pre wedding days were truly special because of the time I spent in the company of people I so loved. My family and friends not only made sure that I had the wedding of my dreams but they also made the process so memorable. They had all - parents, siblings, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends; taken off from work and school and their regular lives and took on this huge project of making sure my wedding was all that I had dreamt of. They made sure I had their company when I most wished for and needed it and that has been the truest blessing! 

Standardized tests and lessons learned

Twenty six months and twelve days after the last time I sat for an examination, I had to take the GRE (Graduate Record Examination) today. The last time I took an exam, it was 24 hours before college graduation, for the class that was at the very bottom on my list of my priorities that semester. So, I don't remember studying or even caring about the outcome of that Geology 101 final. As far as I was concerned, I was done with all the finals for my major classes and was getting a degree the next day. Geology 101 was the very last thing on my mind. On that day, in the lecture hall where I took my exam, I was staring at the Scantron paper while planning out my graduation cap decorations and the perfect hijab to go with the gorgeous gown I'd picked out for my grad walk! I hardly knew that the next exam I'd take would be two years later or that it'd be an incredibly tiring, yet highly important standardized test. The experience I had while preparing for the GRE was quite different from experiences I've had with exams before and it'd be unfair to let that experience go undocumented. So here is a list of things I observed and learned while preparing for and taking the GRE:

1. You might think that spending a mere three days preparing for the SAT would've taught me never to repeat that. But seven years later, I found myself making the same mistakes.
2. The day after I registered for the test, way back in May, I started "studying" and gathering study materials. These study materials however, disappeared only to reappear two days before I was due to take the test.
3. I found myself drawing a blank while revisiting certain Math concepts for the test, that I'm pretty sure I'd spent hours studying while in college. Only after the test today, I remembered that I minored in Math while at college. I don't even know how to feel about that.
4. A major part of the GRE is vocabulary study and knowing how to use them in sentences. I had no idea that the English language had about 20 different words that meant the same.
5. Talking about vocab study, if I had studied for finals in college this efficiently, I'd have graduated with a 4.0 GPA.
6. I spent days staring at a list of 800 words that appeared most frequently in GRE tests and tricked myself into believing that I was actually learning those words. 
7. Finally, I realized I needed serious help. So my younger brother and sister were pulled into the prep team. We realized that learning (don't ask me how effectively) 817 words in a day is quite possible if you let your siblings make jokes about the words, correlate every other word to Harry Potter (that is how I passed every History test I took, ever) and let your fiance quiz you. We made a pretty good team.
8. In spite of having a good 60 days to prepare, the studying gets done only in the last weekend before the test and two after work evenings.
9. Studying while at work is quite possible and pretty efficient too. I found myself running to the car to solve a few practice tests, run back to my desk and repeat the above two steps multiple times a day. I must confess that I did get a lot of studying and work done that way! 
10. You can trick yourself into believing that you'll get a good 7 hours of sleep the night before the test, but then you find yourself staring at the clock multiple times that night - at 1:18, 3:20, 4:32.
11. If you have a strong gut feeling about wearing your eyeliner boldly the morning of the test, listen to that gut feeling. I found myself in front of the bathroom mirror, applying eyeliner at 5:30 in the morning, wondering what I was doing. Then I realized that it's best to not ask questions that can't be answered.
12. The best breakfast on test day? Little sister's chocolate waffles (with additional chocolate sauce because life is better with chocolate sauce for breakfast) and a huge cup of strong, bitter coffee. Trust me, it works wonders!
13. Lesson learned - While appearing for standardized tests, make sure the hijab isn't tied too tightly or else it gets supremely awkward trying to lift it on either side so that the proctor can make sure that you have no listening devices on your ears. It's best to avoid looking at the proctors at this time since they're trying hard to not look at your struggle with your headscarf and looking at them would just make the situation embarrassing for everyone.
14. I never thought I'd say this about myself but I had to use ear muffs during the test because I found the sound of other people's keyboards, annoying. For a self-confessed "I can't do without any noise" person, this was quite a revelation about myself. Oh and by the way, if you have a helix ear piercing, ear muffs can be quite uncomfortable (important lesson that I learned today).
15. When you hear people talking about a 9 hour long exam that will require them to stay at the testing center from 7 in the morning to 4 in the evening, it is perfectly okay to stop worrying about your own exam for a moment and ask them what test they're taking. This kind of half information will bug you for hours!
16. Four hour long exams can be a pain and not so much fun! But they are timed and one must remember not to get distracted by their engagement ring, or the pretty colored pencil on the table or the cover of their passport.
17. Another lesson learned - wait for a good half hour or so to get the excitement and giddy relief out of your head before you start driving! You deserve that half hour of rest after going through this kind of an experience.
18. Finally, when the brain furiously protests against sleeping at the end of the most tiring day in forever and insists on writing, one shouldn't give in too easily.

The taste of home

On 5th October 2000, my mom and I traveled by air for the first time ever, leaving behind Nagercoil, a beautiful little town in the south of India and landed in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, a city on the west coast of the country which also happens to be the fourth largest city in all of the Arab world. As I looked down through the windows on the plane shortly before landing, my heart sank at the sight of the city surrounded by the dusty, dry desert below. Things did not change much once we left the airport. For a 6 year old me, the fear of getting used to an entirely new country and unfamiliar faces, was growing by the minute. In spite of the growing fear, I was drinking in the sights of the city outside the car window - the tall buildings, the flyovers, the signboards in Arabic, the lights that were being turned on as it grew darker and the absence of greenery. I didn't anticipate it then but in the years to come, that unfamiliar city became more beloved to me than any other place; it became the city that still holds some of my most precious memories; it became the city that watched me grow up and become my own person; it became home. But, on that day and in the couple of years that followed, I was still coming to terms with accepting this place as my new home. However, what I immediately liked about Jeddah, was Al Baik.

