Reenita's Wisdom

When it comes to the first day of the new year, I don’t favour sitting around a large family-style brunch table. Not that I am against food or family gatherings, but in many ways the idea serves only to extend the excess of eating and drinking from the holidays into what should be a new take on healthy family living.

“Let’s wake up bright and early and go on a family hike!” I suggest. “Dragon’s Back – that way we can end up at Big Wave bay to watch the surfers do their thing while we dig into quality Thai food.”

My suggestion is greeted by groans and other utterances depicting a lifetime of torment.

“Do we have to be that active on the first day of the year?” Ilya, my 13-year-old daughter, asks.

But what better time to put into action one’s New Year resolutions? Regardless of what my resolution is, whether to burn 500 calories a day or write 500 words a day, I figure if I do it on January 1 then there’s a better chance I will maintain the practice throughout the year.

Alas, the others do not agree.

Arya, my 10-year-old son, does the maths. “There is a higher chance that you will stick to your resolution if you start on say the second day of the second week of the second month….of the year, after you are done with false hope of trying to carry out your New Year’s resolutions in the first month of the year.”

Ilya pipes up: “I was going to start my superbrain yoga exercises on January 1,” she says, referring to a series of squats that purportedly stimulate your brain to operate at peak performance. “But not if you are going to force us to climb mountains, anyway.”

“What’s wrong with doing both?”

“If I conquer all peaks on January 1 then what will I aspire to the rest of the year?”

Understanding Ilya’s brand of logic is not my strong point but when it comes to achieving her resolutions, she remains resolute.

Dumbledore, our dog, barks in apparent agreement.

I turn to my husband, who, as usual, ignores our conversation in favour of his BlackBerry.

“What are you planning to do on the first day of the year?”

“What am I planning to do on the first day of the year?” he repeats back to me slowly and cautiously. It is a tactic he has used for years to prove that he is actually participating in the conversation (when, in fact, he has only picked up the audio and will take another few seconds to process the content).

“My resolution is simple, I am going to control my anger.”

No subtlety there. This is clearly not about him.

“Is that a resolution for you? Or for you for me?” I ask, annoyed.

Dumbledore barks again. My husband cocks his head to the side, imitating the dog.

“Well I was thinking about the kids but you are right. Perhaps I should be less angry at you, too.”

That’s when I realise it isn’t about him at all. While I had assumed he was referring to my quick temper, he was in fact talking about controlling his own.

His resolution could definitely work in the family’s favour regardless of which day of the year but the nagging psychologist in me asks, “And how is this therapeutically sound?”

If my husband tried to control his anger, he would simply revert to his old tendency of sweeping things under the rug, pretending that problems simply do not exist. It’s the opposite of my own emotional training, a system in which you react instantly, typically at other family members over dinner, but then relinquish your woes rather than letting them accumulate as emotional toxins.

My method comes with its own slew of problems, so I resolve to control my quick temper as the number one on my resolutions list. Then back to the husband.

He considers himself, well, considerate. By sweeping things under the rug, he has developed a mechanism for not addressing whatever it is that makes him angry. But what will happen if the rug is finally lifted? Visions of toxic dust ghosts rising up from the floor begin to dance before my eyes.

“No way, Jose! You had better unleash your anger on all of us!”

He looks up from his BlackBerry and then does it again. Slowly and cautiously, “I had better unleash my anger on all of you?”

“How about a resolution that you will actually listen to what we say rather than simply repeating the last words we just uttered? Starting January 1?”

Reenita Malhotra Hora is the author of Ayurveda: The Ancient Medicine of India and producer/presenter of Money For Nothing, RTHK’s morning business/finance show.

Helping children to understand who they are brings a slew of challenges for products of a Third Culture. Growing up in Mumbai, I “learned” Hinduism by osmosis, much like an apprentice in a woodworking shop. Years later, I find myself raising two ethnically Indian kids – one born in London and the other in San Francisco – in Hong Kong.

