My Little Red Riding Hood!!!

There’s anguish when I say I don’t know her very well, haven’t seen much of her either, blame it on our overseas assignment. Then again, we do meet briefly every Sunday, thanks to technology. Who does she think we are, I often ponder, People on a small screen TV or just people who visit her via laptop??? Either way, our rendezvous makes for some animated conversation, us in English and her in a language, which bears no name. In the midst of all the baby talk, we are also introduced to her new moves and wares, cruising in-between people moving in and out of our radar.

My most endearing moment came last week. We had not met her for close to a month. She had been on a busy touring schedule. I was busy myself, losing sleep over an image of her having forgotten our exisitence on her return and, having to make our grand entrance all over again. How silly!!! She did know me as that woman who performed her own lousy rendition of ‘Ol' Mc Donald’ every week, repeating the verse about pigs over and over again. 'A wee-wee here and a wee-wee there' was enough to get her started into her chuckling rountine. I would put my own routine on pause, just to give her and us some time to absorb the moment. Coming back to last Sunday, we were pleasantly surprised to see her break into a guffaw when we connected, unquestionably ecstatic to see us. She then turned to her Father and Grandmother sitting on her either side, probably to check if they were as elated. In a few seconds she turned coy, displayed with her tiny finger in her mouth. Then the finale, her new exhibits, a book on birds and a miniature candy pink cup from her basket of toys.

I present to you my adorable 15month old niece, Baby Manasi, the apple of ‘Indraprastha’ and certainly enjoying every bit of attention under the big bright sun.

Here’s a dedication to her, my most loved Nursery rhyme to date, as I remember it. I have no idea where this rhyme originated or if it were actually taught in school. It features one of my favourite farm animals…the pig. As for ‘piggy’, I absolutely love his pout.

Piggy on the Railway

Picking up stones;

Down came an engine,

Broke Piggy’s bones.

“Ah ! “ said Piggy,

“That’s not fair”,

“ Oh !” said the engine driver,

“I don’t care !”

The first of many….

Truly, Madly, Deeply.....

All I see is the smile

A broad, alluring smile

Legs dangling from a desk

A human pyramid surrounding him

 

I strain my neck

Catch a glimpse of a chocolate faced boy

In burgundy rimmed glasses

And squalid white sneakers

 

He appears from the huddle

A small frame

A wide grin on his face

Intriguing, yet not a man of my dreams

 

Christmas arrives

He forbids me to touch the calories

Couldn’t he have been more diplomatic

Impishness and charm not subtle

 

The walk down the stairs, every morning

Through the corridor

Past my table

Just to have some piping hot coffee???

 

A tap on my desk with a set of keys

On his way in and on his way out

It’s impracticable to ignore him

Followed by the yearning to see him

 

A holiday on the threshold

It's goodbye for a few days

Am at the exit

He's at the elevator

 

My Father’s hometown,

A souvenir shop beckons

I spend hours for my gifts

While my cousin lingers

 

Why does he get the best???

I wonder too

But I can’t stop myself

And her prying eyes

 

The calls in the evening make a splash

It’s just a ‘hello’, am assured

The questions from my Mother,

A noose around my neck

 

I confront him, it draws a zilch

Playing hard to get am sure

I pursue feverishly

I want my answers, I get none

 

A few indecent proposals

Am not about to give up

A yes, when I almost hang up my boots

Not convincing, yet am on cloud nine

 

Mars versus Venus,

Practical versus theatrical,

Composed versus excitable

What was I thinking???

 

Challenges from all directions,

People, places and ideologies

Nothing seems to deter me

From pursuing my flight of fancy

 

Foolish as some people would call it,

Am sure am right on this one

No qualms lingering over my head

Teething problems in plenty

 

He knows where his heart lies

He sure knows where his head lies

He knows how to separate them

So, I tell myself

 

Protective and indulgent

Thoughtful and considerate

Sensitive and strong

Humorous and young at heart

 

Life gets easier

Love grows fonder

Spirit soars by the minute

What more can a girl ask for???

 

Happy Birthday Love!!!

A Lonely Place.....

It’s very difficult to define life, it would depend on how one looks at it. Life for me is a philosophical concept, not as much biological. I would like to hence make a demarcation between the ‘definition’ and ‘meaning’ of life. The meaning of life therefore would constitute the purpose and the significance of our existence here. In layman terms it would just mean I live life with a goal in mind and by measuring how my actions would affect my subsistence and of others around me. Life has to come to an end and death, as the end is called is what am going to talk about.

