This 'n that

Parenting woes

2011-02-19T21:16:00.001+05:30

Finally, got down to writing some of the parenting woes I promised I would. Things I would fret about, but not really worry about (lest I frighten aspiring or to-be parents), but they are 'woes' nonetheless…phew!

Well….one of the main reasons I’m so irregular on blogosphere. My 2 year old doesn’t let me sit on the computer/laptop when she’s awake, she doesn’t sleep when I’m awake and yes she wakes up early in the morning. Now I’m left with the choice of, blogging at work during breaks (with work being hectic, that’s out of question) or blogging in the middle of the night (but once I hit the bed I’m knocked out, coz I sleep like a log! The only 'thing' that can wake me up is my 2 year old!!). There! Now I have a pretty excuse :)
Once you are a parent, you can forget about yourself. Life is then all about your kids. Everything you do, say or think has a direct bearing on how your kids will be. Responsibilities and expectations are huge. All that weighing on the head and shoulders, it's hard to keep your head over your shoulders! No kidding!!
You will always be judged ‘good’, ‘bad’ or ‘ugly’ by how your kids behave and/or how you behave with the kids. If your kids are naughty and you just let them be, your well-meaning neighbours, relatives or friends will look you up and down, as if to say “if I were you I would have whacked the kid”, and if you chide them, they’ll tchh, tchh…as if to say “Poor kids, mean parents!” Not that I care what others think of me, but I sure will want to have a positive influence on my kids’ lives.
Go out shopping, and kids go berserk - they want anything and everything. It doesn’t matter how hard you try to roll your eyes. My little one sits on the trolley, picks up whatever item she can reach and fills up the cart in no time. Once, my elder one managed to break a jam bottle at the supermarket in her excitement and it was so embarrassing I haven’t had the courage to take her along to a store after that. You can’t try on clothes, because they want to enter the trial room along with you. Can’t dare go near a shoe shop, because the li’l one goes crazy when she sees shoes. She tries on every single pair and doesn’t want to leave the store even if you’re done with your shopping. Shopping is a nightmare with kids on the loose!
You can’t go out for movies, because most movies these days are not good for kids and you can’t leave them behind can you?! You can’t even watch TV peacefully, for fear of corrupting their young minds!
Go to a restaurant and they act like they’ve never seen food before. The other day when we dined at a fancy restaurant, the li’l one was eagerly waiting for food to arrive and every time she saw the waiter she was jumping out of her seat, “where’s my soup, where’s my soup!” Once, she managed to break a glass (so embarrassing I tell you!). Most times, she manages to drop her spoon, fork or knife on the floor and then quickly grabs mine. She clinks at the plate so hard, I worry if the plate would just crack. My appetite usually vanishes by the time food arrives, with the tension of damage control!
You’re always late just about everywhere, because you have to DRESS UP your kids and drag them along whether they like it or not, because you can’t leave them alone at home. And then again you get these looks as if to ask “why is their hair so shabby” (the hair bands, hair clips or whatever you use to tame their hair would be in their hand, my bag or gone for good!) or “don’t they have any other clothes” (they’re seen wearing their same old “favourite” outfit till they can wear it no more!). And hey, just to answer the question: they decide what to wear, not me!
2 year old or 8 year old, you can’t raise your voice even a little to chide them for something they might have done wrong. They get “ANGRY”. My 8 year old is a sweetheart until you tell her to take her books and study. She gets angry, she makes a big fuss, she feels sleepy, or her head (or was it her tummy?) hurts and such lame excuses ('natak company' I call them!). You can’t tell her to eat quickly. She takes half an hour for breakfast (2 idlis, or quarter part of puttu, or 1 chappatti, or 1 appam….), 45 min to 1 hour for dinner (a measly meal at that!). The 2 year old is adorable, huggable, lovable and all that, but you’ll be surprised what she does when she gets angry! She pinches and punches. She throws her tantrums, goes to another room and stays there till you coax, cajole and sweet talk her. And what not! PHEW, she's little, but she can get you on your knees!!
They don’t take “NO” for an answer, but anytime you tell them to do anything, pat comes the reply “NO”!
Keeping the siblings apart is a task in itself! They’ll be playing and laughing one moment, and the very next minute fighting and crying. Aargghhhhh! But then I remember, I was once a little girl too, pinching my sister and getting punched in return! So there, I forgive them :)

