You Are My Sunshine

Every year around this time, I find myself feeling rather emotional and nostalgic. It was in early 1994 that that my grandfather passed away. For everyone that knows me, you’ll know that I was pretty much my Nana’s laadli. To say that I was attached to him would be wrong; the bond I share with him is impossible to break even now years after demise. Growing up, I found myself in awe of my grandfather. They don’t make men like him anymore. His style, attitude, personality and infection smile, he was impossible to ignore.

Yesterday evening, my grandmother and I were chatting on the phone and of course, the conversation turned to marriage. In the smartest of ways, [pats self on back] I managed to divert the conversation to her courtship with my grandfather. Very few people know the complete story but in a nutshell, they knew each other as children and played together in a common angaan in Karachi. After the partition, my grandfather’s family moved to Bombay and my grandmother’s to Hong Kong. Many years later, they reunited in Hong Kong and through beautiful love letters and of course, with the blessings of their families, they married. I awed and gushed over their love story, but I wasn’t surprised that she was floored by him. He was just like that.

Being the first grandchild, it was only natural for me to be overly pampered. My grandfather however, couldn’t get enough of me. I was his favorite and I have no qualms boasting about it. This is probably one of the reasons I grew up calling him 'Daddy'. He was quite literally my second father. As a gift, I landed up inheriting the writing gene from him but he taught me lessons for life which till today I live by. In many ways, my mother says I’m like him. I love India like no other, feel the need to exercise to vote, believe that organization is the key to living and that no work should be done halfheartedly.

The last time I saw my grandfather, he took my siblings and I to the museum and the aquarium in Mumbai. At 12, it was hardly the most interesting thing to do. I remember yawning and experiencing boredom of epic proportions. Looking back now, I wish I had listened to every word my grandfather had told us and hugged him a million times that day. He passed away less than a year later from cancer. My mother tells us he asked for us every day.

My fondest memory with my grandfather was when he'd place me on his lap and we'd sing "Our Song".

“You are my sunshine,

My only sunshine,

You make me happy,

When skies are grey.

You never know dear,

How much I love you,

                                                 I love you very very very very very much!”

We modified the song to our liking but it was the moment after that I miss the most: the warmest hug in the world.

It’s been 18 years since he’s been gone and there isn’t a day where I don’t miss him. There isn’t a minute I wish I'd told him I loved him just one more time. Every morning when the sun comes shining through my windows into my room, I smile because it is then that feel my Daddy around me watching over me like my guardian angel.

I miss you Daddy. Miss you a lot.

Lessons from my Mothers

I am by far, one of the luckiest girls in the world; I have not one but three Mothers: my Mother, Grandmother and Mother India. Between the three of them, I've never been short on love. But they were different in countless ways. My Mother believed in discipline and routine. My Grandmother, well, she wanted to just plain love and pamper us. As for Mother India, she continues to teach me, on a daily basis, the value of my country, my flag and on reinforces my patriotism. Individually, they continue to love me; though differently. They’ve taught me varied lessons which till date, I live by and will most probably pass down to my own kids...one day.

Haan Ji
This one was all Nani. While I knew (and know) it is incorrect and rude to reply with "ya" when you are called upon, on certain days my sense of courtesy flies out the window. On one such day, when I was needed a lot around the house, my Father called out for me. The first time I didn't reply. The second time, I screamed, "Ya!" Frustrated by being in demand, I scowled. My Nani, who heard me, pulled me aside and said to me, "You know better than that Roshni. It’s bad mannered, un-ladylike and wrong to respond with 'ya'; especially when you are responding to your Father. Next time, 'yes' or 'haan ji', I want to hear." On a normal day, I'd be fuming mad at being told what to say but my Grandmother is one person who will pull you aside and tell you exactly what you need to hear because her tone is so loving and tender. Lesson learned. Till date, I never respond to anyone who calls on me with anything but a 'yes' or 'haan ji'.

Falling Down is A-Okay
You remember how when you would fall down as a kid and your Mother would rush to your side to baby you? Yeah, my Mother never did that. She would look to us when we fell, watch us get up and then tell us, "Nothing happened. You're fine." A few times, I remember my Aunts questioning her lack of concern. She would reply, "They need to learn to be strong. Falling down will teach them how to get back up every time they tumble." But this wasn't just falling physically. This was a lesson my Mother taught us for life. The amount of times "life" has happened to us has been numerous. This lesson taught us that you will fall in life; you gotta get up and going.