For the first half of the year after we moved to Jeddah, one of my dad's closest friends, his wife and their little daughter were the ones who showed me around the city and helped me feel comfortable there. I have spent hours in their car, listening to them share stories about the places we drove by. During one such car ride, I pointed to the store with a bright sign - red in the background and yellow letters that spelled "Al Baik" in Arabic and English, a sign I had seen in multiple places around the city and asked "What is this place? And why is it always so crowded?". That is when they introduced me to what went on to become an integral part of my growing up years (believe me, I'm not exaggerating)!

Al Baik, dear readers, sold the most amazing broasted chicken you would find anywhere in the world (and I say this with absolute conviction). The golden brown chicken with a crispy crust (that can be eaten all by itself) and tender meat beneath, accompanied by fries that taste different from fries I've had before or since, sesame topped bun and garlic sauce, was the meal of choice for most residents of Jeddah. The broasted chicken and garlic sauce form a pair that could only be described as a match made in heaven (I usually stay away from cliches, but there's no other way to explain the perfect combination of Al Baik chicken and garlic sauce). In the year 2000, Al Baik came in two sizes - 4 pieces and 8 pieces of chicken (with accompaniments), sold for SAR 10 (about $3) and SAR 20 (about $6) respectively. The quantity, quality, taste and affordability of Al Baik made it the national (or its equivalent for a city) food of Jeddah. The first time I went to a branch of Al Baik with my dad, I found the place packed with people, and even though I didn't realize it then, extremely efficient staff! With Al Baik, it always is love at first bite!

In the years to come, the franchise expanded. They opened new branches in other western Saudi cities and added to their menu - chicken nuggets, chicken nugget sandwiches, broasted shrimp and a variety of accompaniments. But the taste remained constant and so did the quality. Al Baik has been part of celebrations throughout my 11 years in Jeddah. The most memorable of them are the yearly parties we had in our school bus. We'd collect money from every kid in the bus and pass them on to the bus driver with a list of items to buy. Later in the afternoon, right before he leaves for the school to come pick us up, he'd stop by at a nearby Al Baik and buy the items on the list (usually sandwiches). Us older kids in the bus would leave from class early that afternoon, rush to the bus and make sure that everyone got their food and that we had a concrete plan to have the party be as mess free as possible and to leave the bus as clean as it was that morning. We'd then spend the rest of the bus ride talking, singing and enjoying the food. Similarly, Al Baik has been a part of many, many memories from my time in Jeddah. It was what we ate on arrival in Jeddah after long and tiring flights, when we were famished after performing Umrah (a pilgrimage to Makkah, that can be undertaken at any time of the year), when unexpected guests arrived and when family and friends visited Jeddah for the first time.

It has been six years since I moved away from Jeddah. But every time I visit, on my list of things I'm excited for, Al Baik comes second only to meeting family. My dad makes sure to buy Al Baik for dinner on the day of my arrival and even 17 years later, the taste hasn't changed a bit! After spending all these years away from Jeddah, the taste of Al Baik always manages to bring back a sense of familiarity, comfort and nostalgia!

The Day Before Thanksgiving

Two years ago, after a certain difficult and overloaded semester in college which managed to teach me more life lessons in 3 months than the 21 years that preceded, I told myself that I would not let myself be carried away by the overwhelming speed of the fast paced lives we live. I'd told myself that irrespective of the deadlines and meetings and paperwork and the hundreds of other things on my checklist, I would always find time to sit back, take a deep breath, not worry too much, deal with situations calmly and just appreciate life for what it is - a constellation of blessings! However, forgetfulness and the sheer amount of work it takes for someone to drastically change their outlook towards life, made sure that I never quite reached the goal I set for myself. Then came that highly eventful Thanksgiving break.

Thanksgiving happens to be one of my favorite weekends of the year. I like telling myself that I enjoy the holiday because it is associated with spending time with family and being grateful. But I know very well that it is because of black Friday sales and the fact that Thanksgiving break indicates that December is right around the corner, and December just means "a month of too many days off". So last year, on the day before Thanksgiving, I had set out to work early in the morning. I thought the holiday crowd would either have left the day before or that they would get on the road later that day. I'd assumed that the roads would be free that morning. I'd be at work by 8, finish off everything by 2 and leave before holiday travelers hit the road, thus outsmarting the traffic forces that made life hard for me everyday. Win-win! I was so proud of myself. Two hours later, I found myself stuck in the worst traffic jam I'd ever encountered in my last 2.5 years of driving, taking pictures using every Snapchat filter available that day, trying to smile despite the frustration that was building up. As I waited "patiently" for the traffic to disperse, the upcoming holidays still managing to keep my mood cheerful, I'd forgotten to check the car's fuel levels. I'd made calls to home and work, letting everyone know my status and then sang along to the songs playing on the radio.

