Bargaining - Appropriate?

Bargaining, or price haggling, is a guilty pleasure most people have. They tend to bargain everywhere; in the wet market while buying groceries, service providers, anywhere where financial transactions are conducted. 

I, for one, long to live in a fixed-price world, for several reasons. Personally, I am terrible at haggling. Lack of experience thereof, I find it difficult to value certain products and services. Secondly, I’d like to think of myself an optimist. When I hear the price of something, I tend to assume the price is set after contemplating its effort in conceptualizing, creating, selling and marketing. Lastly, upon being at the receiving end of haggling, I do sometimes wonder if people do not value my talent and time enough. Therefore, bargaining with others makes me feel guilty; as if I am not valuing their expertise. 

As a service provider myself, bargaining is not something I indulge in. Neither do I participate in it, nor do I give in when my clients haggle. 

Before we delve into reasonable and unreasonable circumstances under which you can or cannot bargain, upon much observation and research, these are some common reasons to why people simply love bargaining. Please keep in mind, I have no right and no place to stop anyone from bargaining if they wish. As a rookie writer, I do my fair share of research and light observations of the people around me. Based on the same, the following are why society believes people love to bargain:

-       The obvious (or it may seem) – to save a few dollars

The most common reason for bargaining is rather obvious; to save a few dollars. Now, for those is the lower social status in the society, I can completely understand what a few dollars mean to them, but for those in the opposite side of the spectrum, what does a few dollars do for you? Parking tip? A few cigarettes? 

-       Need for dominance

Now, this I find interesting. Now, as we all must have studied a bit of this in high school or university, there are many kinds of personalities. Some say they are classified into 4, some say 8, some say 16. I am not going to go all theoretic, but we can safely say we know one very specific kind; the one who loves to dominate. They love enforcing their decisions on others making decisions, making people work harder delegating tasks and intimidating others being firm. Now, these aren’t bad traits and I do not categorize these as negative behaviors. However, it is HOW they use these traits to influence others, which determines their attitudes. 

Sometimes, these people bargain simply because they find it satisfactory to prove dominance over others. As dysfunctional as it sounds, they find it exciting to be “winning”, to prove superiority and possess more power. I often wonder why do some find the need to dominate others? This calls for another post for a different day. But in a nutshell, perhaps, they were not given much power or decision-making capacity earlier in their lives, which was why, whenever the found the chance, choose to do so. 

-       Need for achievement

We know the kind. First ranker in school, top grade achiever in college, high management post in the office, someone who has had a range of achievement to their name. They want to find success in everything they do, starting from the big moments mentioned, leading up to smaller trophies such as winning a bet, winning an argument or achieving a good buy by haggling. 

When is it appropriate to bargain?

Often we come across sellers who differentiate their prices based on their customers. They deliberately hide prices, do not provide price lists, simply because they understand that a certain class in society can manage to pay for the very same service, which may not be affordable to another class of society. In order to make a sale to both, sellers negotiate their prices accordingly. Obviously, this isn’t a fair practice. Ethical business management encourages you to put a fixed price on your services, irrespective of who purchases. In these cases, bargaining is fair game, until you receive a price set as everyone else. 

When is it not appropriate to bargain?

I have seen affable-looking women, in their designer sunglasses and handbags, strutting with their luscious, freshly-styled hair, bargaining for a dollar cheaper while purchasing their groceries. I firmly believe, when you can afford to pay the extra dollar, and that too, making a payment to those who are in need, there is no reason for you to bargain. These are the people who need to understand that while a dollar buys nothing for themselves, there are other people who can feed their child with the same dollar. If you did not bargain in a Chanel store, you really shouldn’t bargain for your vegetables. They both feed you in different ways; one for the tummy and another for the soul. So, why haggle? 

If you are looking to purchase something of quality, and then choose to bargain, you’re clearly in the wrong room. Items of good quality are produced in small batches, with great quality control, under careful supervision, with top-notch ingredients or raw materials. The care that goes into each production process is not what you can compare to mass-produced goods. 

It is, lastly, every human’s right to bargain, depending on its time and place. However, ensure your target audience is correct. 

Happy bargain-hunting!

