Filling up pages - a commitment to myself

 I am revisiting this blog after over five years. How I got to this place ... I'll highlight the relevant points. 

In 2014, I made a resolution: that I wanted to be an artist. I was surprised to find that exact blogpost where I made that commitment to myself. And that inaugurated a whole series of life-changing events, that unfolded over the next few years. I would tear down the current life I was living, and rebuild from scratch. It sounds like a figurative exaggeration, but it really isn't. I was forced to re-evaluate all of the closest people to me in my life - my husband, my parents, my sister, my Guru (not necessarily in that order), and most importantly, myself. Going a little further. back, I believe that my personal awakening began when I became a mother in 2012, which led to questioning who I am, which has in turn led to so many more, ongoing questions, answers, awakenings, and musings. 

2016 Christmas was when I found myself at ground-zero.  I thought I had hit the lowest point I could possibly go to, and then I would be knocked down further. It was one hit after another. My theme song for that time was definitely, "I get knocked down, but I get up again, you're never gonna keep me down." I can't believe I just referenced a non-Indian song. But, of course, I don't know the name of the song, or who sang it. That would be asking for too much from me. 

2018 was the start of the upswing. The good thing about being at the bottom is that the only place to go from there is up. And slowly, day by day, things started to get better. Sometimes you'd have a good hour. Sometimes a good day. Sometimes a good week. And it has now built to a place where I can say that we've had good years in our rebuilt life. 

Slowing down has been a big focus of mine. But, living in Silicon Valley in this era, even at my slowest, I felt like I was maintaining a slow jog, with an occasional sprint when too many things fell together at the same time. It's a great improvement from the maniacal headless chicken dance I did for so many of my years prior to 2014, but still not where I wanted to be, and I could feel it. 

2020 brought everything to a grinding halt. There was no choice about it. It was as if Mother Nature told the whole world - STOP. JUST STOP. STOP EVERYTHING, AND TAKE A LOOK AT YOURSELVES. 

And, oh, we definitely did. The Black Lives Matter movement erupted within three months of the Shelter-in-Place order taking effect. That has been one of the most profound looking glasses put in front of our faces. Racism was no longer a binary check box - racist or not racist. Now we were forced to look at all our implicit racial biases that influenced our thoughts, decisions, perspectives ... which would then effected our policies, laws, etc.

But on a smaller, personal note, I made the decision to do something for my artistic self in 2020. I joined an online master class called "Creative Mastermind." It was run by a college friend of mine, Srinivas Rao, whose Unmistakable Creative Podcast I used to occasionally check out - and I found that I enjoyed what he was doing: highlighting the lives and stories of people who decided to do something different, and make a life out of it. I decided to commit 1 hour a week for the next 12 weeks to just listening to whatever this course was saying it could help me do - develop systems and pr
actices for being my best creative self. 

The snowball analogy is the best way to describe how I have gotten to where I am now, a year later. That commitment slowly led to more reading, introspections, writing, realizations ... and it crept into all facets of my life. I realized I had been fearing to reach out to a wonderful and incredible artist I had had the opportunity to work with the year before (2019) - but now with the SIP order, I thought maybe he might have the time to teach me online? Best decision ever - as this has grown into a beautiful new relationship, and I have unexpectedly found myself in the loving care of a guru. I feel like a small plant, being well taken care of, but constantly poked and prodded to grow quickly and reach for the sun, moon, and stars. 

I left social media in August 2020, as a part of a 100-day challenge I was doing with the online creative network I had joined. Social media was impacting my mental health. In a random, given moment, when you'd scroll through your Instagram feed ... in five minutes, you'd see 20+ posts, and experience 20+ different emotions - varying from happy, sad, angry, envious, laughter, inspired, etc, etc. It's not to say those emotions are bad to experience,  but IT'S TOO MUCH. My mind cannot handle that many varying emotions in that short of a time span. And then be expected to go back to whatever mundane activity I was doing before that.

Removing social media was like detoxing from an addiction. It was a really well-timed detox, as I managed to survive the 2020 election season. It also led to reevaluating my relationship with my phone. 