You want them to be the perfect children. You want to be the perfect parent. But I guess, it doesn't work that way. It’s all these imperfections that make us who we are and you love them even more because of what they are. So even as I may crib often about my chores and woes as a parent, I’m loving every moment of it. Thank you kids for being part of my life. You guys mean the world to me :)

Parenting Joys

2011-01-30T19:06:00.001+05:30

Topic of conversation / Icebreakers: Kids are the subject of conversation, small talk or big talk, among friends or even strangers - helps break the ice.
Pass time / Time pass: When you are stuck in an unknown place or among unknown people and have to while away time without feeling out of place, kids de-alienate you - You can talk to them, fuss around them...they enjoy the dedicated attention and you enjoy their company all the more.
Boredom busters: When there's nobody else at home and nothing else to do, kids are free amusement/entertainment. You never get bored with them around.
Item to flaunt: You can brag and flaunt...even their tiniest achievements, and feel your chest swelling with every word you speak about them.
Preferential treatment: In a crowded train / bus, ticket counter or any waiting area, with a kid seated on your waist, you are bound to get special treatment - be offered a seat or allowed to jump the queue and such else.
Talk gibberish and be understood: You can talk gibberish, with a sweet tone, nodding your head and waving your hands and get the sweetest giggle from your little ones. They can talk gibberish, and you can understand it too, quite effortlessly.
Get away with being late: Late to work, late for party, late for just about anything, point the finger at your kids, and you are let scot-free!
Feel like a child again: You relive your childhood through them. Start from scratch. Learn all over again.
Free exercise machine: Running around kids is like having a free treadmill!
Test of Patience: Ahh....I think I'm soon running out of it!!

There's more of course. And I'm enjoying every bit of it. Would like to hear the version of other mommy & daddy bloggers too :)

PS: Perhaps my next blog will be about Parenting woes!

Santa is late this Christmas!

2010-12-26T10:46:00.002+05:30

Santa was supposed to bring a bicycle each for my daughters this time around. But he didn't arrive in time for Christmas. The snow was perhaps holding him back. His assistant managed to deliver some chocolates with the glad tidings that Santa will come with the promised presents in a day or two. We don't have the Chimney for Santa to slide in, nor the stockings on the door (the cycles wouldn't fit in anyway!). But each year, Santa watches how the kids behave and brings sweet things they desire.

Does my daughter believe all this? Well, she likes to believe, though she knows that it's her mama and papa who play her Santa each year. I like the idea of Santa too. My parents gave me no such illusion. But the image of santa riding the reindeer sled through snow flakes and across skies, carrying gifts for children world-over, sliding down the chimney with his big fat belly on Xmas eve, leaving gifts in pretty stockings...well, some imagination, but I think children like to go with it, just like they love fairytales. And of course, they grow over it with time.

I had a lovely christmas with family and friends at my in-laws place - kids dressed as santa claus, christmas tree all decked up, twinkling stars & serial lights, bamboo crib with baby Jesus and the rest of the cast watching-over, a feast with rich plum cake, white forest, mom-made mushroom & cauli-flower biryani, pepper chicken not turkey (cooked on firewood for that smoked flavour), FIL-made naturally fermented nutmeg wine (2008), chocolate & butter-scotch icecream topped with apple and banana...and the works!

The only sad part was that Becky, my 2 year old, was unwell and couldn't enjoy it much, although she did try to play along. She's getting better though!

I'm now looking forward to the New Year. Hoping to start with a bang! Wishing you all a very happy and prosperous 2011!

This is in continuation to the comment I posted on Aparna's Blog. I should perhaps say "inspired" cause I've been so un-inspired and tied-up for the last 11/2 months, drawing a nil on my blogpost. So thanks Aparna, for bringing this post out of me :D

After Math

2010-11-13T16:08:00.000+05:30

Distinction in school. Double Major in Math & Physics. Dream of a flying career in the Air Force.

She had successfully done her solo in gliding (winch-operated glider). TheWing Commander (NCC Air Wing, 2 TN Batalion) knew she was good at it, encouraged her to become a fighter pilot and helped her with the preparations. Her senior who had succeeded, also gave her some tips. She had the NCC 'C' Certificate, which was an added advantage.