The traffic cleared in a while and I was on my way, about 10 minutes away from office when I happened to notice that the fuel levels showed 0 miles remaining. That was my cue to panic and pray that I had enough fuel to reach office and I could refuel the car afterwards. But that was not meant to be and the car started shuddering weirdly in a couple of minutes. So I parked on the shoulder, along the highway, called my insurance company and asked them to send someone with a few gallons of fuel. They took about half an hour to set up the process and told me I'd have to wait 30 minutes before their guy arrives with the fuel. So I waited, on the side of a busy highway that I've never driven slowly on. The fuel guy took an entire hour. I waited there while all the cars sped by on the road. My only choice was to deal with the situation calmly. I was waiting inside a car on the side of a busy highway and panicking in that situation was not an option at all. Since there was nothing else that I could do, the silence and stillness of the situation made me realize the metaphorical implication of that situation.

The highway I parked along, happened to be my favorite stretch of my daily commute. The direction I drove along was against traffic and hence the drive had always been smooth and quick. That day, as I waited there for well over an hour, I saw people that were speeding by, on their way to work or to run an errand or to visit family for the holidays or for last minute shopping. As I watched all this happen, I realized that I was in such a hurry to get to work that morning but in spite of all that planning, God had His own plans and had meant for me to really just stop for a moment and breathe. While I waited, I found myself actually noticing the words to the songs that played on the radio, watching the tiny movements that the tree branches made in the soft breeze blowing that day, hearing the strong gush of wind as the cars sped by, observing the way the bright sunlight reflected off of the metallic panels in the building nearby; and all the other little things that get lost in the rush of the day. In spite of how inconvenient that morning had turned out to be, I found myself really enjoying that break - from work, chores and pretty much every distraction. At the end of the day when I got home and found the entire family worried about how my morning turned out, I looked back at the day and smiled at how relaxing that one hour was.

It was on that day that I realized how rewarding it is to take a break from our daily rush and worries and panic attacks. That morning managed to accomplish what I had been trying to, for over a year. It helped me calm down, learn to manage situations without panicking and just appreciate the little things we often fail to notice. A wise (and unlike me, calm) person once told me, "Life is 10% what happens and 90% how you deal with whatever happens". It was that morning that really changed the way I dealt with things that came my way.

The Numbers on the Scale and Self-worth

A few days ago, pictures taken for an advertisement for the plus-size collection of a clothing brand popped up on my Facebook news feed. On seeing the women they had labeled as "plus-size", I was shocked! Those girls looked like every other girl. They were just not too skinny. Apparently, not skinny did translate to "plus size" . I was appalled at what these brands conveyed to be an ideal body size. Body shaming happens not just through conversations and magazine covers. It also happens in the plus-size sections of stores. And that is the most subtle expression of body shaming.

I had been a chubby kid growing up. The lifestyle in Saudi Arabia where chances of physical activity (especially for women) were low, introduction to high calorie junk foods and the medication I had been taking, for wheezing had all somehow contributed to a sudden weight gain. As an 8 year old girl, my weight, the size of my clothes or the chubbiness of my cheeks - none of those mattered to me. And then we went to India for the summer after 4th grade, the summer I turned 9 and that was when things changed quite a lot. I was told by pretty much everyone in my extended family I met that I was "fat". My cousins made fun of my weight every chance that they got. Every time I ate in front of them, they made a comment regarding my weight and how it had to be because of my food intake. I was also told how my outfits didn't look good on me because I was "fat". I had barely turned 9 at the time. I still vividly remember breaking down in front of my parents. I told them that I wanted to go back to Saudi. I'd had enough of the summer already. Now that I think about it, my cousins were all either my age or a few years older. They didn't know better than to act the way they did. I don't blame them anymore but that summer had wounded me and my confidence.

Every time I visited India for vacations, excited that I'd get to meet my grandparents and visit the places I grew up in, I always came back disappointed. In the trips to India that followed, I received unsolicited advice from relatives. People took the liberty to tell me how I was "fat" and didn't look good because I was "fat". That I should cut down on my food, and follow what their daughters did, so that I could be "slim" like their daughters.. This brought me to a point where if I knew we were having certain guests over, I'd stay in my bedroom until they left.  Life in a small apartment in Saudi Arabia didn't leave much opportunity for physical activity and being in a high school following Indian curriculum meant having to choose between academics and sports, because apparently choosing one meant failing in the other. I still did what I could, and at every chance I had, I tried to cut down on my calorie intake. My best friends are witnesses to all the crazy things I did in order to (if not lose) at least avoid gaining weight. I had this phase where for about a year and a half, I only took fruits to school for lunch. It was monotonous and I was bored within a week but my parents and best friends made it so much easier on me.

When I moved to US for college, I had the opportunity for a lot of physical activity. Long walks in the campus, running to make it in time for the bus/train and guidance from my uncle on the kind of work-outs I could do, helped me reach a healthy body weight. My family helped me learn that every meal, every morsel of food need not make me feel guilty. I slowly started feeling good when I worked out. I started Taekwondo classes and that made me realize that I had a long way to go as far as fitness was concerned - I found even the warm-up exercises hard and sprained my ankle within the first 15 minutes of class. I came back home heart-broken. But, I went back to the classes and forced myself to outdo what I did the previous day. I can now effortlessly do those exercises (and a lot more) that I found so very difficult that first day. I've told myself that I will not judge my body or my fitness level or my self-worth based on the numbers on the scale or the size labels on my clothes. I've begun to teach myself to enjoy sweating it out and to feel energized after a rigorous work out session. I strive to run a little faster than I did the previous day, hold my planks for a few seconds longer and to make sure that my kicks are a little higher. I like being challenged to do something that was hard for me and I accepted that challenge. I feel relaxed after a good work out session and even though I become lazy and skip working out every now and then, I do find a way to re-gain that motivation. I'm far from being completely fit, but I'm making efforts to get there.