Death is termed as the termination of the biological functions that sustain a living organism or simply, the cessation of life. However these are medical definitions. Like someone said, and I agree, death is the permanent interruption of life. The questions remain, why is it so difficult to deal with death, why do we fear it, why do we evade a discussion on it??? Before I deal with the subject, I must warn readers, am agnostic, what I write in here is my outlook on life and death, am neither endorsing anyone’s point of view nor am I claiming knowledge of the subject in question. Please pardon me for my politically incorrect views on it.

We know death is inevitable, yet when it happens, one is wrapped in denial, grief, confusion, fear and anxiety. Yes, it does depend on one’s relationship with the person, how intensely close one is to the departed. There is absolutely nothing one can say or do to make a person in grief feel better. It has to be dealt with by the person who is suffering in his own way and time. Grief does have its own schedule though and it can be complicated and unpredictable. There are good days and extremely bad days. Time does heal but I can assure you, one never forgets the bad time, one just gains enough perspective to deal with the wave of emotions. A sense of loss prevails and there is a void, which cannot be filled but the best way to deal with it is to have faith in oneself and trust that the process of grieving gets easier with time. One has to remember life has to go on.

I know not everybody fears death. The positive would say life is to be ‘lived’ and when death knocks at one’s door, one has to face it square on. I do not fear death. I do not know how it feels to fear it. I must however admit I do fear my death for my loved ones. I am talking about premature death here. How prepared are they for such an eventuality??? How would they take it and how would they deal with it??? Like a friend once told me, I wouldn't be around to know. It’s true but I would dearly love it if they didn’t have to go through the emotions, I went through when a near and dear passed away. It’s paralysing to say the least. The monetary aspects can always be taken care of, I know it’s easier said than done, we see so much emphasis being laid on it but what about the emotional aspects??? I’ve heard spirituality helps and am sure spiritual souls would vouch for it. I know they develop the discipline to withstand pain and suffering but how different are they from us, how much more equipped than us, mere mortals???

They say it is unhealthy to talk about death as a subject or even joke about it. Why is it so??? It’s not something that can be predicted or controlled, yet, it’s taboo to mention it. In my view, the fear of the subject does indicate something. Is it the fear of being unprepared, is it the fear of crippling emotions in the immediate aftermath, is it the fear of not being able to complete what one has set out to do, is it the negativity or the fear of death itself??? Whatever it may be, one must understand that no one escapes death and by talking about it or joking about it, one does not become negative, evil or crazy. Death as a discussion should not be scary and termed unhealthy.

'Don't die wondering' is a saying that is so pertinent here. It would be nice to leave this world without regrets, it would be sad to leave without leaving a mark on the lives we outlive. We are born with nothing and we leave with nothing. It’s important that we live large and savour our moments here as long as we are around. Am not a spiritual person but I believe each of us is endowed with a personality that can be moulded to affect the lives around us positively, a word of caution, ignore Adam’s apple.

I am all for celebrating life and, celebrating people after their death, any ritual, ceremony or an event to commemorate those good souls is welcome. I have no objections to the ‘end of life’ rituals for the dying. It's meant to bring peace, acceptance of the situation and help let go of pain and suffering. Rituals after death are meant for the soul to rest in peace, may I dare say, also for a painless crossover. My point, why should we have rituals to aide such a passage or a peaceful afterlife, shouldn’t the person’s esteemed life on Earth be testament enough for an uneventful crossover??? Does it make sense to pray for a departed soul who has lived the most evil life on Earth??? To each is own and I leave it at that, except that I have an opinion on it.

Maybe death is a part of life…no one is immortal and life has an expiry date. One has to come to terms with this fact, that should be reason enough for us to live lives full, content, healthy and packed with humour and goodness. It’s important to live life on our own terms.

Every man dies, not every man lives.....

A year that was!!!

It’s been a year since we set shop at Lubumbashi. 'Time flies', 'time heals', 'time waits for no man' are all clichéd expressions but they are so true. These days it’s about ‘now or never’. ‘Grab the opportunity when it knocks’ are passé. It’s not about pausing anymore, it’s about marching ahead of time, it’s not about waiting for things to happen, it’s about making them happen. However, all these are meant for regular people. I personally love life quiet, balanced and laid back. Lubumbashi has provided just that. As a disclaimer, this is purely my account of life here and it has been nothing short of fascinating. For my not so open P, I know he is good for the ride. Period!!!