Now, those who are close to me have often been frustrated with my relationship with my phone. From missing calls, to not having the ability to look up pertinent information bc I don't have my email on my phone -- my attempts at digital reduction were bringing in enough inconveniences that those closest to me (i.e. my husband) were left frustrated with my asinine methodologies. Reading the book "Digital Minimalism" helped me here by figuring out how to utilize technology to support the life that I want for myself - without being inconvenienced and inconveniencing others around me.

The life that I want for myself. That's a heavy question.  

By the way, in four months of not having social media in my life, I read more books than I had read in the last four years. That just shows how little I read in the years prior - not what a voracious reader I have turned into. Though, I must admit that I am proud that I have already read four books this year, and it's only the beginning of March! 

I've decided to continue with the rest of my life without social media. I have social media for my dance school/company, but not for me personally. The things that I liked about social media - feeling connected to others, and sharing my story. I will find better ways of supporting those two aspects in my life. 

I have been keeping a Bullet Journal since June 2020. I've always loved notebooks. I often would have something that I called "My Everything Notebook," which had everything from notes, to personal journal entries, to phone numbers, receipts, etc. Well, turns out someone figured out to make the everything notebook an efficient system of preserving and planning your life. I discovered that I also enjoy doodling and I'm not half bad at it, thanks to an unending supply of inspiration from Pinterest. Keeping a bullet journal has also reignited my passion for calligraphy and lettering, a passion of mine since I was ten years old. 

Writing is something I've always loved to do, and wished I did more of. So, I put the idea out there in the universe - I want to write more. I have become a believer in an almost simplistic approach to life - you put the idea out there, and then the universe revolves around to bring that idea to a reality. Call it the power of the subconscious, call it god, higher power, call it the force - whatever floats your boat. But try it - you'll be amazed at how simple it can be. 

I was approached by an editor to write a piece for their blog, "American Kahani." I was pretty flattered to be honest. I don't consider myself a writer by any means, though I have been paid for the craft in the past. And so, writing for that blog started turning the wheels even faster, as I further began to ponder, what is it that I have to say? 

With this post, I make a commitment to myself - to keep filling up pages. I hope that this goes beyond my morning pages (three pages of hand-written stream of consciousness at the start of each day), and bullet journal - but also to this personal blog, American Kahani, and my creative narrative writing - where I bring to life all the characters and stories that float around in my head on any given day.  

China Zindabad

 The following post was published in American Kahani. 

What Happens When a Socially Conscientious Citizen Loses Her Glasses

FEBRUARY 17, 2021

• Looking at white privilege, carbon footprint, China, Amazon and the joys and horrors of hyperacuity.

ANTARA BHARDWAJ

I’ve had perfect 20-20 vision my entire life. I was one of those annoying people who could read the smallest font of the menu board from the entrance of the restaurant. I remember going to an optometrist, and as he looked at my eyes through the opthalmoscope, he asked me if I was vegetarian. “Yes,” I replied. He was pleasantly surprised. Apparently, non-vegetarians develop a plaque around their cornea, of which I had none. That’s how amazing my eyes were. 

Almost like clockwork, I turned 39, and I started losing that perfect vision. A slight variation in my vision makes me feel like I’m going blind. It is not acceptable to me that I can no longer identify which airplane is flying 1 mile high in the sky above me. 

I finally made it to Lens Crafters, and found out that I needed  reading glasses for far sightedness, and another pair of glasses for astigmatism, for nighttime driving and such. There was no way I was spending money on two pairs of glasses. Besides, I didn’t even know how much I’d really wear them. 

I surprised myself there — I loved my $200 Dolce & Gabana framed glasses. I couldn’t believe that I had allowed myself to suffer from such poor, impaired 19-20 vision for the whole last year. It was repeated moments of pure joy, each time I pulled out my glasses and suddenly saw the words in front of me the way they had been in my whole life before. 

As is expected for a first time glasses owner, I lost my glasses. I told myself I was lucky that they lasted the 7 months. Months later, I realized that I most likely left them at the AirBnb where I stayed on my last work trip (my only work trip of the year). Sheer laziness deterred me from contacting the AirBnb owner — I would just buy a new pair.  