This city has a culture of its own. So is it any wonder that I turn to books and scholarly essays to recreate the osmotic effect of simple conversations I’d had with my grandparents or the family pundit (priest)? My kids have always taken the Hindu god Ganesha very seriously. Initially, I prided myself on the fact that this could be traced back to my geographic roots, as Ganesha is Mumbai’s favourite Hindu god. Like the opportunistic residents of India’s most commercial city, my children took an instant liking to Ganesha.

Not because of his chubby, cherubic nature, but because he is the “remover of obstacles”.

The evenings before exams are always laced with prayers to Ganesha. So are requests for sleepovers, candy money and the never-ending Christmas lists destined for the North Pole

My 13-year-old daughter goes to a school that strictly abstains from celebrating religious occasions like Christmas. They mark the festive season with non-partisan celebrations such as International Day, when each student marches in a grand parade behind his or her national flag. I initially wondered whether Ilya would march behind the Union Jack, the flag representing her country of citizenship, or the Star Spangled Banner, which represents where she grew up. Proving once again that I had no understanding of her psyche, Ilya showed up behind the Tiranga Jhanda, the Indian national flag. She was smiling and waving at everyone as though she were competing for the next Miss India title.

Needless to say, I was thrilled at her choice of ethnicity over citizenship or residency. “Ilya! You chose India?” I said, with a mixture of pride and disbelief. “D’uh, mum! What else could I possibly be?” she responded.

This year, I received an e-mail from the organising committee of the International Day festival: “Dear parents of British children, please advise what national dish you will be contributing to our British table.” Visions of British pub fare danced before my eyes – sausages and mash, and fish and chips. There were endless British dishes I could bring to the table, but knew full well that although they represented Ilya’s citizenship, none of them represented her identity.

So I responded: “Dear committee organisers, I will be contributing balti chicken. Although this is an ethnically Indian dish, it has become common culinary fare in Britain.” This choice impressed the committee, but not Ilya.

“How could you do this?” she wailed, gesticulating at every syllable in typical Bollywood fashion.

“But I thought you wanted to be identified as Indian!” I responded. “Mum – we’ve been here for more than two years now! Don’t you understand that my Indian-ness has taken on a different flavour?”

Frankly, I have a lot of problems understanding most of the opinions expressed in my household. Ilya continued: “I am a British-born ethnic Indian who lives in Hong Kong. What you should be contributing is Colonial Style Chinese Chilly Chicken!”

She definitely had a point. Colonial Style Chinese Chilly Chicken is a family favourite recipe passed down to me from my own grandmother. In truth, it represents all the flavours of my daughter: her ancestry and present culture.

Occasionally, I call my mother for advice, knowing that it is not necessarily a good idea. “Don’t over-analyse. Let the kids tell you who they really are,” she said. She was right. Later, I criticised the prospective candidates for the US presidential election. Arya jumped in quickly to admonish me.

Arya: “Watch what you say, Mum. `Those Americans’ are actually my people.”

Me: “Right you are, I should stick with mocking our own PEPs.”

Arya: “PEPs?”

Me: “Paneer Eating Punjabis.”

Arya: “Watch what you say, Mum. Punjab is my heritage.”

Me: “Right you are. We live in interesting times.”

Arya: “Watch what you say, Mum. That’s part of a Chinese curse and China is my culture, after all.”

I am now wondering about the value of osmosis in raising Third Culture children.

Reenita Malhotra Hora is the author of Ayurveda: The Ancient Medicine of India and producer/presenter of Money For Nothing, RTHK’s morning business/finance show.

As a young child, the Indian festival of Karva Chauth was something like a competitive sport. After the guilt of watching my mother go without food all day, it became a race against hunger to help her find the moon right after the official moonrise so she could finally break her fast. But on Karva Chauth, the moon had a nasty habit of getting stuck behind a cloud or building.

Karva Chauth is a north Indian festival during which married women fast for the well-being of their husbands. Observed during the month of Kartik, on the fourth day of the waning moon (which generally falls in October), the festival was based on camaraderie between married women in the community at a time when most of that society lived in villages. Today it is a ritual of north Indian women all over the world and a bonding experience for mothers- and daughters-in-law.