I can’t think of a single soul who was genuinely happy for us when we moved, not because we were moving but because we were moving to a malnourished economy in Africa, to untested waters in DR Congo, to an unheard destination called Lubumbashi. To start with, it was quite an effort to get people to pronounce Lubumbashi right. I see the glass half empty, I have a tendency to over analyse, albeit my skeptic nature, I was still excited and positive about the move. I made sure I read every bit on the place and the life here. I had heard a lot, courtesy P and his contacts here. I got nothing promising, despite that I was ready. Must confess, when I have a problem, P is my hotline. He has a solution every time, even where I see no hope. He is the kind who sees the glass half full. Maybe he has a secret stash of solutions. When I see hope in his eyes, I just go along blindly, when I see skepticism in him, I know it’s hopeless. About the relocation, I saw no skepticism but a lot of optimism and eagerness, a desire to do something out of the box. That enthusiasm rubbed off and there I was, ready for the flight.

It was not an enjoyable flight for sure, to start with our flight from Chennai was delayed and for innumerable reasons the passage at Mumbai was not pleasant to say the least. Am not looking forward to another international-domestic transfer at Mumbai. Upon landing at Lubumbashi, I was in for a shock. The face of the Airport and the scene it presented were appalling. There cannot be an airport worse than this in any city, definitely needs a major makeover ( have talked in length about the airport in one of my earlier blogs ). Am sure most people would want to head straight to the departure lounge, on arrival. The first impression is the best they say, not so in this case. The city, on our way home came across as old, shattered, dusty, deserted and lacking in infrastructure. When we reached home, the same, a rickety old place with furniture and other wares put in place just for the sake of it. I was disoriented from the journey, felt no excitement, the hope faded away and I heard no more promises. I looked at P and for a change I saw disappointment. I wanted to take the next flight home. I was angry at P for his show of optimism earlier, what was he so optimistic about???

The first day seemed like a bad dream, the second day I realised it was not a dream but a reality, a rude awakening really. We could choose to make it or just return home. P had assured me that we could return to greener pastures if I wanted out. He also believed we would settle down in a couple of days, he was optimistic again. I needed to trust P and not make it harder than it already was. After all he was as disenchanted as I was, probably even more, considering he was promised our basic needs would be taken care off. I remember wishing someone had notified us about the arrangements earlier, we would have been better prepared. I still maintain, we didn’t have much expectation of the place and the facilities when we made the decision to relocate. I believe the process of settling in shouldn’t be this difficult. Is this a price one has to pay for optimism, hope and excitement???

Once we got used to what we had at our disposal and having already come to terms with what we could never have, life became simpler. We made a conscious decision to live life the way we wanted. Comfort was of utmost priority, we decided to make it happen with or without help, we decided not to wait for things to happen. We were never about all work and no play, we made a decision to remain the same in the core. We decided to embrace Lubumbashi and its people. The rewards were visible in an instant. The city all of a sudden became inviting, the landscape became greener, our house became our home, even the plants in the garden began talking nice, my eyes saw the poor and downtrodden but I saw them happy. I was becoming a part of Lubumbashi.

Must admit there are a few worries. Health for example, I know there are health centres that can take care of common ailments, how about more serious issues??? I suffer from a not so common ailment. I might have to go back home if I fall seriously ill. I keep my fingers crossed. When one has to visit a hospital, it does not come cheap. For some of us who travel regularly, we have to wait for a year to do so. Most of us have families and friends who eagerly look forward to our annual visits, so the sightseeing and adventure trips are pushed to the backburner. The lack of public transport is definitely a deterrent, we are dependent on our husbands for the same. Entertainment is restricted to restaurants, grocery shopping, drives through roads travelled frequently, visiting friends and taking part in events and festivals.

When one measures happiness it is not what one does occasionally that counts, it’s the life one lives on a daily basis that becomes the measure. Lubumbashi offers a lot of peace and quiet, life is slow paced with plenty of time to process feelings and decisions. One could choose to become a couch potato or be full of life, one could choose to lead a hectic social life or stay indoors in the warmth of one’s home, there is time and space to enjoy the niceties of life. One just learns how to maneuver around what is available at one’s doorstep. I for one have learnt, life is simply not based on what one does not have but on what one does have. To put it philosophically, Lubumbashi aids personal growth, provides opportunities to discover and understand oneself better and the time to dream and ponder over one’s future.

Lubumbashi may not be everybody’s cup of tea, has certainly been mine. The place is absolutely beautiful, serene and untapped, add peace, comfort and quiet, what else could one ask for.

An experience like no other...