Sadly, the word "fat" still makes me nervous. I still feel unsure of myself and my body in the company of all those people who had something to say about my weight. But I'm working on all that. I've taught myself in all these years that "fat" is far from being the worst someone can be. As long as one discusses their weight with their doctor and is in a healthy weight range, being "fat" is alright. I've learnt that one looks good when they carry themselves with confidence and being "fat" or "skinny" doesn't matter there. If you've been body-shamed for being too "fat" or too "skinny", know that your health is what matters. Everything else is secondary. You don't need to gain or lose weight because others make you feel pressurized to do so. As long as you're healthy, gaining or losing weight should absolutely be your choice. Your self-worth is measured by what you're on the inside, not by the numbers on the scale.

Ponniyin Selvan - a story, an experience

If you asked me for one thing that I regret about my schooling, it'd be the fact that I didn't receive a formal education in my native language, Tamil. I learned how to read and write in Tamil at a pretty young age. Yet, I never learned the literature or grammar of the language formally. As a result, all the Tamil I read was in magazines and sign boards when I'm back home in India. I'd started reading Dr. APJ Abdul Kalam's autobiography, The Wings of Fire (Agni Siragugal) in Tamil during my bus rides to and from college. But, being a hard core fiction lover, I never found the motivation to finish it. Also, I couldn't read Tamil as easily or as fast as I could read English and I'd just stopped reading the book. Almost four years later, I was intrigued by a Tamil book named Washingtonil Thirumanam (Wedding at Washington) which was about a Tamil Brahmin wedding happening at Washington DC in the 1960's. The book was short and a fun read. Once I finished reading, I wondered why I hadn't read any other Tamil books. My consistent guilt at being a self-proclaimed avid reader who hasn't read anything in her mother tongue, along with the sudden interest I had towards reading Tamil books, encouraged me to read Ponniyin Selvan. It also happened to be probably the most popular and widely loved Tamil novel of all time. Written by Kalki Krishnamoorthy, this 2400 page long historical fiction was set in the 10th century Chola empire. I immediately ordered the entire set (the book is split into 5 volumes) on Amazon. After placing the order, I wondered if I would even like the book since I didn't particularly enjoy reading historical fiction. Also, reading five volumes would take a lot of dedication towards the book. I still decided to go ahead and give this widely loved story, a try.

When I did start reading the first book and was a few pages into it, I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep reading. Even then, I pushed myself to continue. The fact that this story is so popular also intrigued me and I had to find out what it was all about. A few chapters into the book and I was hooked! I was drawn into the story and for the three long months (yes, it took me that long) that I was reading it, I also led an alternate life, in the palaces and streets of the Chola empire, being part of political conspiracies and adventurous trips. After reading the first half of the first volume, I realized why this story has such a dedicated fan following. I initially wondered why this story would possibly take 2400 pages. But the author takes you on a trip through the Chola empire in Tamil Nadu and from there to Sri Lanka on a boat. Every scene is so brilliantly described with such rich detail that the reader can easily visualize the situations. I'm not a big fan of very detailed descriptions in books. I like for things to be left to the reader's imagination. However I was not disappointed here. The story ended with a lot of open ended questions, and there's no better way to ensure that the readers don't forget the story soon, than to let them figure out the answers to their questions.

The strongest feature of the story are its multi-faceted characters. The best thing about this story is that it does not overly idealize its characters, maybe except for the character the book was named for - Ponniyin Selvan (Raja Raja Chola I). Interestingly, the book was not named after its title character. The title character is a brave, loyal, witty young man named Vandhiyathevan. The book follows him as he travels through the Chola kingdom to visit the King with a message from his son, the crown prince. Without him realizing, Vandhiyathevan finds himself in the midst of a political conspiracy that would change life as they knew it in the Chola kingdom. As he travels through the kingdom, he meets a lot of interesting people but I was delighted at the fact that the most interesting of them all were the six women he met - Kundavai, Vanathi, Nandini, Poonguzhali, Mandakini and Manimegalai. It was absolutely refreshing to read a story with six strong female characters who were pivotal in driving the plot! Each one of these women were so different from each other. In a way, they were representative of the women we see around us. Not all six of them had always been courageous and strong willed and opinionated, but when the time came, they rose to the occasion and displayed extraordinary courage and determination! 

I have always been hesitant to read books that have a lot of hype surrounding them. I usually start reading these books with a lot of expectations and am left disappointed. However this time, I glad I decided to give this story a try. It was not only a wonderful reading experience but has also left me feeling a little closer to Tamil, almost like discovering a connection to my mother tongue that had weakened over time! For a person like me, who fantasizes about traveling the world one day, the road trip-like (or the 10th century equivalent of it, anyway) nature of the story was an absolute treat! Some stories pull you into their world as you read, some stories stay with you long after you finish reading them and some stories make you wish you had met the characters in them. When you find a story that fits into all three categories, it's just perfect! Ponniyin Selvan is one such story.

Before You Pull the "Victim Card"...