Well, then Covid19 hit, and buying glasses became very low on the priority list. I’ll skip right ahead, 10 months into the pandemic, and I was sick of feeling blind all the time (again). A cousin suggested that I buy a pack of glasses from Amazon, and place them in various places around the house. A brilliant suggestion, no doubt. 

The hardest part of this purchase was getting the prescription from Lens Crafters. Due to patient confidentiality laws, they couldn’t tell me what my prescription was. “We can fax it to you.” Who the hell has a fax machine in 2021?! The store is literally around the corner from my home, so I finally walked in one day, and they handed me the magic number I was looking for: +1.00. 

I’ve grown up vegetarian, and the idea of nonviolence is something that suits my temperament. But in today’s day and age, there is no way to live a nonviolent life. Everything you do is hurting our planet.

Now, this is where I finally segue into the point of my story. I consider myself a socially conscientious citizen of the world — at least I try to be. My biggest concern and worry in every day life is the state of our beloved planet earth, and how each and every action I take (or don’t take), is further destroying our planet. In the event that I forget to bring my own reusable bag at the grocery story, I minimize my shopping so that I can carry all the goods back in my bare arms. The decision of “paper or plastic,” is too hard for me to make. “Neither,” is what the answer needs to be. 

Going against all my principles (including supporting local brick and mortar stores) I caved in, and bought the glasses from Amazon. $20 got me five — that’s right — not one, but five pairs of glasses, each with a matching cloth carrying case, and a cleaning microfiber. It was delivered within 48 hours of me clicking on my phone as I sat at the dinner table one night. 

I didn’t need to see the sticker to know where this product came from. “China zindabad,” I murmured, as I deliberated which color of frames to wear first — marveling at the convenience, simplicity, and luxury it afforded me.

Now here I am, ridden with the guilt of the carbon footprint my glasses have taken on the planet. One could argue that they had already been made, so I’m not really adding to destruction of the planet. But that argument is easily flawed — the more that we use, the more they will make. And I’m not even getting into the humanitarian atrocities of  the working conditions of the factories, or how old those workers were. 

I’ve grown up vegetarian, and the idea of nonviolence is something that suits my temperament. But in today’s day and age, there is no way to live a nonviolent life. Everything you do is hurting our planet. I once read an article that said that the shit we produce (literally) will leave a longer impact in the years to come than any of the actual ‘work’ we do. 

As I continue to ponder my role in ruining the planet, I am reminded that it is not only my generation that has caused this. I was reading a historical account of the 17th century Mughal Emperor Jahangir of India. He proclaimed with pride, the hunting conquests in his lifetime: 86 tigers, 889 nilgais, 1,372 deer, 36 wild buffaloes, 90 wild boars, 23 hares, 10,349 pigeons, 3,276 crows, 156 waterfowl, 41 sparrows, and 10 crocodiles — totaling 28,532 animals. This was one man, four hundred years ago. The looting and pillaging of our planet began well before my time. It is just now that it has exponentially grown, and the take-off point of the destruction of our planet has begun. Fires, floods, tsunamis, earthquakes, virus pandemics — abhi to party shuru hui hai (the party’s just begun). 

It’s a bit like the guilt of the white man, in some ways. ‘white privilege’ is nothing new —  it has been around for generations. And I use quotes around ‘white privilege’ not like the folks at Fox Channel who find it to be a fictitious, facetious concept. Quite the opposite, I have recently learned that this privilege is not limited to just white people. As a South Asian from a well-educated family living in Silicon Valley, I have been given so many privileges. Additionally, because I can easily throw myself in the BIPOC group, I don’t identify with the guilt of the white man. In a way, our community is worse, because we don’t even know that we’re exercising privilege, and straddling both sides as per our convenience. 

And so, our world continues its path into self-destruction — climate change, loss of ecosystems, racial inequalities, the poor becoming poorer, the rich becoming richer — eventually leading to more inequality and disruption in our day-to-day existence. Until then, I continue to harbor my love-hate relationship with China. To make myself feel better, I will not lose these glasses, and make sure they last me as long as my eyes remain at +1.00. 

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Antara Bhardwaj is a Kathak artist and filmmaker based in Mountain View, California, where she lives with her husband and son. She runs a dance company and school by the name of Antara Asthaayi Dance. You can follow her on Facebook and Instagram.