The Pot calling the Kettle 'black' !!!

I have always felt very strongly about this issue and I seethe with anger when people make insensitive remarks about a person’s colour. Racial discrimination is often associated with the western world but are we in a position to judge??? Aren’t Indians racists themselves??? We condone it, we don't have the strictures to punish culprits and we also encourage it. The Pot calling the Kettle black!!!

Living in Africa, it’s embarassing when I am looked at as White. That does not mean am respected for my colour. Like anywhere in the world, Indians belong to a group of intellectuals and traders here. However, we are known more for being petty, miserly and egotistical. We are also known to live unremarkable lives. Our own refer to their staff  and unskilled workers as 'Kale'. Do they not have names or occupations??? Don't they deserve some respect??? It makes me shudder everytime.

Back home in India, I am called ‘black’ by an extended family member, someone, who is a few shades darker than I am. If that is not called racism, what is??? I am asked to use ‘Fair and Lovely’, I refuse because my mirror says I am ‘fair’ and lovely. Has anyone become fair and lovely after use, I would like to know. I have had teachers in school sending me to the sidelines in favour of the fair and lovely. I didn’t realise it till someone pointed it out. I have never paid any attention to my colour or somebody else’s, have never wondered how different it would be if I were light skinned. Credit must be given to my parents for not making me feel any different.

The fact that India is divided into North and South India itself has racial connotations, is it not?? The social and political ethos of the country actually promotes caste, gender and racial discriminations and we are shamelessly not shameful. We have become characterised by reservations. I understand it is difficult to demolish caste systems. However, I see no effort being made in that direction either. Infact, the root of this evil is getting stronger and deeper. The only people who deserve concessions and reservations, in my opinion, are those belonging to the economically backward.

Let’s do a check on the matrimonial advertisements…a cry for a beautiful, slim and fair bride for a boy whose physical attributes don’t find a mention. He may not be Prince Charming but do they care??? I’ve heard eligible men proclaim ignorance when it comes to these advertisements. In my opinion, if they don’t stand up for what they believe in, they are guilty as charged. Ignorance is not bliss. At a wedding how many talk about the bridegroom and his physical attributes, the attention is solely on the bride, from what she wears, her clothes and jewellery, how close she is to that ‘yardstick’ and most importantly her colour. In a conversation, when a man or a woman is being described, one of the first characteristics that is talked about is his or her colour. In India, even in a Man’s world, is ‘tall, dark and handsome’ ever in use??? The ‘dark’ is always substituted by ‘fair’.

The racist attacks on Indians in Australia, sikhs being asked to take off their turbans at airports, muslims being given the dressing down, all of them have been condemned by the Indian Government in the strongest terms. How about starting from our own backyard??? I personally don’t like the term ‘Madrasi’. How can all South Indians be called ‘Madrasis’??? Doesn’t that carry a racial undertone??? What about ‘chinkies’ for North Easterners??? Haven’t they emphasised enough, they don’t approve of it??? How about treating foreigners of African origin right?? Most of them are students who come to India with a lot of expectations, the land of Mahatma Gandhi, the land of non-violence. How many have gone back home with happy memories?? They are ridiculed by adults and children alike, treated like animals and are victims of stares and nasty comments. On the other hand, 'Whites' are treated like Rockstars, people unabashedly patronise them from all directions, much to their annoyance.

The celebrities advocate liberalism, it’s a sign of modern India and they have to be part of it. Frontline Bollywood has a major stake in running the country. Their opinions from politics to sports are on the front pages. People want to see them and politicians exploit their status and vice-versa. A case of ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours’. What is to be noticed, one hardly finds these celebrities partnering someone dark skinned or unattractive, whether they are actors , models or cricketers. They are the same group of people who advertise ‘Fair and Lovely’ and also preach liberalism. How bizarre!!!

We live in hypocrisy, where treating another with respect is an assignment, a task, where gender, class, caste and racial discriminations flow in our blood. We learn what our parents teach us. I believe discipline and respect is taught at home, not in school. When kids are not taught to respect humanity, no amount of education or religious beliefs can make their lives right. It’s time to break the cycle and it should start now.

Stop Racial Discrimination!!!

Sunday, a Fun day...a 'Holi' day!!!

A day that began with a craving for South Indian Breakfast, for idlis, dosas and vadas, something that rarely gets made at home, something P and I love, in my case I prefer to have them at Restaurants, they are simply better, a day that ended with a flourish, at the Company’s apartment building.