There were only 3 centres for the PABT (Pilot Aptitute Battery Tests) - Mysore, Varanasi and Dehradun. Though she had opted for Mysore because it was closer home, she was allocated Varanasi as her exam centre. Her family, relatives, friends, classmates, fans (yeah, she had a huge fan following at the University), lecturers to the Chancellor, fellow NCC cadets, Wing Commander, Squadron Leader and more or less the whole of the city geared up for the day when the lady fighter pilot would return with her badge, beaming. One of her friends was going to Mysore to attempt the PABT. They exchanged their good lucks and went their way. Her dad accompanied her, because Varanasi was not familiar territory. It was a long journey, from Coimbatore (in Tamil Nadu) to Varanasi (in Uttar Pradesh), by train.

The hippie culture in Varanasi still existed. There were rickshaw pullers and mule-carts. There was chaos and dirt. Dope and dreams. They found a decent place to stay for the night. The next morning, they headed for the exam centre. There were more than 185 aspiring pilots, from North, South, East and West. The accompanying family members / friends were asked to return to their place of stay. Completely organized and disciplined, the whole process. Candidates were split into groups of three and allotted rooms where they were allowed to settle down. A girl from Orissa (daughter of a high ranking Air Force Officer) and another girl from Haryana were her roommates. Breakfast was served at the Canteen. Then they were asked to assemble in the gallery for a briefing.

First there was to be a Written test (On basic Air Craft Instrument reading), and candidates selected in the Written test would have to go through the Machine test (To judge if the candidate can control simple joy stick and rudder controls). A candidate was allowed to take this test only once in his/her lifetime. Failure in PABT test permanently debars the candidate from appearing for flying branch. And, there would be Physical tests, Medical tests, Group discussions and Interview.

She was excited and looking forward to giving it her best shot. The written test results were announced. Only 20 out of 185 had made it. She was one of them. The other candidates were sent back home, dejected. The twenty 'proud' candidates proceded to take the Battery test.

It was pretty much like a video game parlour. Two different machines. One had a steering wheel which worked just like the ones in a car. There was a moving lead shot and grooves that were placed in a zig-zag lane. The task was to use the steering wheel to veer the lead shot into each of the grooves. Each groove fetched a point. There was a time limit. She was good behind the wheels and was confident on getting this one right.

The second one was quite like an inside of a cockpit with a screen that had a small square and an outer square, a joy stick, 2 rudder pedals under the feet and a lever on the arm of the chair. There was a moving spot of light. The task was to use the joystick and pedals to focus the light within the smaller square which fetched more points than the bigger square. There would be occasional beeps (deliberate distractions) which had to be silenced using the lever on the left arm of the chair. She had maneuvered a glider with ease and found it way too easy, made a mathematical calculation in the mind and came out smiling.

The candidates discussed among themselves their performance. A punjabi girl candidate (who also had a solo wing in gliding) was the one other candidate who was just as confident. All candidates were called to the Gallery. An Officer started 'We are disappointed with the results this year. Only 2 out of the 20 candidates have made it through the Machine test, who will stay with us for the rest of the selection tests...'. There was a lump in her throat, but she was still smiling. Roll number of one candidate was called out. It wasn't her, nor the Punjabi girl's. It was some guy's, who seemed surprised himself. He was son of so-and-so in the Army.

Her heart was now beating in her ear and she could hardly hear anything. The second roll number was called. Thud, she landed on the ground. It wasn't hers. It was the Orissa roomie's. The Orissa girl had said that she had barely scraped through the written test and had no hope of getting through the machine test, because she couldn't really figure out how it worked. She was daughter of so-and-so in the Air Force.
She (back to the protogonist of this 'real' story) was disappointed. She hadn't tasted failure. It tasted bitter. She didn't like it one bit. Her mind was racing at supersonic speed. What next, since there was no second shot! She got out of the hall to see her father waiting for her. No words between them. The emotions were running high. Dad tried to make small talk, console her. But she was lost in thought. The journey back was tough and seemed to take forever. She had to get back home with nothing, just a shattered ego and nothing more left of the dream. The aftermath was tough to handle. She wasn't ready for this. But nothing would jerk the tear out of her eyes.