Four and a half years ago, before I moved to the US to start college, my dad sat me down and asked me if I really wanted to wear the hijab in America. He was concerned that wearing the hijab would make me stand out in a crowd and be an easy target for anyone harboring hatred towards Muslims. Having grown up in Saudi Arabia, I had started wearing the hijab in my pre-teens. However, I had found a strong connection with the hijab only two or three years before and my bond with the hijab was in its early stages when I was asked the question. For some reason, I was firm on my decision to wear the headscarf and told my dad not to worry and that I'd be fine. To me, more than anything else, my decision to wear the hijab was a big one and I didn't want to belittle that decision by undoing it so soon. In the years to come, I've often thought of that conversation I had with my dad and I understood the reason behind his question and his concern. I admit I had my concerns too. Upon landing in the US, I loosened my hijab before going to the immigration counter, in a moment of uncertainty when I didn't want to take off my hijab but at the same time felt highly self-conscious and to a certain extent unsafe, in it. However, today I'm so grateful for the experiences I've had in the US as a Hijabi - mostly good ones, a stark difference from the tales I've heard which were full of hatred and intolerance.

During my nearly five years in the US, Islamophobia has risen and fallen and has been a matter of serious concern these last six months or so. I've traveled alone in the metro for over 3 years, early in the mornings and late in the evenings, in packed buses and empty train cars, while wearing my hijab. I'm grateful that I've never felt uncomfortable or unsafe because of my hijab. However, on the day the Paris attacks happened in November 2015, everyone around me was concerned and advised me to be extra cautious when I was outside home by myself. To quote what my uncle told me that day, "there is such a thing as being in the wrong place at the wrong time while wearing a hijab in this country." I went grocery shopping the next day and I felt like everyone was looking at me suspiciously; it may have just been paranoia, but it felt like all the eyes were on me. I came home that day and felt shaken, self-conscious and maybe even scared. I live in the DC metro area, minutes from the nation's capital, home to thousands of Muslims and many, many Hijabis. When I was at university, I could find a person donning the headscarf anywhere on campus, at any time. I'd never felt isolated as a Muslim girl who wore the hijab. Then what changed that day? An inhuman act by a group of individuals who claimed to follow my faith, but acted against its most basic principles, thousands of miles away? Or was it the fact that I felt insecure, self-conscious, a tinge of self-pity and isolation? I soon figured out that it was the latter. I also learned an important lesson that day - once you start feeling victimized, fear gets to you and then it'll seem as if everything and everyone is conspiring against you.

I walked out of home everyday following that incident with my head held high, and extremely confident about myself. I promised myself that if I do encounter unpleasant behavior from people, I wouldn't jump to conclusions and blame it all on my being a Muslim. I've heard people recount stories of how some stranger didn't smile at them or spoke to them in an annoyed tone. Such stories always concluded stating that it was an action that stemmed from Islamophobia. Honestly, that person could have had a bad day or maybe they did not smile often or maybe they simply disliked social interaction in general. Let's not attribute these little things to Islamophobia. Let's not start thinking that the world is conspiring against us. Once we get into that kind of mindset, life gets hard. One begins to look at the world with suspicious eyes, stops trusting fellow humans and loses all faith in humanity. And most importantly, it brings along self pity. There is nothing more efficient than self pity in destroying a person's confidence and determination. I understand that people are facing discrimination all over the world because of their ethnicity, religious beliefs, sexual orientation and many other reasons. But we need to be able to differentiate between an actual case of discrimination and other trivial matters. Being part of a minority can be unfortunate, especially in times when people are garnering popularity by spreading hatred. However, never lose faith in who you truly are, as clichéd as that may sound. Embrace that which makes you different, don't let go of your place in the world and believe that you belong. Whether or not you give someone else the power to make you doubt yourself (and the rest of the world) is your choice- make the right one. It is equally important to not feel victimized without reason as it is to not victimize. Once doubt settles in, it destroys any traces of self-assurance and hope. Please don't do that to yourselves.

E M Hanifa

Music has been an integral part of my life for as long as I can remember. My parents are both excellent singers with beautiful voices and I'd never stop complaining about how I didn't inherit either of their melodious voices. My grandmother can come up with a song for every situation and my uncle is an ardent music lover. I fell asleep to some of the most sweetly and softly sung lullabies, and maybe that is the reason why I associate most of my memories to the music I enjoyed at the time. Tamil songs from the 80's have this quality of recreating an India-like atmosphere anywhere, even inside study rooms at my university in the US, a bland room with nothing but four white walls. Tamil songs from the 90's bring back the early days of my childhood, the ones I spent in India when the songs were newly released. Some songs bring back memories of a particular road trip during which I heard them on a loop and others still take me to those vacations when I killed the repeat button on my MP4 player (a device from the first decade of the 21st century, that most kids probably don't know about these days), listening to the same song repeatedly. However, there are a set of songs, a voice and several words that have been the background score to some of my fondest memories, that comfort me when I'm disturbed, which taught me my earliest spiritual lessons and still put me to sleep every night. I'm talking about E.M Nagoor Hanifa, the man whose songs have been played in every Tamil Muslim household for years now; whose songs create a spiritual connection between oneself and their Lord, and whose songs are an essential part of an entire community's celebrations and festivities.

The earliest memory I have of Eid is that of our neighborhood being lit up with colorful lights and Hanifa's songs playing on the speaker. His song brought about the festive mood and filled the air with excitement and festivity. To me, of all the Eids I've celebrated, none have been complete without his music. Even when I'm not celebrating Eid in India, I like to play his songs the previous day in an attempt to recreate that festive atmosphere. One of my favorite memories is that of my grandmother teaching me his popular song, "Iraivanidam Kaiyendhungal". I was in third grade at the time, and I wanted to participate in the school singing competition. The theme for that year was spiritual songs and this was the only song to pop into my mind. Since there was no Google at the time, my grandmother took me to her cousin who knew the lyrics to it. He wrote the words down and gave it to us. My grandmother then taught me how to sing the whole song, which ultimately led to my winning that competition. However, that was not the best thing to come out of that experience. The words to that track were one of my first ever spiritual lessons and stayed with me forever, the belief that God never denies you anything, if only you remember to ask Him for it and wait patiently. The simple lines are easy to understand even for a little kid. Yet, the message they carry is absolutely precious!