I have always been fascinated with vibrant colours, on clothes, in houses, in gardens, around the city and on faces. This is precisely why am mesmerised by this small city, these colours are everywhere. When it comes to 'Holi', I love to douse people with colours, when it's my turn, I prefer to hide. Despite the fun and frolic associated with the festival, I choose to stay away and P is in tandem with me.

The Das’ and us decide to have a quiet South Indian brunch at ‘Royal India’. This place, in our experience has always been consistent with their ‘chow’ and their personal touch makes it more welcoming. We are the only ones around at noon, we walk around sloppily, laugh loudly, talk carelessly, all in gay abandon. We order our vadas, idlis, dosas and, mutton pepper fry for that hint of 'carnivourism'. We get talking about the day ahead, the day that has just gone by, to think we just met the previous day. I believe, it’s not what one eats but the captivating company that one shares during these food trips that makes it special. Yes, food is a very important accessory, especially for us. We take our own sweet time over this delightful brunch, the end is spiced up with a lovely cold cardamom milk, compliments of the Restaurant.

We decide to go for a drive, to this quaint little shack by the lake called ‘Riviera’. We reach 'Riviera' and find the place closed, we also meet a friendly colleague of P’s, whom he can't recognize. We drive back to the main road and towards the Golf area, we decide to go to Le Centaure, a small Horse Club, we check out the magnificent stallions in their stables and then go up to the watch tower to soak in the landscape that spreads out in front of us. The most prominent landmark in Lubumbashi is in sight, the Gecamines Plant. After a few pictures we drive to Cercle Hippique de Lubumbashi ( hope I’ve got the name right ). On our way we pass through a crowd, of people, vehicles and buildings, the view abruptly becomes panoramic, the road itself goes up and down. Among the cloud of trees is the picturesque Horse Club owned by the M Forrest group, vast, scenic and quiet. The Restaurant is charming and outdoors, with a view of their Show Jumping course and the stables on the side. A lovely gallery overlooks the course. Can’t wait to have a nice long lunch there. After going through the schedule of their show jumping events, we move away from the little ‘countryside’ on to the road again. We go around a few more residential colonies and head home to the Das’ for some ‘chai’.

We haven’t had our ‘chai’ yet, Das has a Eureka moment. We decide to visit the other apartment mates for some 'Holi' fun. All of them seem to be in deep slumber, even a cricket match involving India attracts no attention. We decide to wait until one door opens for us, the Patels are first. We welcome ourselves in with a palette of colours and smear the dazed faces with them. After a glass of juice, we  move on to the Agarwals with the Patels, some snacks and ‘chai’ this time, the Agarwals included, we move to the Modis, with the Modis to the Bhattacharyas,  after a few 'pakodas', we go to the second of the Das’ for coffee. We think we are done with the 'Holi' fun but not yet. The final stop is at Saishree and Das’s for some cut fruits. By now we are huddled around playing 'musical chairs', with the kids playing in the centre. P and I stay back for an impromptu ‘un-Holi’ dinner with them. Now the day ends.

Am still charged when we return home, when it is time to sleep I fight it. I want to talk about the day, I want to write about it, I want to relive it but hubby dear is already fast asleep. I go through the day on my own, over and over again, like a song in my head. I must have fallen asleep sometime, when I wake up I realise it’s Monday and it’s time for my blues.

A day that became ‘Holi’!!!

Women, take a Bow!!!

What a day it was, a day Women were celebrated all over the World. In DR Congo, March is their month, celebrations everywhere, festive, full of flavour and fervour. For me personally, it's a day I will always cherish, a day I dare not forget. I have never felt this experience back home and I have never felt this celebrated either. Before I start on my story, I have to thank the chairman of the organisation my husband works for. I will always be grateful for this opportunity.

It all began one afternoon in the 4th week of February, when I was invited to take part in the Women’s day march down the CBD with the Women employees of the organisation. I had no hesitation in saying yes, infact I stood up to say yes. Sharon, the affable receptionist at the organisation brought us materials to tailor our outfits and also took us to do them. My first Congolese outfit!!! Well, can’t really call it that, the material was traditional, bright and colourful but the outfit, not so, but am sure I will get one made soon.

A week ahead of March 8th, I could talk nothing other than ‘Women’s Day’. Can’t believe the day used to pass off in a hurry back home. Am sure P must have thought, "the already talkative woman has just gone on an overdrive". Thankfully, from his point of view he was buried deep for the whole week. I was most certainly talking to myself, am sure, all my talk fell on deaf ears. The outfit looked remarkable and fit perfectly, despite the tailor not paying too much emphasis on the measurement process. He definitely deserves praise. Back home the tailors make such a hue and cry over measurements, only to get it wrong at the end. My accessories were all laid out a day before. I only had to make sure I got showered and dressed in time.