It REALLY is About Loving Your Family
I hated having to give up Friday nights with my friends to go for yet another family dinner. I remember mumbling to myself numerously about how we lived in the same gosh darn house; we ate together every evening too! Why on earth did I need to give up my Friday night for yet another family rendezvous? And then my parents divorced. Before I knew it, I craved for family get-togethers. I would have happily given up nights out for family dinners but they were so scarce and far that it hurt. So now, every opportunity we get to spend time together, I jump on it. And it was my Mother who instilled this "love your family" value. We stand united, even though apart. A commodity has become a novelty but my family is as together as it can be.

Yeh Jo Des Hain Tera
Mother India has made me into one helluva patriot. She nourishes and nurtures me from afar but her lessons never fail me. Today, I stand a proud Indian who adores her heritage– for better or worse, can't fathom being anything else but Indian and will, in the future, give back to her country. I pray and hope. Mother India has instilled values in me that has framed my soul. I may lose my dignity, my integrity and even my veracity, but my Indian pride, never. It's just far too deeply etched in my soul for it to be erased or taken from me.

L.O.S.E.R.: You Are Not!
The one lesson that all three of my Mother's have taught me is that I can do whatever I set my heart to. All three of my Mother's have reiterated this one message over and over again. My Mother and Grandmother have taught me this through their own lives while Mother India, through history. They've failed, sure, but they always get back up and get on with it. Failure is and has never been a part of their agenda. And this is perhaps the biggest, most prominent lesson they have taught me. Every time I falter, I fail, I fall, I know by default, I must get up and march on. If my Mother's can do it, so can I!

We often forget that Mothers are people and this is particularly because they act like such super-heroines! There is nothing a Mother cannot do. And so, on this day dedicated to Mothers, I stand and salute them all. Maa Tujhe Salaam!

An Ode to my Mother!

I constantly write about my family; my father, my grandmother, my uncle, my siblings and so on. But perhaps the most important and imminent person in my life is my mother. When I think of what I want to say about her, I feel like I could go on for pages (posts in this case) but even then I wouldn't be able to convey the amount of gratitude and respect I have for her.

Most people can't really understand the relationship I share with my mom. It's not really your conventional mother-daughter relationship. Yes, she is my mother; she nurtures, cares, cries and sacrifices but she is also my best friend, my business partner and biggest fan. It would be unfair for me to say that she is your typical mother; those who have met her know that is far from the truth. My mother is the epitome of the modern day mom. She doesn't take crap and nor does she feel the need to look or feel her age just because she has children all in her twenties. We often tease her, "We may get old mom, but you won't. You drink from the Fountain of Youth." But it just isn't her youthful aura that gets you at first instance. She supports you in every endeavour you set out to pursue irrespective of its nature. When I decided to embark on my writing career and had no idea how to start, it was her who convinced to just plain try. I remember her saying to me, "At the most, you'll realize that nothing will come of it. But at least you tried." Those words were engraved in my mind. It was then I knew I had to try. Today, my writing career is on the rise. Mother's know best!

Growing up, my mother taught us a number of lessons: independence, self-sufficiency and hard work. We grew up in a household of leisure equipped with servants and help. However, even then, we were made to wake up by 10 a.m. on weekends, run errands, vacuum on Sundays, buy fish from the market and by the time we were 16, work. Looking back I remember resenting my mother immensely. The amount of times I questioned her relation to me (read: step mother) are uncountable. In retrospect, I realize that this was all super important and has shaped us to be the people we are now. And we didn't turn out too bad.

And amongst all this praise, my mother too has her quirks. She is random with her thoughts, can be hypocritical, is a clean freak and for the life of her, cannot remember names. However, that is what makes her unique and provides great ammo for when we need to tease her. So I guess all I really want to say is that mother's really get taken for granted; we often forget to thank them. I know I don't thank mine enough. And so..

Dear Mom,

Thank you. Thank you for the love, support and nonstop sacrifices. But above all, thank you for being my mom and no one else's. I love you!