There wasn't going to be a flying career, unless of course she wanted to consider getting a CPL (Commercial Pilot License). Her Wing Commander gave her a choice between CPL (50% sponsored by NCC) and Air Force SSC (Short Service Commission) Officer. But she was dejected. She wanted to be a fighter pilot and had failed. She suspected if there was some favouritism / bias, because it just didn't add up how she could have failed. She had made her decision. She shot down the option to get into the Air Force. She heard there were many pilots with CPL in their hands and no job, so she ruled out that option too.

She was at the crossroads. No more of Math or Physics she had decided. She didn't want to be an academician nor a scientist nor a researcher. She met her friend who had attempted PABT at Mysore. She didn't make it either. By sheer coincidence, they both chose advertising. They did their Post Graduation in Advertising & Communication Management. A soaring career in advertising took her to greater heights. The aftermath wasn't too bad afterall. God has His ways! She can now fly a jet plane with her feet on the ground :)

Lost and Found

2010-11-08T14:57:00.000+05:30

Long, long ago...when I just started to walk, and maybe when I realized that my legs could actually take me wherever I please...my life played out like a nightmare.

My dad was deputed on the auditing job, so we literally travelled country-wide back then - Dad, mom, my sis, and myself. It was some place in Andhra Pradesh, if I remember right. We didn't know the local language (Telugu). Dad & Mom managed with English and the spatter of Hindi they knew.

It was just a week in this new place. My mom gave me an oil massage and left me for maybe about 5 minutes to get some hot water for the bath. Meanwhile, I ventured out of the bathroom. Reached the gate, opened the lock and wandered about the entrance (Not sure what exactly happened here, because this is a third person account that I am relating here).

Our milk-maid was walking down our lane to deliver milk at our house, when she saw this stranger carrying me and walking in the opposite direction. He didn't look related to us and she'd never seen him in the vicinity before. By instinct, she realized there was something wrong. She immediately approached him and enquired who he was, how he was related to me and where he was headed with me in his arms...He muttered something under his breath, but was visibly shaken. She threatened to report him to the police unless he handed me over to her immediately. He couldn't get himself to say anything, since this must have been something he had least expected. He thought he could get away scotfree. He did eventually. But at least he was frightened enough to put me down and make his escape while he could.

Back at home, my mom was all anxious and wondering where I had vanished. Her eyes were welling with tears and flooding down her cheeks. She didn't know what to do. The Bank Manager came down and consoled her saying they'd do everything they could to help find me. And then, the milk-maid made a grand entry, with me in her arms. She narrated the whole incident.

I was lost and found. It was a miracle indeed. My angel in disguise! I still wonder what would have happened to me if the milk-maid hadn't come there that very moment . He would have probably whisked me away, given me a begging bowl and sent me out in the streets to beg. It's big business I hear. It happens, really! Hundreds of children are, this very moment. It's sad, but it's the truth. Wish we could do something to stop this horrendous crime!

KISS

2010-10-22T18:00:00.003+05:30

My dad is a man of few words. His ‘KISS’ act can rattle anybody, anywhere, anytime. Here’s a classic case, which I for one, cannot erase from my mind.

I was at the NCC Republic Day Camp, New Delhi (Yes, the last 3 posts were about that, and no this is not Part IV cleverly disguised with another title!). There was just a week to go. I was asked to report URGENTLY to the camp office by my camp commandant and superiors. I entered to see worried faces and a glint of sympathy somewhere. They handed me a telegram and waited anxiously. I ripped it open, my heart almost in my mouth.

DEAD
OR
ALIVE?

It was from my dad, of course.

I hadn't written or called my parents in the almost 1 month period that I had been in the camp. My camp superiors were furious. They got me to write a long letter to my folks back at home, right there, just in case I changed my mind when I got back to the bunker.

The telegram had served its purpose. My dad proved it yet again. Keep It Short and Simple (KISS) if used appropriately gives the desired (most effective) results. And this true story proves it beyond doubt.

You’re wondering why I didn’t write to them or call them? Well, that's me. When I get out of home, I presume everybody else knows I'll do fine and just let me be.