The D day arrives finally. P has never wished me before, this time he seals it with a kiss. I try hard not to make a joke of it. I pause for a moment and tell myself, "what the heck, I‘ll take it". We complain if they don’t wish us and we complain, if they do. We have been asked to assemble at the meeting point at 9am. We talk about taking pictures together, my friend Saishree and I. We do our solo shoots but completely forget the one we are aiming for. On the road we realise we are in a maze of sorts. All roads don’t lead to Rome today. We finally manage to reach on time and find no one from our group has arrived. Is it April already??? We see Women everywhere, in groups, dressed in Women’s day finery, none from ours. When we call, we are told we are at the right place. After waiting for about half an hour, we feel something is wrong, we look around to see one woman from our group ( from the outfit she is wearing ) screaming on the phone. It seems we are not where we should be. Miscommunication is called out.

At the next meeting point, we still don’t see the numbers the group is supposed to be made of. Some of us are annoyed at the lack of organisation. Where is the organiser??? She seems to be available only on the phone. After a while we decide to move again to another place. We end up standing right in the middle of the roundabout close to where the event gets underway, we are still in 'No Man’s' land but are thrilled at the vantage point. The numbers slowly add and now we have a larger group. We finally move to our starting block, we wait our turn under the sun, then slowly move into a bakery for some shade. We see a sea of colours now. We start identifying groups based on clothes and what a display it is. Taking in every bit of it despite the hot sun and fatique slowly catching on!!!

A few more than required want a hold of the banners, I couldn’t care less. Am happy am there and am happy to take the pictures. The organiser is still missing in action. Am sure there is a deputy around, but where??? Intriguing!!! We start marching, can’t do justice to what am feeling in words. Am engulfed in a rush of emotions, of pride, excitement, happiness, expectations, hope, I feel an adrenaline rush, am completely overwhelmed. We march past the roundabout, amidst people rooting for us, we take a right turn into the road leading to 'Poste', we walk through a corridor created by the citizens of Lubumbashi, watching us with admiration from both sides of the road. I now see a VIP podium at 'Poste' on my side and the band playing on the other. We walk past them, Photographers flashing their cameras, TV crews all round, journalists talking on their microphones. Once past the VIP arena, we sight our finishing line. We are all exhausted from the heat but I don’t see a single Woman who has her mouth shut. I see even the quiet ones busy narrating their accounts of the event.

We are now in the Company bus, which would take us to the next Venue…a place to unwind, a place for some piping hot lunch and some ‘dirty dancing’. Cool drinks and ‘Simba’ served, the girls slowly begin loosening up. They should be called the ‘Movers and Shakers’. The rhythm, synchronisation, the sensuality in their style of dancing makes me just sit and watch wide eyed, it’s something to behold. Soon more follow. Before it gets out of control ( in a good way of course ), lunch is served. Typical Congolese fare, I must say I thoroughly enjoy it. Am also called to say a few words on camera for the waiting journalists. I don’t remember what I said, but I do remember fumbling around to find words to express what I have been witness to. Just before the afternoon ends for us, the organiser turns up. Credit to her for putting together a good party. By the time I get back home, it is time to prepare for the evening. No time for a snooze, there is actually but am too excited to spend that time snoring.

The evening comes, we hurtle to ‘La Plage’, the venue for the Cocktail party. The husbands dutifully drop us, before heading back home for a poorer dinner. One attribute the Congolese share with us Indians, a complete lack of respect for time. People walk in at their convenience and make no apologies for it. We find a nearly empty venue, despite being informed the programme would start on dot. We are ushered to our table, which would seat ten of our friends from the march. We sit waiting, sipping our choice of liquor. We are still talking animatedly about the scene from the afternoon. The programme begins and there is not a dull moment after that. An extremely popular singer from Kinshasa is around to perform and what a fantastic performance that is…and interactive. Ms Miriam Katumbi, the sister of the Governor of Lubumbashi must be credited for the fabulous show she has organised. Absolutely down to earth and refreshingly unassuming, it is a pleasure to see her go about the business of the evening.

What a wonderful day!!! I have never felt so celebrated before, am also extremely glad to have shared the day with the Women employees from P’s work place, people I would have never met otherwise.

The hope is to have Women celebrated everyday and hope it doesn’t end with just a party.