From a Niece, to her Uncle

2010 has begun on a pretty rotten note for me. And the last week has been extremely painful in many ways. While a computer virus attacked my laptop quickly sending it to the shop for clearing (damn you, BlazeFind) and a canker sore finding its way into the back of my mouth (thank you major stress). However, amidst the excruciating pain, I managed to find solace in a few hours which have turned out to be the most amazing and fulfilling of 2010 thus far. I know I've repeatedly said that I have been incredibly lucky to be surrounded by some amazing men: my father, grandfather, brother and my uncle. It is the latter who helped made January 11th, 9:30 pm to January 12th, 1:00 pm my favorite period of the year until now. I think i was seeing my uncle after five or six years and while we will never publicly admit it, I know and he knows, that we are each others favorites. I am his number one niece and he, my ace uncle. So he arrived on a private jet and rolled into the small city (or village if you see it from my pessimist eyes) of Fremont in true baller style in a stretch limo equipped with a full bar and a uniformed driver. As I ran down the four flights of stairs to greet him, a wave of emotions ran through me. I remembered half a dozen moments which made me want to cry and laugh, smile and sigh. As I opened the door to the entrance, I saw my uncle and he looked just as I had last seen him: tall, strong, pot-bellied and yet, his personality shone through it all. He screamed his trademark, "Rosh-ney!" as I ran to hug him. His driver followed us as we walked up the stairs saying different remarks, "You've lost weight!" he told me. "You still look the same!" I replied. He entered the house and immediately tears flowed from my moms eyes as she met her brother after what seemed like a decade.

He sat on the couch and knowing that I only had just over 12 hours with him, I plonked myself next to him ready to take in all his knowledge and advice he would offer in that time frame. He immediately spoke about his time in Vegas, his incredibly penthouse and butler. But all I could think about is how happy I was my uncle was here. Good or bad, positive or negative, rules for life, love and work, I was willing to suck it all in and use this information to make 2010 the best year ever. And after some small talk, he began. Most people find my uncle's banter boring, unnecessary and even irritating, I actually consider him one of the most experienced and knowledgeable man on earth. He never fails to enlighten and inspire me with words of "Ashokisms" that not only make you go DUH! but you can totally implement into everyday life.

In the past, he has reassured me of many accomplishments and inspired me to get up and smell the coffee. It was he who said to me one day during a conversation, "Never Underestimate Yourself." It was during that time that I was in a overdrawn lethargic period. The next time he reminded me that my work was not going unseen, "You didn't just open a door...but a door and windows!" And I was determined to make the most of it almost immediately. And lastly, when I feel like he has forgotten me amidst his crazy hectic life, he messages me to remind me, "Nobodys ever going to forget you! "

This time, his message to me was loud and clear: follow your dreams; look ahead and not behind; be afraid to admit to your mistakes; and when there is a problem, go ahead and talk it out. In a mere few hours, I was repeatedly told to go and live it up. He approved of my choice of career, approved of my work thus far and most importantly said to me, "You know what you're doing."

But its not his approval that I need. Its his mere presence that makes a difference in my life. I know for a fact that he would never give me wrong advice nor would he ever see me fail. It is him who would say to me, spread your wings and fly which I will but this post is dedicated to a man who knows it all and yet is humble. He lets his experience talk and wisdom show; shines through his persona and makes you feel like you know absolutely nothing but are filled with logical knowledge which you think you know, but you really don't.

To my favorite Uncle, You are and will always be the only man who truly sees me for who I am. You are my hero! I love you!

Eat Up Ego!

I've been feeling rather low about myself lately. And if you know me well, you'll know how odd and strange that really is. I walk to a beat of my own and irrespective of my past errors, I still manage to walk with my head up high; confident and ambitious. However recent events (courtesy of my own lame incorrect wrong choices) have take my self-esteem to an all-time low. And so, to help myself -- because ain't nobody gonna help you, I have decided to feed my ego and soul with a post that talks about all my accomplishments and things that make me feel gooey inside. No explanations; just a simple comprehensive list in no particular order. Here we go.

India. Diwali. The Indian flag. Writing. Chicken biryani. The sun. Filmfare. Bollywood. My blog. Roshni Magazine. ELLE India. BollySpice. Old photos. Daddy. Dim Sum. Sleep. Walking on the beach. Books. Dancing. Marine Drive. The rain. Dupattas. Hong Kong. Dogs. Pandas. My laptop. Kabir the poet. Shayari. Sushmita Sen. My Blackberry. Amul Butter Ads. Lord Ganesh. Cupcakes. Rock N Roll. The Taj Mahal. Mumbai. Roshni. Finding my name in Hindi songs. Lemons and Lime. My red i-pod. Om. Aries. Shoes. Skylines. Music. Diamonds. Mehendi. Sex in the City reruns. Reality TV. Hanging Gardens. Diyas. Notebooks. Long drives. Ice cream. Jokes. Laughter. Hugs. Chocolates. Mirinda. Walking on Autumn leaves. Kheer. Ambition. Home Videos. Good shoes. Groomed eyebrows. Red. Earrings. Emails. Photoshoots. Hindi. Travelling. 3. And being me.