Women in Cremation Grounds

Death. A topic often so taboo in our society; our elders tend to escape conversations that revolve around it. But death is part of our lives, and rightfully so. 

I’ve witnessed several deaths in the family. My maternal grandparents passed away when I was in my primary school years. My father’s sister, when I was in college. My paternal grandfather, a few years after I got married. And most recently, a couple of years ago, my paternal grandmother. It is safe to say, I’ve firsthand experienced more or less of what a Hindu cremation and prayers entail, and I must say, boy, it’s complicating. Some say, 12 days prayers is mandatory, some say 3 days is what it takes, there’s a cow-feeding ceremony to take place, the actual cremation process (in Hinduism, the burning of the body), whilst feeding all the guests who come home for condolences. Ironically, there’s really not much time to mourn. You start feeling the loss of a loved one when prayers end and all the relatives have flown back to their respective countries. 

Of all these rituals, I’ve always had a curiosity for the cremation process. For Hindus, the body is taken to a cremation ground, set up on a pyre and then burnt. The next day, family members can collect the ashes to scatter. 

For every death I’ve witnessed, it has always been the men who take the responsibility of the deed. The women stay back at home to prepare fruits for the cows, and also meals for the guests. For years and years, I’ve never questioned as to why women aren’t allowed in any cremation grounds. In any case, I am terrible at saying goodbyes. I don’t even do airport drop-offs! So, staying off the cremation grounds because I am a female, seemed to be a blessing in disguise. Over recent times though, I believe this practice has to come to be some sort of a violation to one’s personal right. 

A wonderful friend of mine I fondly call Google baffled my mind. It says these are the reasons why women aren’t allowed in cremation grounds:

1. When all male members of the family leave for shamshan ghat (cremation grounds), someone has to be in the house to clean it and take care of it. And traditionally, this is the duty of the household women. Hence, women stay at home doesn't go to shamshan ghat.
2. Some say that a funeral is hard to watch. According to Hindu mythology, before leaving the shamshan ghat the family members of the deceased must ensure that the dead body is fully burnt. Sometimes due to the heat, the body may cramp up, and it is not a pleasure to watch. Women in Hindu religion are considered to have a delicate heart and this can leave a disturbing image for a long time.
3.  A funeral is really horrid to watch. Sometime, the corpse jerks up and needs to be beaten back into the pyre using bamboo sticks. The smokes are foul and these are enough to make any normal human feel rather sick. Traditionally, it is believed that girls are weaker mentally and will not be able to handle such a scene.
4. Some say that married women are allowed at the shamshan ghat and that because that they considered not pure whereas unmarried girls meaning the virgin ones are said to be pure and it is easy for ghosts, evil spirits and fierce deities to get their control through bad means.
5. Few people opined that because women can't shave their head, they are not allowed. This is because, as per Hindu theory of evils, if you go inside grave yard you may carry one of evil element with you and perception is hairs are the part of body through which evil element can enter one’s body.  If you want to shave off your head along with men going inside graveyard you can go.

The above points (1-5) are directly sourced from, without changes, from: https://www.indiatvnews.com/news/india/why-women-are-not-allowed-at-shamshan-ghat-55126.html

My take on the above:

1. Yes, back in the day, cleaning, washing and cooking were the duties of household women. However, in today’s day and age, more and more women are taking up jobs that were previously considered masculine, such as chauffeurs, executives, engineers, etc. Also, it is now extremely common to see men in what previously women-led jobs were such as chefs, parenting and teaching. The argument that women must stay back at home to clean and cook is no longer applicable. 
2. “Women in Hindu religion are considered to have a delicate heart”. I’d like to see research, numbers, statistics or any study to prove this statement. Anyone can have a sensitive approach to funeral, be it men or women. The 21^st century men have been known to be more emotionally-invested and are no longer to be afraid to wear their emotions on their sleeves. Gone are the days where “boys don’t cry”. If you believe you are strong enough to cremate, go on, whether you are a male or female.
3. “Girls are weaker mentally”. I don’t need to further elongate on what the female body is capable of. If you’re a female, you’ve gone through your fair share and if you’re a male, you’ve seen the ladies around battle through some serious stuff. You know the basics; periods and childbirth. But beyond just those two, women deal with self-esteem issues, body issues, mom-shaming issues, hormonal imbalances and so much more. Yet, they carry on their lives with much élan. Most of them, anyway. This stereotypical statement where girls are mentally weaker is laughable.
4.  Virginity. So that’s yet another issue. Somehow, a man’s virginity is never an issue, but a female’s is. I find it bewildering that there’s so much talk about the purity of virginity, because if a man has the right on his body, a female has the same right. Whether or not she chooses to keep her virginity for a short or longer period of time, should absolutely be her choice and her consent. Sadly, virginity is a social construct, which we need to move away from. It’s sexist, patriarchal, promotes slut-shaming and often medically-inaccurate. 
5.  *BEEP* nope, try again. Anyone should be able to shave their head if they want to. No one should shave their head if they refuse to. Basic human rights, anyone? I’ve seen some bald women rocking their look and are unapologetic about it, and why should they be? It’s literally just hair. If anyone makes me give up my hair to go to a cremation, I’ll need some proof of how my hair can contribute to anyone’s wellbeing, besides some ghosts and spiritual stories. 

From what my father, brother and husband say, cremation isn’t fun. It is depressing, dark and gloomy, for the most obvious reason; you’re burning the remains of someone you love. Someone who once put colours into your days. That very own fact formed my thought process; if cremating you loved one is an extremely hard task to do, shouldn’t you have the support of your spouse to do it? Shouldn’t you have a sibling to help you cremate your parents? Shouldn’t a daughter have the right to cremate her parents or grandparents? Shouldn’t a person, be it man or woman, have the ability to make a decision whether or not they want to help cremate their loved ones? 

At the end of the day, it all comes down to basic human right. If a son has the right to cremate his parents, then a daughter most definitely has the same right. If she chooses NOT to do it for personal reasons, that too becomes her right. If a son also chooses NOT to do it for his own personal reasons, that also becomes his right. 

Generally, I identify myself as a feminist. By feminist, by no means I want superior treatment for females, but EQUAL treatment. In today’s day and age, there are no more applicable gender-specific roles. If opinions don’t matter to you, here are some facts:

1. Karan Johar and Tusshar Kapoor have become single fathers by surrogacy. The stereotypical mother role doesn’t imply here. 
2. Some of the world’s most notable chefs are men; Gordon Ramsay, Wolfgang Puck, Jamie Oliver and Daniel Boulud. The kitchen is no longer restricted to women. 
3. Serena Williams, tennis champion. Sports are open to either gender. 
4. Ruby Rose; Australian model, DJ, actress. Confident of her androgynous style with multiple tattoos. Body art isn’t for just men. It may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but it’s definitely no longer restricted for men who are “up to no good”. 

If you are still one of the people who still believe in stereotypical roles, I humbly request you to look into men and women who continually challenge gender roles. I assure you, you will not be disappointed. 

Religious activists, Hindu priests and enthusiasts, by no means that this post intends to harm you and your preaching. Please understand that as the world revolves, the years pass by, human beings evolve and we must move with the times. If this post has unknowingly stated or misinterpreted any form of religious teachings and beliefs, please feel free to comment and I will make amends accordingly. 

It’s a new decade; 2020! Here’s me, wishing for smaller gaps in inequality and more opportunities for men, women and gender-fluid people alike. 

Memories of My Grandmother

My grandmother, who I call Mummy with love, took her last breath on 9^thJuly 2018. She was 83. Our whole lives have revolved around her. She took a part of us when she left, and for that, we can never be whole again.  

Mummy was blessed; even when she started aging, she was rarely ill. When some of her peers went in and out of hospitals for treatment, she never did. Only in her last week, her old age got the better of her and her body started to shut down, one organ at a time. 

I did not get to see her during her last days. I’m rather unsure whether this was a blessing or otherwise. The last time I saw her, I hugged her tight and told her I’d make another trip back to my childhood home with Sid, my little boy who Mummy loved beyond life itself. In a way, the last memory I have of her is a hearty, healthy, aging woman throwing some shade at an Indian serial whilst munching on some bread. 