Over the years, the songs have had a surprisingly calming effect on me every time I felt uneasy or restless. It was never the lyrics. After that first time when I learned the song for that competition, I never paid close enough attention to the words to truly grasp their meaning. But they still calmed me. It could be the voice; but I think it was the memories and the emotions I associated with his tunes. When I was 10, my mom's cousin brought her a CD of these tracks. My mom played the CD at home pretty often and thus those tunes became an integral part of my growing up years. It was only recently that I started paying attention to the lyrics and regretted that I hadn't done so earlier. In an effort to learn more about my faith, I spend a few hours every week listening to learned Islamic scholars explain various aspects of the religion and many of them do leave a lasting impact on me. But, it could be the fact that the words are in Tamil, or it could be the tune, or the voice or the soul in these songs; but the words to Hanifa's songs have moved me to tears, and they reaffirm my faith in God and His mercy every time I listen to them. It could be when he talks about how we can never be thankful enough to God for all that He's done for us; about how God never ignores our prayers as long as we are persistent; about the Prophet (Peace Be Upon Him) and his life; about the very basis of what our faith is based on, La Ilaha illa Allah (there is no God but Allah); or about how this world and life are temporary stops on the way to our eternal home; but these words do leave a long-lasting impact on the listener.

One of his tracks, "Nee Koduthatharkke", is 8 and a half minutes of absolute therapy! It reminds one of all of God's blessings, the reasons one has, to be thankful to God even on the gloomiest of days. Whenever I hear the words, 'Inbam thunbam irandilum un rahmatayae virithai, antha unmai thannai unara vaithu, unathu pakkam izhuthaai' (You've hidden your blessings in both happiness and sorrow, and have invited us to your path by shedding light on that truth), I tear up- every single time. When I received news of E M Hanifa's death last year, it hit me hard, as though someone I knew personally had passed away. The voice and words have that much of a place in my life. On those mornings when I really don't look forward to the rest of the day and those evenings when all the day's stress weigh down on me, his songs are what fill me with peace and comfort my soul. 

Defining life by the fleeting glimpses of happiness

“But a chance tone of colour in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings subtle memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play− I tell you, Dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives depend.”   −The Picture Of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde

I went through a phase in my adolescent years when I thought that every good thing that happened in my life would be followed by an unpleasant experience, and vice versa. Back then, what I considered to be good experiences were a small set of happenings. Now that I think about it, that small set consisted entirely of materialistic things. It took me a while to identify and appreciate the little things that put a smile on my face and brought me small bouts of happiness. These little things happened every day, even on the most ordinary of days. They taught me that happiness is not that expensive. We look for happiness in big, rare and expensive things. However, happiness is closer and easier to reach than we think. I hope this post will inspire you to think about all those little things that never fail to put you in a good mood. I also hope that this will be something I can go back and read whenever I need a quick trip to my happy place, because it is these little things that our lives are made of.

My little bouts of happiness are brought by the smell of jasmine flowers; Arijit Singh's voice; the rare occasions when I wake up early on a weekend; walking while a soft breeze is blowing, neither too hot nor too cold; the smell of freshly baked goodies from the oven; and the softness of my grandma's hands. Then there's waking up to the pitter patter of raindrops on my window; driving while the sun is still rising; watching my plants bloom after the winter; the smell of coffee; a good book; snuggling inside the blanket at the end of a long day; catching up with a friend after a while; unexpectedly hearing a song I like; the sky painted with the colors of the sunset; and traffic-free commutes. Good hijab days; finding the perfect accessories to go with an outfit; experiencing the magic in AR Rahman's music from the 90's; binge watching a TV show (I have recently been accused of becoming a PLL addict; guilty as charged); listening to my brother narrating stories from his favorite shows and pretending that I understood everything; watching deer peacefully walking on my neighbor's backyard; and looking at my reflection in the mirror and being able to appreciate my beauty beyond the pigmented skin and other imperfections. Sound of the Athan (call to prayer); leaving late and still reaching on time; the sight, smell and taste of anything chocolate, especially brownies; playing with young children and having a baby hold on tightly to my pinkie finger; a rare warm day in the middle of winter; someone filling my car's fuel tank and saving me a trip to the gas station; experiencing the thrills of my deep childhood love awaken as I watch the opening credits of a Harry Potter movie; and postponed deadlines when you've been praying for one. Watching a feel good Indian movie; successfully breaking a wooden board in Taekwondo (on the first try!); a fully charged mobile device; the first ray of sunshine after many rainy days; a piece of complicated code that works after hours of coding/debugging; a perfectly fitting outfit; and oversized sweatshirts. Singing along to my favorite song at the top of my voice; German chocolate cake ice-cream; Nagercoilian plantain chips; ginger candy; chukku kaappi (ginger tea sweetened with palm jaggery); the smell and sounds of early morning at my home in India; and late night drives along the brightly lit streets of Jeddah with my parents and brother (I'm not sure if they enjoyed my constant chatter). Listening to EM Nagoor Hanifa's spiritual Tamil songs; my grandfather's voice calling me 'Kutty' (little one); walking in a stream over rounded pebbles; reading the notes on the inspiration wall in my bedroom; long talks with my sister whilst lying under a clear, starry night sky; the first sight of Nagercoil on the way home from the airport; opening the window blinds every morning and letting in the sunshine; re-reading Harry Potter and discovering something I didn't notice before; a certain mixed smell of spices and perfume that transport me to the open air souks of Jeddah; coming home to a warm hug from my littlest sister; walking on the streets of NYC on a cold winter night; repeatedly listening to a newly released soundtrack composed by AR Rahman until I'm in love with the songs; jhumki earrings; falling asleep with my head on my mom's shoulder while traveling; the eve of Eid at home in India; walking through quaint little towns that have an old world charm to them; pillow fights with my brother; and walking into bookstores. Early morning visits to the farmer's market; sitting on the banks of lakes or ponds and gazing into the distance (I don't quite understand my obsession with them); window shopping at the mall; watching cartoon shows that I loved, as a little kid; city lights at the night time, thanks to my 11 years in the ever so brightly lit Jeddah; the clear musical jingle of ice-cream trucks; late night talks with my mom, aunt, brother and sisters, punctuated occasionally by our grandma's snores and complaints that we're all being too loud; looking through old photographs; and listening to a song all over again from the beginning just because I missed my favorite line. But most of all, I love those little moments when the heart is content and all you can think of is to thank God for the little blessings that make up our lives.