I could go on but wouldnt want my ego to overeat. Food in all forms must be eaten in moderation. Even if its for your ego.

My Baabul

I'm not sure why B.R. Chopra's Baabul didn't work with audiences and at the box office; the film is so applicable to modern day where unfortunately daughter-in-law's are not considered daughters and widow's are still "abshagun." And as much as its sad, it is still a part of Indian society. Praise the Lord, my own Baabul is nothing like that. The word "Baabul" is an old Hindi term which emphasizes the affection or love between father and daughter. Usually used during weddings at the bidhai ceremony, the word in itself holds much emotion. While watching the film today, I was bought to tears and remembered my own Dad muchas.

My Baabul. Where do I begin with him? I call him Drona, Dad, Daddy, Daddyo, Bapu and he, Rosh or Bak-Baaki. My father is the only man in the world who will listen to my nonstop banter with utmost interest and actually discuss the randomness that is me. I've always been the most talkative one amongst my siblings and as a child, I would wait for my Baabul to come home from work only to tell him my entire days worth of nonsense. He knew that if I didn't tell him, I wouldn't be able to stomach my food and would listen patiently after a crazy day at work. I've inherited a rather strange and perhaps even lame sense of humor from my Baabul but no regrets; he gets my jokes, and vice versa. We also share a strange hobby: random movies. No one in the world may watch and enjoy a movie, but my Baabul and I will enjoy it like it was a masterpiece. We kick butt in Antarkshari, watch cricket online together and will debate every political issue on the planet. I can't do any of this with anyone else in the world but my Baabul.

As I saw Amitabh Bachchan give away Rani Mukherjee in the film, my eyes welled up thinking that one day I would have to drop my father's name for another middle name. But more than that, the thought of my Baabul having to give me away makes me tear as I blog. They say that God couldn't be around so he created parents; whoever said that couldn't have said a more truer thing. But father's are people who never get enough due. They are the ones who stay away from their kids the longest because they need to ensure their children are well taken care of. My Dad was no different but he taught us such important lessons in life, I only hope I can teach the same to my children.

As the lyrics of the title song go, "Kaheta Hai Baabul, O Meri Bitiyan, Tu To Hai Mere, Jigar Ki Chitthiya..." I know my Baabul feels the same way... and I'll always remain my Baabul's girl.

And Dad, I have decided to add another name to the list, Baabul it is. I know I tell you this everyday, but I love you heaps and loads Baabul.

Tales from my Grandmother

My grandmother has seen life in all its facets and extremes. If she's seen the best, she has also unfortunately, seen the worst of times too. While she is always up to telling me lots of fascinating stories about her childhood, her marriage and times in between, she also never fails to educate me. One of the best tales she has told me was about a small well natural spring that is in my neighborhood in Mumbai. About a miles walk from our tall raised building in South Mumbai, lies an spiritual area filled with small temples, guru's and the Banganga or Bal Ganga. Honestly, I've visited this natural spring many a time, but never have I questioned its existence and always thought that it was man made. However, one evening as my grandmother and I took a walk, I asked her if she had been there recently to which she quickly replied, "Of course!" I smiled to myself and wondered why I had even asked that ridiculous question. This was my grandmother - whom I refer to as Mummy. She was the most religious being I knew. She then told me that the Bal Ganga had a beautiful story which has been virtually untold and unknown.

As the story goes, when Lord Ram, his wife Sita and brother Lakshman had stopped in this area for a break while his kingdom was being terrorized by the demon God Ravan. The trio were thirsty for water and when none was to be found, he shot an arrow into the ground which produced what is now known as the Bal Ganga. Attached to the ganga, is a small temple known as Walkeshwar Mandir. The mandir is said to be built of sand by Lakshman, hence the name. According to legend, Valuka Ishwar means Lord of the Sand. Every year, musical maestros and traditional dancers get together to dance on the banks of the Bal Ganga and give their offerings to Lord Ram.

It's amazing how we miss out on such amazing details in our own neighborhood. Granted, I've never lived in Mumbai but in my heart, I've always been a Bombaywala. After the story was over, I looked at my grandmother and was so thrilled that she had told me such an amazing story. It was one I knew I would pass down to my own children. It was then I had another realization. On a daily basis, I read of the youth wanting to help the country. They want to adopt children who are unfortunate, give them a great life and add to their list of good deeds. Additionally and hopefully, the one above may look at their wonderful act of service and decide to knock of a few bad karma points. But what really sucks, is that they don't realize that we are so bothered about tomorrow, that we forgot about yesterday; i.e. Senior Citizens. These are the very people who gained us our independence from the evil clutches of colonial rule, they have taught us lessons in life and once they become a tad bit old (I dislike the world senile), we toss 'em in an old age home. Honestly, old age homes should be banned not only in India but across the world. It's sad how we fail to realize their importance in our lives. I wish for every adopted child, people across the world would also adopt a senior citizen. Until then, I do hope that I can one day be of some use to these amazing people.