She was always full of love and the days after her passing was when we all truly found out just how much exactly she was cherished by everyone; including our daily groceryman, LPG salesman, our neighbors, her friends, my friends and so many others. For those who did not know her, if you’

d like, reading this piece of tribute would bring you a step closer into understanding the life she led. 

All of my favorite memories cannot be put into a single blog post. Therefore, I shall revisit only those I can put into words. 

My brother, Hitesh and I were practically raised by our grandmother as our mom has been a working woman all her life. Mummy used to tell us stories, only in the format of Cinderella and Mickey Mouse, as we insisted frequently. Even as I grew up, she’d still remember making up stories about how Mickey Mouse went to the market/zoo/school/mall/overseas and met Minnie Mouse. 

There was a time when my brother, mummy and I were at McDonald’s having her favorite, vanilla ice cream in a cone. Remember the time when that ice cream was Rp. 500,- only? Mummy accidentally spilled hers and went on and on about how she wasted food and money. Naturally, my brother and I being her #1 bullies, teased her continually about the fact that she made a mountain out of a molehill. This bullying went on for many many years later!  

On random days, all of us would take her out for a drive to go for McD’s Drive Thru service to enjoy another one of her favorites; apple pie. In spite of it being so tiny, she used to offer us her pie and we’d need to repeatedly say no before she’d finally enjoy it herself. 

Mummy was allergic to mushrooms. Even a tiny bite of it would send her back and forth to puke, which is a terrible ordeal, especially for her age. Whenever we’d order pizza, she’d request one without mushrooms. Even when it came, she’d recheck the order so many times. Sometimes we wonder if she trusted us! Haha!

Her version of Netflix is the saas-bahu (Mother-in-law/daughter-in-law) Indian serials on television. Now, if you’re a fan of these, don’t be hating on me, but these serials annoy me. They used to annoy mummy as well. But since she lacked options for other entertainment (I did offer her to watch Friends, but she claims the language is weird haha), she’d watch them anyway. But the best part is her commentary. She used to comment on the outfits, jewelries, mannerisms, make-up and dialogues. One most epic comment was “Kirti, lihat aja ini orang. BEGO!” which translates to “Look at this stupid woman”. That got my brother and I in splits, looking at her bewildered expression. 

Whenever I’d tell Mummy I was going to Kelapa Gading Mall, she would always say in Sindhi, “please buy the round bread” from BreadTalk. The term she used was “gol bread”. The first time she asked for it, I kept wondering about this famous “gol” bread until I finally realized she meant round. To this date, I still buy it and have some in her memory. 

Sindhi cultures typically advice Mondays to be kept as vegetarian days. Now, I must say, my brother, my father and I are quite rebellious about this. Our argument was, what was the point of being vegetarian for ONE day? When I finally came clean to my grandmother that I don’t always follow this norm, she was super cool about it and said in Sindhi “You eat whatever you want. If there’s such a thing as a sin, I’ll take it. Chill”. Now how many grandmothers think as forward as she did? Most people frown at me when I order a grilled chicken on Mondays. 

The person she loves the most as she got older? That’d be my mother, her daughter-in-law. My mom took care of her like her own mother, fulfilling her every wish, down to small requests such as a pair of new footwear, a new coin pouch and so on. Even my father would proudly announce, that Mummy had a taaaaaddd bit more love for mom! 

How to make her laugh? Switch on America’s Funniest Home Videos featuring cats and dogs. She used to laugh and exude so much gas, burping away the laughter! Seeing her reaction was funnier than the actual videos. Another show to guarantee her laughter; Wiped Out! She had a blast watching people fall into slime or get hit by a rubber turbine. 

She was one of the best chefs I know. Hailing from India, she cooks the absolute best chicken biryani. Also, somehow, no one fries fish the way she did. Over time, she learnt Indonesian cooking to make Hitesh and I happy little eaters with her super memorable ayam lada soup (pepper chicken soup), bakso (meatballs) and tempura satay. 

She passed a week after my parents relocated to a new home. She barely got to enjoy the new place. Her room was made so tastefully by my parents, with her personal TV, gorgeous wallpaper design that is so appropriate for her taste, a chest of drawers close enough to her bed and a lovely view of the area. Until date, it is kept intact, simply because no one has the heart to take it down as yet. 