And here’s another lame excuse… I didn’t have a mobile phone back then, in 1996. Making a telephone call, meant waiting in long queues, and others breathing down your neck if ever you get your turn. Receiving calls was also long shot, since the lines were almost always engaged, that any sane person would give up trying.

Someday, I'll mend my ways.

Finally, here is Part III of RJ@RD 1996

2010-10-15T18:40:00.000+05:30

RJ’s experience in NCC-Republic Day Camp… If you would like to know the whole story, what went on during the Training Camps and the Journey to Republic Day Camp (RDC), New Delhi, click here for Part I and Part II.

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Garrison Parade Ground, Delhi Cantonment: The story continues...

6 AM, Guard of Honour Training begins. RJ and a fellow girl cadet from TN (Tamil Nadu) Contingent, after the grueling ground leveling task and mouth-chattering bath, wear their Uniforms with Jersey, Gloves, Cummerbund, Beret, Boots and the works, run to collect their Rifles. They’re running 5 minutes late. As they near the mist-covered parade ground, they rejoice they are the first to fall-in. As they get closer, they realize they are among the last. A dressing down and 2 rounds around the Parade Ground for being late. Nice warm-up, is how I see it!

We’re congratulated for being selected to the elite Guard of Honour Contingent, told how privileged we were. They gave us instructions and the training roster as to what to expect. Actual training began. 5 minutes parade, 10 minutes break (spent wisely – making new friends, getting our shoes shined by boys who were available at the ground, yapping and napping, alternatively). This went on for a while. Then break for breakfast. Again fall-in, 5 minutes parade, 10 minutes break went on till Lunch time. This was getting to be fun. And good food added to the cheer.

Evening was for cultural competitions. We draped ourselves in the Kancheepuram Yellow with Red & Gold Zari saree and Maroon Blazer (our formal attire). We played cheerleaders in events we didn’t contest ourselves. Then some delicious Dinner. Food choice was good, perfect for the cold weather – Rice / Roti and Chicken (non-veg) / Paneer (veg) was on the menu most days in addition to other North Indian delicacies. And desserts such as Kheer, Gajar-ka-halwa, fresh fruits salad etc. Slurp! No wonder, I put on weight in the one month at RDC, Delhi.

As the competitions were getting tougher, the bias for the ‘M’ contingent seemed to be getting more obvious. In the last 2 years, it was the TN contingent that had won the PM’s Banner. And we were rallying for it this time too, to score a hat-trick. Our scores at the end of every day decided the ranking and TN was No.1, M was No. 2 and K was No.3 for most days.

RJ was selected for Guard of Honour for the Chiefs of Army, Navy & Air Force, the Vice President and other VIPs & VVIPs, with high tea party with them. RJ was even chosen to represent the Contingent in the High tea Party at the Rashtrapati Bhavan (Official Residence of the President of India), the highlights being – tour around the place, audience with the President (Dr. Shankar Dayal Sharma), Cultural Evening and of course the yummy grub part of the high tea. Burp!

Lest you have begun to think if this was all about the good food and a lot of breaks, nope, we had competitions going on remember? The Prime Minister’s Rally on the 27th of January (after the Pageantry RD March on 26th of January), was the high-point of the Guard of Honour Contingent. Plus the Prime Minister’s Banner (for the winning Contingent) was to be announced that day. We were all ready for the Rally. We had had many rehearsals before. And many security checks later, stood firm and proud with our rifles. It seemed like eternity. I had these black-out moments many times, but kept wriggling my toes in my boots and kept myself standing with my weight balanced between my ready-to-give-in-any-time legs and my sturdier standing-me-straight rifle.

The moment had arrived, march, brisk salutes with the rifle, and all eyes on the PM. It was a moment that was to stay etched in my memory for a long time to come. Just as the PM passed by our Contingent, the shortest girl (from D Contingent) in the farthest corner swooned. The PM didn’t know a thing. None of us knew either, until we got back to our assigned seats in the Gallery. The cadet was stealthily whisked away by the medical team. There were a lot of other events to witness. Military and Paramilitary Battalions, men & beasts (horses primarily) marched away in unison. It was a sight indeed! Then Parasailing, Gliding etc by the NCC. Air Show by the Surya Kiran Team.