Lesson(s) Learnt: 1) My grandmom is a rock star, 2) Old folk tell the best stories, give the best hugs, and have the softest hands in the world. Because I may never get to do this, I love you Mummy!

Photo Credit: www.gsbkerala.com/gsbmutt.htm

My Siblings

By Roshni Mulchandani

Time Magazine did an interesting article last year about how your siblings are really your soul mates for life. Additionally, they go on to say that we have people who come to know us and get close to us but we grow from infant hood to teenage to maturity to adulthood. When I look back and even now, I can't imagine my life without the both of them. They both know how much i love and adore them but more importantly, they are more than just my sister and brother. I see them as my best friends too. When the three of us get together, we really don't need anyone else. We are quite happy chilling and spending time with one another. We land up fooling around and becoming such kids. However, when it comes down to serious situations, we know we are always there for one another.

I always find it strange how people have only one child. Having siblings is such a blessing. I think its a joy that all children should experience. I guess all I wanna do is thank my sis and my bro for being the most amazing siblings in the world! Love you both!

My Grandfather: My Hero

Very recently, I had to help a student out with a High School Entrance Essay Question. It was quite simply, "Who is your hero and why." He chose me, for reasons unknown to me although his idea of a hero was much different to mine. It actually made me ponder over the qualities of a "hero." I think people have a misconception that a hero needs to be someone famous or someone who has achieved a milestone in their life. I personally don't believe in that theory at all in fact. A hero in my opinion, is someone who has a cause in life, who stands up for themselves and unjustice and stays humble: My Grandfather.

My Grandfather was not a famous man to the world. But ask his country club and they'll tell you, he was the most popular man on the premises. He was a failed businessman but never failed to try and succeed at every business project he started. He was one of the most knowledgable men I have known. His lessons and teachings have remained with me almost a decade after he's been gone. A man who loved his country, who taught me the colors of my flag (Saffron for patrotism; White for peace; Green for faith) , who would sit and sing to me "You are my sunshine," who laughed when my brother threw his glasses out of a moving car, who would sit and try to fix my sister's bugs teeth when we all knew only braces would do it, and in the end died fighting from cancer, there was too much to love and so much to learn. So why do I believe that he needs a heroic stance? Simply because he was the greatest man to walk earth because they don't make men like him anymore. His theory in life was simple: live your life like it's your last day and do it now!

I wish he was alive today. I wish I could call him for advice and I think I wouldn't have made some of the bad choices I have made today. It makes me wonder if it would have been different if he was alive even today. I wish I could sit on his lap and sing my song with him - everything would be just fine then. But I know he's watching over me, tut-tutting me for my wrong choices, and tapping me on the head when I make the correct ones; however, I'm just beginning to start making him proud. One day I hope he'll look down on me and say, "That is my grand daughter...my Roshni."

The importance of family.....

By Roshni Mulchandani

I always ramble on about things in the world and publish articles I write, which I honestly sometimes don't even agree with but writer because I'm told to. I think that's important too because it will expand my horizons as a writer. But on Friday at about 2:30 p.m., I realized the importance of family - mine especially. I saw my grandmother after five years on Friday and I was overwhelmed. Growing up, my grandmother was always around. We lived first three floors below her and then three floors above her in the same building. Every summer I visited her and my grandfather in India. If my mother is mom, then my nani is mummy, and in the same manner, my father was papa or dad and my grandfather was daddy. I can't begin to explain how much I love her and how much she means to me, and as soon as I saw her, my emotions for her came running back. But its the same for the rest of my family. My mom is my strength, my best friend and my ultimate backbone. My dad is my conscience. In the last few months, I realized that everytime I need to make a decision, I think of what my father would do and then make my decision. My sister is my best friend - I call her my angel. I nearly lost her at the age of six, and it makes me cringe to think how I would have ever managed without her. My brother is my weakness. I think back to everytime he was a kid and how adorable he was and I melt. I basically grew up more than his sister and more like his mom, he hates it. My family is so precious to me. We are a broken dysfunctional family that functions fabulously and I love it!