Handbags & My Mom(s)

All she ever wanted to do was to go to work with a handbag. There was an association with confidence, respect in the society, etc. She asked her husband, “Ellarum handbag matindu velaiki pora. I’ll also go?” And he answered “Neeyum handbag matindu Kesavardini bus stop vara poitu va”.

It sounded funny then.


She started doing things that made her happy. Tailoring, selling sarees, making paper bags from home. She was a budding entrepreneur. But timing and her daughter didn’t let her proceed. The daughter needed her mom’s attention. Between a whiny daughter and a sick mother in law, paper bag dreams went out of the window. One would not blame the MIL. She never bothered to visit earlier. But the daughter, one might think, what a bitch would do that to her mother.

I was one.

May be if she had channelled her energy earlier, my mom would have made a great designer, a photographer, an entrepreneur? Truth hit me when I was in college and a friend of mine introduced her mom as the Vice President of a huge MNC. I was awestruck. I wanted to become that lady when I grew up. And realised, my mom would have been one too.

But her obsession for handbags never ended. She still picks up a few when she visits Pondy Bazaar!

Fortunately, I know another woman who shares the same dreams (and love for handbags). She never ended up an entrepreneur either. A bold lady from a small town.

“Happy Friendship Day” she said. I was busy texting a few others the same thing. Turned to look at her, with a mixed feeling. It would have been the first time in Indian history that a Mother-In-law wishes a daughter-in-law for Friendships day. I smiled and hugged her. May be that’s all she wanted to be. Good friends.

Lucky to have two great women guiding me through ups and downs. While one mourns with me the other says, “Oh I went through the same thing too!” that puts a smile on the face.

Both of them have survived the typical mother in laws, husband’s mood swings and kid’s tortures.

I tried associating these thoughts with PMS guilt rides. But this is beyond hormones. Happy 2018 to me and everyone who is reading this.


Vadacurry, wish I had known how to whistle

Too late for a movie review I know. This might not even appear on Google, like I care. A hectic Saturday it was and the R of RAMAN gang confirmed the plan. Coming to what RAMAN is- it is a group of 5 girls who have had tough times going out with boys. They either get an outright “No, I do not have time for love” or “My daddy will commit suicide.” Its inception was in 2004 and has been going strong ever since (Silently touching wood).

That day it was just the 3 of us. One was coming from T Nagar straight to the movie, and the two of us had decided to take the share auto. We walked down the infamous Gandhi Road (the street where we run into a lot of our common past, present and future crushes) and reached the bus stop. None of the share autos had space for two. We continued waiting. “Mukesh will save us,” she said. The anti-smoking ads are really for a cause I thought. By then the clouds had gone heavy, and it started raining. So much that no one would’ve known even if we had peed in our pants. Finally, we got into a share auto and reached Kamala theatre. Rs.90 tickets are always  an attraction. We entered the theatre, drenched and walked into the cinema.

“Machi enga da iruka” RJ Balaji said. I wanted to whistle right then. The guy is the manifestation of a typical witty Madras boy- a combination that is hard to find except on Twitter. We settled down as the movie continued. Jai bought a Korean phone, and Sunny Leonne appeared on screen. The video was so disappointing that I wanted to go out and get popcorn for the aunties and uncles beside me. It dragged at a few places where Jai’s Korean phone was being trolled. One or two instances were fine. But it just would never end. And then came the iPhone. Now we understood why the apple shaped bitten slate.

Ah! The bitten apple

That was when a phone started ringing. None of us knew where it was coming from. We thought it was a background score, it wasn’t. I asked the aunty and uncle if their phone was ringing, and they checked too. And then we came to know it was my friend’s. There was no light and it wasn’t an alarm. The phone was locked. But it screamed “TTRINNNNNGGG.” For a second, I thought RJ Balaji was gonna slap her from the screen. We switched it off pressing the button as hard as we could. It was no Korean set but was equally annoying.

We forgot about it and moved on. More popcorn came by. And then RJ Balaji was kidnapped. Everything he spoke was a delight. As Jai went on solving the mystery, we prayed that this guy should be held captive a little longer. The movie came to an end with his exchanging numbers with the kidnappers.

We yapped a little longer, outside the cinema, ate at Krishna Sweets, made plans for Velaila Patta Dhaari and parted. Wish I learn to whistle at least before VIP releases.

P.S: The relationship between my whistling capability and Vadacurry  is the same as the movie’s name and its story.