Interview with Smriti Mundhra on Indian Matchmaking

 The following post was published in American Kahani: 

“Indian Matchmaking” Wasn’t Made for a Western Audience: A Conversation with Smriti Mundhra

AUGUST 30, 2020

• The creator and executive producer of the Netflix series discusses the show’s global popularity and if it propagates stereotypes and biases such as colorism, casteism among Indians.

ANTARA BHARDWAJ

Most of us have at least heard of “Indian Matchmaking” on Netflix by now. If not, check out my “Cringe and binge” review of the series last month. I am ceaselessly fascinated by ‘process’ when it comes to the creative arts and wanted to share a chat I had with the creator and executive producer of Indian Matchmaking, Smriti Mundhra. 

Smriti is a second-generation filmmaker. Her father was the illustrious filmmaker Jagmohan Mundhra, who is best known for helming biopics “Provoked” (2006 Aishwarya Rai), “Bawandar” (aka Sandstorm, 2000, Nandita Das), and “Kamla” (1984 Shabana Azmi). Smriti began her own journey as a filmmaker in her teen years. When most of us were trying to get fake IDs to buy alcohol or cigarettes, she was forging internships on film sets (reminiscent of Mae ‘Maeby’ Fünke a la “Arrested Development” no doubt!). She produced her first award winning feature film “Bomb the System” at the age of 22 and hasn’t looked back since. Earlier this year, still shy of 40, she received her first Oscar nomination for her documentary short “St. Louis Superman,” a film that becomes even more relevant as the BLM movement continues to grow. 

I wanted to chat with Smriti about her response to how “Indian Matchmaking” has been received, and to hear from her what her motivations were around this series that has sparked so many conversations in households across the world. Excerpts from the interview:

AB: “Indian Matchmaking” is the #1 series on Netflix in India, and in the top 10 in the U.S. How does it feel? 

SM: It’s been amazing and overwhelming. Maybe I was naive, but I was absolutely not prepared for this much interest and conversation, and the mania around the show. I’m glad it’s got people talking.

creator and executive producer of Indian Matchmaking, Smriti Mundhra. Top photo, Mundhra, second from right, with the “Indian Matchmaking” team.

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AB: It definitely has a lot of people talking. Some people love it, and some people absolutely hate it. 

SM: I’m happy for all of the conversation. I was prepared for the critiques and the backlash as well. I think this is a super triggering topic that people have very strong opinions about. When you have something that comes out of India and reports to represent South Asian culture, and then it gets so big — there are going to be people who feel left out of it; that it didn’t cover their experience of this very broad topic of marriage and arranged marriage. That’s fair — I understand where that is coming from. I think the conversation and critique is really good. We made this show to start conversations. We wanted people to re-examine the things that we have ingrained in our society and our attitudes towards marriage for a really long time, and we don’t really talk about and quietly accept and tolerate. This show was made for an Indian and Indian diasporic audience. It wasn’t made for a Western audience. That also is a part of the conversation and makes it a little tricky. Because you have culturally specific content, that is available globally. How do you balance — who is your audience? Who is this for? So, when something like this blows up outside of the diaspora, in hindsight it poses all these questions — why didn’t you include this? Explain this? Why didn’t you talk about this? But we were making the show for people who wouldn’t necessarily need that context or explanation. We didn’t want to start from the place of making it for a Western gaze.

AB: One of the criticisms I have seen a lot is that the show propagates stereotypes, and biases such as colorism, casteism, etc. 

SM:  It’s not the job of the show to judge or critique. It’s not that type of docuseries. It’s a dating show. Our goal was to present the reality of this world as accurately as possible. And let the viewers be the critics. [Matchmaking] is a problematic system that does not work for everybody. There are people who deliberately move against it, and others who opt into it. We show that full range of experience and their interactions with the idea of traditional marriage. Sima comes from a very traditional stance. Her arc on the show is recognizing that she must also grow and evolve if she’s going to be able to successfully run a business. She has to be responsive to the demands and needs of her clients, that are changing. The clients are also demonstrating their dynamic between wanting to hold on to their traditional culture & identity, but also rubbing up against what feels problematic and saying their truths. The one thing we did try to do was make sure there was enough diversity in perspectives and ideology in the show, so that it wasn’t just a bunch of people desperate to get married, who will accept anything, or any critique. If there was any inherent commentary it was that – let’s show the tradition, as it authentically is, and show the new generation that is pushing back against that, as they authentically are, and let the people decide for themselves. We didn’t try to consciously expose the flaws, but we also didn’t try to hide any of them.