Home - Place, People or Emotion?

Over the last two weeks, every time someone asked me how I was doing, I told them I was homesick. Home is a word that I use way too often. It is one of those words that just make you feel good, feel warm. But I'm glad no one ever asks me where home is. I don't think I can give them one, straightforward answer. It's not that I can't think of any place to call home. It is just that there are too many places I could call home. Actually, I'm often confused about what home really means. This is something I often ponder upon. I recently came to know that this confusion is not just unique to me. Most third culture kids experience it. Third culture kids are people like me, who have grown in a different culture than their native one or their parents' culture. Our lives and memories are scattered in different places; different countries; amidst different people - in buildings that no longer stand, with a group of people that haven't met in a while, in countries that we cannot easily enter; and in cultures that we don't identify with. However, I don't think this is something unique only to third culture kids. Home might have different meanings for different people. It's that diverse of an idea. Maybe that's one of the reasons why I like the word so much.
 
The true beauty of the concept of home lies in the fact that the most unlikely of places can become so endearing and close to your heart that they become home. On 5th October 2000, when my mom and I joined my dad in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia where my dad lived and worked, I instantly knew that it’s not going to be that much fun. I left behind a large family, many cousins my age, a school where I was adored and the freedom to go outdoors to play whenever I wished; back in India. I found myself detesting the fact that as females, my mom and I were completely restricted to our home (in my case, also school) unless my dad could take us outdoors. However, time passed and I had spent the crucial adolescent years of my life in that country. I eventually found myself growing fond of the city, mostly because of the fact that some of my best memories were now made there. The last two wonderful years of high school, a bunch of great friends and loads of extra ordinary memories later, Jeddah was a different place for me. I realized that every street, every corner of Jeddah held memories for me, most of the people I knew lived there and (I didn’t admit to myself, but) the extravagant Arab life that was so evident all around, the brightly lit streets and the never-sleeping city life had begun to grow on me. I eventually moved to the US for college. When I left Jeddah that summer, knowing that I’m leaving my childhood behind forever, I was surprised at how heart wrenching the good bye was. In the years to come, every time I visited Jeddah, I felt like I’m home even though I refused to call anywhere but India, home. When I first arrived at the US, and on my first visit to my college campus, I'd doubted if I could ever feel at home there. Now that I've spent four years in the country and that the country has taught me to and seen me truly grow up, become independent, make my own decisions, make the transition from student to workingwoman and step into adulthood, I realize that without me noticing, this place has become home too. However, even though I've spent most of my life outside India, every time I fly back there, I feel like the place itself puts up a welcome party for me. That first glimpse of the Western Ghats (a mountain range) that stand guard at the entrance to my hometown Nagercoil, fills me with an emotion that I can't possibly put into words. It could be because India is the only place that I can return to, whenever I want without all the visa formalities that surround my trips to any other part of the world; it could be because that's where most of my family lives; or it could be because that's where I started my journey from. But, the joy that fills me when I enter Nagercoil is unparalleled.
 
Recently, I came across an interesting word, hiraeth. The dictionary defines it as “a homesickness for a home you cannot return to, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past." I like to believe that the word was created exclusively to explain my relationship with Jeddah, and the places of my childhood that are long gone. All this reflection led me to a simple realization that I'd always overlooked. It is the fact that home isn’t necessarily just one place. Home is not even just the place where your parents/family live and most importantly, home doesn't have to be the perfect place that has every possible comfort. Home is where a part of you lives, because it has seen you through your good and bad times; when you were at your best and when you were a mess; because it has shared your happiness with you and has given you some comfort in your sorrow; because it has seen you grow and mature; has imbibed a little bit of you in different walks of life; and loves you. Home is a place that will welcome you with warmth whenever you return, every time you return. Home is a place that will seem so familiar that the familiarity tugs at your heart, even if you’re visiting after ages and every physical thing about the place has changed. I had always had resentment at the fact that I hadn't lived in any place long enough to claim that my childhood/adolescent years lived there. But now I realize what a privilege and blessing it is to have bits and pieces of who I am and the memories that I so fondly cherish, scattered over different continents; almost like horcruxes from the Harry Potter series, objects that hold a part of your soul.