We had our hearts-in-our-mouths moment when a freak accident occurred on the ground. A cadet who was supposed to take part in parasailing, had her sail tied to her, with the sail kept flat on the ground. When a few helicopters part of the air show flew close to the ground, the sail opened up and she was air-borne without warning. She hit the side rails many times over and collapsed to the ground. We thought that was the end, because she was lying motionless. She was given emergency treatment, and except for a few bruises and fractures, she didn’t have serious injuries. Thank God!

The Prizes were distributed. TN, TN, TN….first in 13 out of 18 Competitions. And the Prime Minister’s Banner goes to ‘M’ Contingent. We are shocked. The Prime Minister (Narasimha Rao) must have been shocked as well, because he was the one doing the honours, and TN was leading all along. He even asked, how is it that TN wins most of the Competitions and some other Contingent walks away with the Banner? We wanted to protest, but it would take away the spirit of the event, so we refrain. The whole Contingent was crestfallen. The others sympathized with us. And that was an eye-opener for many of us, to the bad world out there. Our commanders consoled us, said we were the real winners. We held on to our trophies, proud that we truly earned it.

The few days before the camp ended, we were taken on Delhi –Agra Darshan. It was time to say goodbye to RDC, and goodbye to the series of RJ@RD 1996 Posts. Thank you bloggers for your patient hearing :)

* Images courtesy Google Images / Wikipedia

Part II of RJ @ RD 1996

2010-10-06T12:39:00.002+05:30

This blog is Part II of RJ @ RD 1996 (click on the link if you have missed out on Part I , if you would like to know the whole story). My journey to/through Republic Day Camp, the story continues...
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At the final training camp, just 2 days to get our backpacks ready and head to Delhi for the RDC…the cadets were given permission to go home to do their laundry and get cleaner clothes. RJ’s folks weren’t home, so she went along with JN (fellow cadet) to her place.

We put our clothes into the washing machine and went on JN’s Hero Puch (motorcycle) for some LMS (Last Minute Shopping), with JN riding pillion. On our way back, it started drizzling. We didn’t have much time to hang around (take shelter) since we had to be back at the campsite by 5.30 pm.

RJ & JN were cruising (on wet slippery road) at normal speed (it’s a Hero Puch not a Harley!). At an intersection, a truck decided to cross without indication and all of a sudden. RJ clutched on the brakes with all her might. Narrowly escaped colliding head-on with the truck, but skidded right across the road. RJ scraped her knees badly with the pants completely ripped-off at the knees. JN got a silencer burn on her legs. A huge crowd was gathering. But the brave girls, didn’t want a scene and picked up the fallen Hero (motor cycle) and scooted.

We escaped JN’s mom’s scrutiny, went to the bedroom, applied some anti-septic cream, changed clothes and put up a normal appearance like nothing had happened. Ironed the clothes, packed, took an auto and dashed to the campsite. Nobody noticed anything unusual, obviously (we tried hard not to overact!). By night, I had fever and a fellow cadet who coaxed the real story out of me alerted the camp commandant. They rushed me to AFMC (Air Force Medical College) Hospital nearby, gave me a tetanus shot and some paracetamol for the fever to subside. Back at the campsite, and everybody chided RJ & JN for behaving irresponsibly. We got away with our sheepish grin and innocent nods.

Next day, was d-day. The cadets got to the Railway Station. RJ’s folks were also there, waiting to see us off. RJ was trying hard to hide the limp. The folks noticed that the fellow cadets were being extra nice helping RJ with her luggage. They asked, but RJ pretended not to hear. RJ and the other cadets got into the compartment and occupied their seats. The folks stood by the window to bid their adieus. And then…

The Wing Commander came by RJ’s window and enquired “Hope you are doing fine now!” And RJ was like “damn, not now!”And mustered a feeble voice that sounded more like a sheep bleating “yes sir, yes sir (3 bags full!)”. RJ's folks were perplexed. The curious mom asked “what’s happening? You’re walking like you have one flat shoe on and the other heeled, others are carrying your luggage, everybody is extra concerned about you…Tell us the truth!” Confession time, so RJ tells the story (can’t get away with anything, from your parents, can you?!) And then, more chiding over the “ting-ting…announcements”, “chai, vade” and the chaos at the Station. The Wing Commander and Camp Commandant also pitched in. On the receiving end, there’s nothing much else you can do, but nod your head gently (to vigorously). The train started to move, and RJ was relieved. Quickly waved “goodbye”, promised to stay in touch and looked forward to the RDC we’d all been waiting for, eagerly.