By the time I was a teenager, the ritual had struck my feminist chord. There was no way I could condone – much less take part in – any tradition that catered to a male-dominated society.

So when, shortly after my wedding, my mother-in-law sent a series of faxed instructions for the fasting ritual, I thought: “She’s got to be kidding!” The last thing I needed was a battle with my mother-in-law about my feminist ideals.

She wasn’t kidding, but she was empathetic. “P.S. I understand times have changed so please do not be obliged to follow this ritual if you do not feel like it.” What a thoroughly reasonable woman. I was delighted to put an end to it.

Until my own not-so-reasonable mother interjected.

“I have had enough of your rebellious ways,” she grunted down the phone line from Mumbai to Tokyo, where we were living. “As a married lady, you had better toe the line. That means you will do as your mother-in-law has requested and you will fast for your husband.”

I had to defend my cause. “But she sent a postscript!”

“Postscripts are nothing but after-thoughts. Was your decision to marry your husband the main plan or a postscript?”

No prizes for guessing who calls the shots in our family.

I was not sure whether my husband would be thrilled I had decided to renounce my feminist ideals to fast for his long life or whether he would be disgusted that my mother convinced me to do it. It was best not to reveal the truth.

His response was unexpected. “Well if you are going to fast for my long life, then I sure as hell will keep you company and fast for your long life, too.”

I was touched. Wow, this is what they mean by an ideal husband. I will never forget how we spent the day with no food or water, then played hide-and-seek with the moon that evening while trying to contain our hunger-spurred crabbiness.

But how long would it last?

Alas, the next year, when I suggested the idea of Karva Chauth once again, my dearest had already decided that he was done with the ritual. “You should abstain from this old-fashioned nonsense. Let’s celebrate life by going out for a French meal instead.”

“Oh, yeah, and face the wrath of your mother?” I replied, knowing the wrath I feared was that of my own mother.

“My mother is a progressive lady,” he retorted. He was right.

No worries.

This year Karva Chauth fell on October 15. So it was the 16th year I performed the Karva Chauth fast. A few days before the festival, we talked about it.

“Awesome! Do we get to eat mooncakes?” asked my nine-year-old son, obviously caught in a cross-cultural culinary dream.

My 13-year-old daughter perked up at what I thought was the mention of mooncakes. “Can I fast with you, too?”

“How could you say such a thing?” I yelled. “You are only a child and you are buying into this stuff?”

There she was … my latent feminism had decided to come out of the closet.

My daughter looked at me as though I were a mare that had lost control. “Whoa, Mum, take a chill pill already. I was just thinking it would be good discipline to sacrifice food for a day.”

“If you want discipline, focus on getting your homework in on time!”

“Mum, are you saying that performing Karva Chauth has taken away your identity?” she asked with a new level of intrigue in her voice.

Not at all! How could I explain to her that each decision you make in life is a step towards shaping and defining your identity, but that it must be made at the right time?

Relationships are challenging enough without complicating things further with tradition and ideals. How was I to explain my views on life, feminism and Karva Chauth to my darling daughter? I wanted her to have the right dose of feminism, yet be traditional enough to consider doing Karva Chauth at the appropriate time. I wanted her to learn this as I had, but then, learning is a different experience for each of us – even mother and daughter.

An extremely rare and unique Queen Victoria 96c. olive-bistre block of four sold for HK$6.4 million at Spink’s two-day auction series of rare stamps, coins, banknotes, bonds and shares which took place at The Landmark Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Hong Kong. This highly sought-after block of four stamps sold to an anonymous buyer and became the most expensive Hong Kong stamp ever sold at auction in Hong Kong.

Read the full story in the Wall Street Journal Asia

It’s the time of the year when many folks are busy preparing treatments to alleviate the dry and damaging effects of the vata dosha.

If you are looking for specific vata balancing recipes to prepare at home then you might want to check out my Inner Beauty book or video for specific tips and ideas. Some of you have been doing this already and have sent in questions relating to the recipes themselves. As always, I am happy to answer your queries. [...]