AB: As a filmmaker myself, I feel frustrated when I hear people refer to this series as a “reality show.” There is a distinguishable difference between reality TV and a docuseries, and I would love it if you could shed some light on that, and how it relates to this particular series. 

SM: For the most part, we’ve seen dating shows through the lens of “Reality TV.” “Bachelor,” “Too Hot to Handle,” etc. Those shows are much more heavily produced. They have an inherent framework or gimmick — whether it’s a bunch of people living in the same home competing for the same man, or whatever. [The producers] are casting people who are very well-versed in reality TV — models, actors, influencers type of people – people who already have or are creating a public platform. In a docuseries — yes there [is] an organizing principle. It’s a dating show about Indian millennials trying to get married — reconciling their progressive, modern, western beliefs or lives with their traditional cultural identities. In doing that, we wanted to cast real people who are going through this process. Not people who fit a certain physical type, or who are there for some kind of tokenized representation. And certainly, we were not casting for characters — like we need a hero, a villain, a victim, a shit-starter, etc. The only objective in casting was — let’s find the people who are the most open, authentic, and willing to be vulnerable. And within this somewhat narrow world of matchmaking, let’s try to push for as much diversity as we reasonably can. We don’t have a team of producers on the ground trying to manipulate people into creating drama. We tried to stay close to reality as much as possible. There was nothing emotionally manipulative about the show. It wasn’t like ‘This was actually a really good date, but we need to make it look like a really bad date for the show.’ We feel that there is inherently enough emotion and drama in the course of normal people dating that we trusted that would be enough to make a great show. Of course, it’s a TV show — it’s edited; it’s a narrow slice of somebody’s life. It’s never going to be a full, authentic representation of their full life and character. 

The author, Antara Bhardwaj, right, with Smriti Mundhra in Dubai, 2006 for the premiere of “Provoked.”

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AB: Speaking of characters — I think it’s very commendable that despite all the responses, positive & negative, none of the cast members have spoken ill of the producers or the TV show. 

SM: I love our cast. The participants are amazing. Most of them hadn’t met each other or even knew who was on the show. But [now] they’ve formed almost a support group for each other. They’ve all handled it with so much grace and dignity. And this is another thing that is so different from being on a traditional reality TV — [those people] are expecting a certain degree of fame, and you invite that. When you’re on a show like this, they went overnight from being regular people to viral celebrities. No one expected the show to blow up as much as it has. Considering all of that pressure, it’s a lot to deal with — where the whole world feels like they have an opinion on your life. Especially for those who have been getting a lot of vitriolic comments — I am so proud of the participants of this show and can’t speak highly enough of them. 

AB: Do you have any favorites? 

SM: (laughs) I can’t choose favorites amongst my children! I love everyone in the cast. They are all incredibly real, honest, authentic people, who went along for the ride and were up for the adventure. They opened up and brought their authentic selves to the experience, and I love them all for that. I have a soft spot for Aparna because I can really relate to her. To me, she really symbolizes the reaction to what society expects of women. The way she reacts to some of those really unfair expectations – that women should be pleasant and conforming and conciliatory. Aparna is the manifestation of saying a big “F-you” to that. [Her viewpoint is] I’m a person that is ambitious, and successful and I got here because I’ve held myself to a very high standard, and I’m going to hold other people to that high standard – whether it’s a matchmaker, or someone I go on a date with.  I see someone that is unapologetically herself, but also self-aware, where she can think differently or grow into something new.

AB: The series left on a note that leaves the viewer speculative of Season 2. Is that a correct assumption? 

SM: We don’t know yet — it’s up to Netflix, and we’re still a little ways out before that [is decided]. 

AB: Is there anything specific you would want to do or show next time around? 