It is an understatement to say that we miss her. She made our house a home. My friends loved her, and she loved them as much. Sid still asks for her, when he sees her picture. I hope he never forgets her. Because a soul like hers, was so warm, and exuded so much happiness from all of us. Living in her memory is always going to be painful as she played such a big role in all of our lives. But, we keep going, because that’s what she would have wanted us to do. 

Good night, Mummy. We love and always will <3 nbsp="" o:p="">

Sweet dreams, angel. 

The Wandering Thoughts of a Mom

It’s past 2am. In the wee hours of the night, I climb into bed, after a long, hard day of juggling mom, wife and work duties. A few minutes later, I am in a land of my own. Not for long, though. Whimpering in fear after what I can only assume a bad dream, my little Sid is clutching his blanket, struggling to rekindle his peace in his cot. As I scoop him in my arms, he falls into a deep slumber once more, drooling on my skin.

How did time speed-rocket right by me? It seemed like not long ago, he could barely keep his neck straight, babbled randomly, struggling to use his fingers to feed himself. All of a sudden, he’s this young boy who has us all wrapped around his fingers, laughs out loud when someone makes burp noises, listens intently when birds chirp in the garden and builds Lego blocks in high stacks, just to smash it all again.

Hardest job in the world, isn’t this? Their pain is ours. Their happiness is ours. Their life is more meaningful than ours. When they smile, it seems like all the angels have come to bestow us with all the good things in the world. On the other hand, seeing them cry in pain shatters our hearts. Sick days are the absolute worst. Nothing pierces more than seeing his tiny frame, lying weakly, eyes tearing up with pain. Seeing him in discomfort makes me plead that I am in his place instead.

What I hear most frequently are that the months that pass may go swooping by, but the nights are long and hard, at least until they sleep through the night. But, even when they finally sleep through the night, do we ever? We constantly peep over their cots to make sure they are comfortable, warmly covered under their blanket, with a fresh diaper.

I remember a night when Sid was 3 months. As I struggled through yet another night feed, my mind was in constant wonderment, as I am every night, whether awake or asleep. I wonder if he is well. I wonder if he is content, but at that moment, most of all, I wonder if his little belly is well-fed. My mind often wanders to depths I should not even conquer now, such as, will he grow to loathe me, or will I be the cool mom he boasts to his friends? Will he tell me about his first crush, his first kiss, his first heartbreak? Will he marry someone to his liking like his parents did, or trust us to find him a pretty wife, as my great-grandparents did for my grandparents? Ah, the constant wandering mind of mine, when I should be savoring the oh-so-short moments that I can hold him close to me, tiny and fragile.

But there’s always a silver lining. His breath against my skin. His heartbeat drumming softly on my chest. As i carefully whisk away the hair from his face, he opens his tiny eyes and clutches me tighter, as if pleading me to not let go, and i let him sleep on a little longer on me, until the drowsiness of the night gets the better of him.

I hope I’ll always remember this version of him. One who sleeps in a tiny, powder-blue, rocket-themed pajama set, rolling away from a diaper change. One who attempts to take a few steps to get to his favorite evening snack, and can’t help but land on his tiny bum a few times. One who runs towards my arms when I come home, with a pool of relief in his eyes, now that mom is home.

We are never the same, aren’t we? Our life has suddenly attained more meaning, physically, emotionally and mentally. Our hearts feel full of happiness, brimming on its edge. Home is messier, what was previously stacked with scented candles and perfume bottles are now contained with baby essential oils and milk bottles. What was before a smooth surface of well-cared skin is now an embodiment of a hard-fighting body, with stretch marks to prove. Some days, it is harder to accept that little piece of flab refusing to hide in my jeans and the little cellulite that shows itself when I try to reach up the top shelf. But most days, I am able to remind myself that stripes are what make a tiger.

I hope your little feet take you place far and wide, little precious of mine. I hope you find insurmountable happiness. But most of all, I hope I continue to be a home for you. I homed you in me for a mere 40 weeks, but you will be homed in my heart, forever and always. I'll always have your back. I promise.