College, Graduation and a few Thoughts

All it takes is 10 seconds. The 10 seconds it takes to walk across the stage. 10 seconds to make the transition from student to alumnus. I've been a student for as long as I can remember. Now, 18 years since I first started school, I've both a bachelors degree and an inexplicable hollow feeling inside of me. That feeling of deep sorrow, brought about by the loss of something so close to your heart and the feeling of intense happiness at having finally achieved something you've been working for, really hard. All the physics, chemistry and math I've learned have programmed my brain into automatically detecting opposites when they appear together and to know that they cancel each other. The happiness and sorrow have canceled each other and have left me with some sort of numb, empty feeling.

As I look back at my college life, four years worth of memories come rushing onto me. My first few days on campus were quite intimidating. I walked around carrying a map, had lunch alone all the time and absolutely hated the place. It took me half a semester to actually start looking forward to going to campus. Four years later, the campus is home. It is the place where I learned what it means to be independent, made friends for life, discovered that everyone needs to spend time with themselves and that there is nothing a good cup of coffee can't solve. I threw away the map a couple of weeks into my first semester. I'm now guided by instinct when I walk around campus. On the day of my convocation, the moments before I went on stage were when the realization that I was graduating finally hit me. It was in those moments when I realized that college life is definitely about academics but a larger part of it is the memories I've made around campus and the times spent with friends. It's secretly looking up and reacting to the scores of the CSK vs. KKR cricket match with my friend in class; the days spent watching Bollywood movies in study rooms with friends; the breaks when my one of my friends and I listened to Ilayaraja's (popular South Indian music composer) 80's classics to keep away thoughts of studying; cheering for the Indian Student Association at International Dance Competition; running from one end of campus to the other in a record 5 minutes so that I don't miss the next bus; and working on bugs in my programming assignments, always at the engineering building because that place was my lucky charm and the bug was sure to get fixed. It's also the classes missed because I just needed to catch up with a friend over coffee; the hours spent on my favorite couch at the library; feeling peaceful and content after attending the Friday prayers on campus;walking to the parking lot with a friend because walking alone was too boring; visiting the campus pond on the way to my 9 am class, when the light is just perfect and the view breathtaking; and (most of all) collapsing on my favorite table at the Panera Bread/Starbucks on campus after the last class of the week and getting some much-needed personal relaxation time. It is each and every single one of those memories that now define my four years at college, a lot more than the grades I graduated with.

Every little thing that happens in college is a learning experience. All that I've learned over the years bear witness to that fact. Through computer programming, I learnt that sometimes the smallest mistakes can cause the most trouble; through literature I learnt that not everything is what it appears to be, that you must read in between the lines; through advanced math I learnt how important it is to be able to prove your claims and theories; through painting I learned that sometimes the best kind of therapy is to express your inner creativity without fear; and most importantly, studying five subjects in three months, for 8 semesters has taught me valuable lessons on time management, let me experience the catastrophic consequences of procrastination. The various group projects have taught me how important it is to be able to listen to, consider and implement others’ ideas. And going to one of the most diverse campuses in the country has taught me to appreciate the variety of cultures I saw around me.

However, I learned more from my mistakes than what was taught in my classes. What taught me the most was not what I learned in classes, it was the mistakes I made. I made a lot of mistakes. As in, a LOT of mistakes. Some I learnt from and many I didn't. But if I were to re-live my college days, based on lessons learnt from my mistakes, this is what I'd tell myself:

• It might sound cliched, but don't put off assignments until two days before the due date.
• Irrespective of how much work you have at school, always put aside time for yourself, family and friends. Don't work so hard that you look back at your college days and regret that you never had time for the people who matter. 
• When you feel like it, take a break. Don't push yourself to study when your brain is furiously protesting. It's just a waste of time.
• Don't ever take up a heavy load in your senior year. When you take senior classes, don't overload yourself. I made this mistake and is what I regret the most. Don't put yourself in a situation where you'll have to deal with more than you can.
•  Make friends! And that too with people who are not the same age as you, or from the same background. This way you open yourself up to new experiences and present yourself with the opportunity to learn something new everyday. This is such an enriching experience and a chance for you to grow and mature as a person.
•  Don't expect yourself to be an expert in your major right after the first day of classes. For that matter, not even after graduation. Be willing to learn and grasp as much information as you can but don't think you need to know everything. It is perfectly okay to not have in-depth knowledge of your field when you walk in to college. You are there to learn, not to waste your time and money listening to stuff you already know.
• Don't let people lower your self esteem. There might be a few people in every class who might seem to know everything about the subject. Don't let that bother you or make you feel less smarter.
• Do something outside of classes, be involved in a club, learn something new or do something that takes your mind off studies. This way, you not only learn new skills but also find constructive ways to spend your breaks from studying.
• Get enough sleep!!! I just can't emphasize how important this is. I told myself that I'd never put myself in a situation that demands an all-nighter; and I didn't. If you don't sleep enough before an exam, there is pretty much no point in studying either. Sleep helps you remember and keeps you fresh while taking the exam. Sleep is also crucial to good health and so don't compromise on that.
• Finally, have fun! College is also a lot about having fun, irrespective of the assignments and exams and deadlines. 

 Ultimately, college is that crucial phase between childhood and adulthood. You not only receive a degree at college, but also lessons for life. It's not just about working towards that degree but also about having a great time. So, make those years count and graduate without regrets. I'm glad I did!