SM: The goal for me always, in everything that I do, is to keep widening the aperture of what we see in the world around us. As much as we pushed for diverse perspectives in this first season of IM, it’s still a very narrow slice of the South Asian experience. The goal is always to push for more… but it has to be done in an authentic way. Now that we’ve proven the model — that a dating show from a culturally specific view can work, that people are interested in it — I think we’ll have a lot more opportunity to expand what that world looks like in upcoming seasons – geographically, ideologically, culturally. 

For those who haven’t already seen it, do watch Smriti Mundhra’s directorial debut documentary “A Suitable Girl,” available on Amazon Prime. The film follows three young Indian women for four years as they go through the arranged marriage process. And you will see the story of “Sima from Mumbai,” trying to find a match for her own daughter as well! 

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Antara Bhardwaj is a Kathak artist and filmmaker based in Mountain View, California, where she lives with her husband and son. She runs a dance company and school by the name of Antara Asthaayi Dance. You can follow her on Facebook and Instagram.

"Indian Matchmaking" review

The following post was published in American Kahani.  

Cringe and Binge: ‘Indian Matchmaking’ Forces You to Confront Indian Societal Norms

JULY 29, 2020

• Entertainment value aside, the docuseries by Netflix takes its audiences through a full array of emotions.

ANTARA BHARDWAJ

Never has a show sparked so much conversation in my home. While I burst out laughing watching the unexpected silent response of a young man who was asked what he wants in a bride, my husband was writhing uncomfortably in his seat. We are Gen-X’ers — I grew up in the U.S, my husband was raised in India and moved out here in his 20’s. 

  Netflix’s “Indian Matchmaking” gives you an in-depth look into the process of finding a life partner through a specific avenue of arranged marriage. Sima Taparia (also previously seen in “A Suitable Girl”) is an elite matchmaker who works with the upper echelons of Indian society. In this series, she ventures out to the United States, and brings her skill set of matchmaking to Indian Americans — GenX & Y’ers. 

The docuseries (not to be confused with traditional ‘reality tv’) follows half a dozen or so individuals from various walks of life — an independent female lawyer in Texas, a wealthy jeweler’s son in Mumbai, a school teacher in the Midwest, an female entrepreneur in Delhi, a divorcee with a child, among others. 

The show brings to the forefront some of the inane “requirements” that families look for in a potential bride or groom. It is hard not to notice how many times “fair” is casually thrown around, or the preoccupation with height and “slim figure.” It is also curiously striking when you see a young Indian American going on a first date with a girl … and her mother. 

The filmmakers navigate through all these various themes with a nuanced sensitivity and a non-judgmental approach. Sima Taparia is the star of the show — carrying through the narrative of each storyline, while sharing with the viewers her thoughts about the process, and frustrations with her clients. Her ultimate comeback — “I cannot do anything if the stars are not aligned.” And she’s not kidding when she says this, as we learn from the astrologists she brings in as a part of her consultancy process. 

Don’t expect happily tied up endings in this docuseries. This is not reality TV, and the producers have not forced a “Bachelor” like ending to each character’s story.

Entertainment value aside, “Indian Matchmaking” takes its audiences through a full array of emotions … not only showing a character arc for those going through the matchmaking process, but an overall arc of the show. It brings you in with easy-to-pick on Aparna, an overly critical, entitled woman who refuses to watch football with her future partner ever (unless it’s box seats), and exposes you to the complexities of traditional Indian households and hierarchies of power within the home — and not necessarily the way you would imagine them to be. 

Don’t expect happily tied up endings in this docuseries. This is not reality TV, and the producers have not forced a “Bachelor” like ending to each character’s story.

“Cringe and binge,” I heard someone say to describe this show. Whether you love it, or you hate it (as was the case in my own household), this show will evoke a response and force you to face your own feelings about societal ‘norms’ of our Indian community and culture. 

Disclaimer: The author is a friend of the show’s creator/executive producer and was briefly involved in the casting process. 

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Antara Bhardwaj is a Kathak artist and filmmaker based in Mountain View, California, where she lives with her husband and son. She runs a dance company and school by the name of Antara Asthaayi Dance. You can follow her on Facebook and Instagram.

Summer-in-Place

The following post was published in American Kahani. 

