In a new Avatar i suddenly find myself being addressed as ‘Bhabhi ji’ (sis in law), her role notwithstanding, and a moniker i’ve yearned for, the gleam of it, not wasted on me for sure. I have a spouse with no sis, no bro, and to top it he’s a Madrasi (you know Tam Brahm and all that), so i was and am always ‘manni’ to his cousins. I don’t mind, i’ve never really minded being called anything, but having heard and seen Bhabhi ji in movies, and having been fed on a worthy diet of Hindi movies, i wanted also to be seen and heard wearing this name tag. Essentially living in the northern regions of India, it’s a term that’s easier to relate to. It is one shrouded in mysterious affection- one that spelt – Man, she’s so lovely and so affectionate, all for family ties, she’s the one who ties it all together seamlessly; she oozes goodwill, she tolerates nonsense and yet never ever stoops to the level of the motherinlaw; one can count on her to sing at festivals, to dance flawlessly on any given occasion, if required, and her cooking abilities, o boy, none better and there’s no cuisine she can’t undertake, if new, she masters it with practiced ease. So Bhabhi ji was one character i so totally wanted to play, or perhaps even be. I am now.

Every family member turns to Bhabhiji for advice- when in trouble, any trouble; during exam time, Bhabhi ji’s the expert academician so younger members look up at her for math, geography, history, you name it; perturbations in the area of the heart (a burgeoning affair, a heart-break, a light infatuation), Bhabhiji, with her wide array of experiences, both pre and post-marriage, to the rescue; if ever there’s a need for monthlies to be paid, Bhabhi ji rushes to the cupboard and returns armed with green-bucks (rupees) for – the Iron man (Dhobi), the vegetable vendor, the milkman, the newspaper delivery boy, anyone at the door for longer than a minute or two. Bhabhi ji is the mother not just to her children, as well as to all nieces and nephews, because, believe it or not, she’s an amazing storyteller too. If other Bhabhis are professionals, there is no ‘ji’ added to their Bhabhis- it is only the one who manages every aspect of the home that is a Bhabhi ji. While Bhabhis go out and work, Bhabhi ji rears everyone’s offspring. Mind-boggling eh! Why would i not want to take on the responsibility of this amazing persona! See, the thing is, it’s a lot of fluff…someone with the gift of the gab and a reasonable exposure to our Bollywood fare can do the job, and walk away with the laurels every time- the Oscar of the Family it is! No mean title this.

My inner aspirations have suddenly found a voice : our new cook inadvertently fulfilled this almost-last desire of my heart, he addressed me – “Bhabiji where will i find a paraat?” This ‘paraat’ is a wide metal dish which one uses to knead the dough for chapatis (flatbread). He not only endeared himself to me instantly, he drove me completely out of the kitchen, taking over expertly, and who was i to stand in the way of culinary awesomeness, i scuttled out of my domain chuckling merrily to myself. I am certain now that this was ordained. To be called Bhabiji so late in life (after 23 years of marriage, takes some doing, bank balance of good actions have finally tilted in my favour it appears).

So everyday i will get to be called Bhabhi ji henceforth. i am She. Oh! the wonder of it- a perfect specimen of womanhood in any country, since Indians abound so do sisters-in-law i believe. So Bhabhi ji it is! God Bless north Indian cooks, and may many more Bhabhijis be born everywhere, everyday. Life is good.