My Wonder Years And the Coming Summer-in-Place

JUNE 3, 2020

Life moved at a very different pace when I was growing up in Silicon Valley in the 1980s. Days languished on — life was not hurried. I walked to and from my local public elementary school, and after school there were no activities to rush to. I don’t even remember getting into our car on a weekday. Perhaps the only rush was to finish our paltry homework, so that we could run out to find other kids on our street riding their bikes or roller skating, drawing hopscotch, etc. 

My best friend lived four houses down from our’s, and our new next door neighbor had two girls around my age and my and my sister’s, so we all became fast friends. I didn’t have their phone numbers — in the off chance that they weren’t already out on the street playing, I would knock on their door and ask the age old question, “Can (name of friend) come out and play?” Rarely was I met with a no. 

My father was in the nascent stages of his own start-up — something that wasn’t very common in that era. I remember trying to explain to my friends that my dad worked for himself, and was met with confused frowns. “So … he doesn’t work?” My father came upon some money when the previous company where he was working was acquired. Rather than joining the new company, he decided to cash out and start something of his own. The $96k he made would be enough to keep our family of four (and mortgage) afloat for a couple of years. 

The author seen here in the summer of 1988 with her younger sister.

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I still remember the office my parents built for him in the garage. A few months later, the office lay abandoned, as the oppressive summer heat came in, and the lack of ventilation became unbearable. His office was moved to my little sister’s bedroom, which was more of a storage room for her stuff anyway, since she slept in my parents bed (“co-sleeping” was a term we never heard of in the 1980’s). 

Money was tight — there was no frivolous spending, or wastage of any sort. My mother made home-cooked (predominantly Indian) meals — 20 meals a week. The one exception was ordering pizza on a Friday night — and what a treat it was! Little Caesars (which used to be called Piggie’s Pizza, for you old timers out here) had a great 2 for 1 deal, pick-up only. 

The concept of a pick-up only restaurant itself was revolutionary. What kind of restaurant didn’t allow their customers to eat there? (Answer: all of them, circa COVID19) I remember looking forward to the drive to pick up the pizza — how the appetizing aroma of melted cheese and tomato sauce would fill the car, and how our stomachs would rumble and palates salivate on the short 6 minute ride home. 

The author seen here in the summer of 1988 with her younger sister. 

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And traffic. Or, shall I say, the lack thereof. Evergreen (southeast San Jose) to Saratoga during rush hour would take 20 minutes. It felt like forever. Now, that same distance could take up to 1 hour 45 minutes, depending on the time of the day.
So there we were, all four of us at home, except for the 6 hours a day that I went to school. We may have been short on money, but there was no shortage of time. We cooked, cleaned, ate, played, grew vegetables and flowers, and all our friends were within a ten-minute walk of our home. When summer came around, we had even more free time. 

Cut to the year 2020. 

Every year, for the past three years, my husband and I draw out an elaborate spreadsheet for the 10 weeks of summer. I run an Indian classical dance school and teach my own summer camps, and so we meticulously detail out which weeks I will teach, find camps that fit within a matching location/schedule (hoping that our son will like those choices), and figure out which weeks will be a “break” so that summer actually feels like vacation. Additionally, we try to have one week which will be our family vacation where none of us are in work or school. One week. 

This summer, my son will experience a summer similar to my childhood summers — no summer camps, no planned activities, no plans. Where our resources are limited, but in exchange, we have time. A summer without air travel, where we will hardly even get into the car — but will go for daily long walks after 7pm when the harsh summer sun cools down and finally it becomes bearable to be outside. Perhaps, we will even have children play in the streets — wearing masks and being constantly reminded to keep a distance and wash their hands. 

We take it one day at a time, and remember that this, too, shall pass. Until then, may we find love, joy, and revel in the luxury of time that we have with our loved ones — whether they are in the same home as us, or a screen away. And perhaps, when we return to “normal,” we bring with us some of the good that shelter-in-place has to offer. 

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Antara Bhardwaj is a Kathak artist and filmmaker based in Mountain View, California. She lives with her husband and son, and runs a dance company and school by the name of Antara Asthaayi Dance, where you can follow her on Facebook and Instagram.