01 January 1996 - Garrison Parade Ground, Delhi Cantonment

It was a cold winter morning in Delhi. We were transported from the Station to our barracks in a big army canter. The boys were led to their tents. The girls were taken to their barracks, which was like a dormitory with many cots, no mattresses. The sleeping bag was used as a mattress-cum-quilt. They settled down and there was a call for breakfast. Bread, jam and butter. And apples (from Kulu Valley, we were told). It was the sweetest apple RJ had ever eaten. A good feeling already. Lunch was even better. And dinner was, well what can I say, the best! RJ suspected if this was like a demo version where everything would look good at first glance and the real thing would be hell (with all the bugs), considering the bad taste of food still lingering, from the training camps.

On the first day, the cadets were allowed to get familiar with the whole place which was huge and it took us a while to find our way around. 2nd Day, morning up by 4 am, and level the ground with our bare hands touching the cold soil and some spade and tools to make the irregular terrain right outside our barracks into a beautifully landscaped area (part of the competitions). Then brush our (chattering) teeth and have bath in hot water (that turns cold by the time we get to the bath). Then slip into our uniforms and get ready for a long day of drills and competitions. This was pretty much our routine for the whole month.

Various competitions are conducted in National Integration Awareness, Drill, Line & Flag Area, Cultural programmes etc, amongst the16 NCC Directorates, to decide the Champion Directorate for award of Prime Minister's Banner. The first was of course in drill. The whole contingent is judged and given points based on performance, uniformity, uniform (including the sparkling shoes and buckles), precision and other such parameters. Then cadets are selected for the Guard of Honour. Cadets from all contingents are mixed and asked to march forward one row at a time. Then each cadet is judged based on their individual performance. The selected cadets are retained, while the others are sent back. RJ was one of 2 girl cadets selected from our contingent for the Guard of Honour. The other cadets get a 2nd chance in the RD Parade selection. Each selected cadet earns some points for the contingent.

Later, we discovered (cadets from other Contingents), that there was clear bias in the selection. The chief commandants were basically from 'M' Directorate. All cadets from the 'M' Directorate had their butts (riffle butts I mean) painted white, which you can clearly distinguish from a distance. And each one of them from that contingent (12/12) made it to the Guard of Honour, inspite of their not-so-great drill performance. The rest of the contingents were fuming. It was an unfair competition, everybody knew about it, but the show had to go on. So we took it up as a challenge and competed with greater vigour.

Break for scrumptious breakfast. And break from the post (it's getting longer than I intended). I'll be back with the rest of the story, when we pick up our riffles and fall-in at the parade ground, for guard of honour training....

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For those of you who are not familiar with these abbreviations:

NCC: National Cadet Corps
RDC: Republic Day Camp

RJ @ RD 1996 - Part I

2010-09-24T18:37:00.001+05:30

Once upon a time (it's been ages, hence the start), in 1996, RJ (now RGB) was one of 2 girls from the TN contingent to be chosen for the Guard of Honour, Prime Minister's Rally…

The preparatory camps were grueling. Felt like prisoners under leash. Hours of non-stop training under the hot sun. RJ was in the Air Wing. With uniforms, beret and shiny black shoes, we moved about like robots tuned to precision at the command of our commander. The part of the skin under the beret and sleeve was in stark contrast to the black colour (sun-tanned or rather sun-burnt) that made up the rest of the exposed areas.

Our barracks were most often School or College Campuses, where classrooms were converted into bedrooms (sans the bed – just sleeping bags!) during vacation time. Wake-up time: 5.00 am. Bed time: 10 pm officially (when lights were switched off), but 12 midnight unofficially. The girls had to wear their hair in the figure of 8 (plaited in two and crisscrossed to form the figure of 8 with a net and many pins to hold it). Thankfully RJ had short hair, cut shorter for the crew-cut look, which meant - less time spent on dressing up.

People from different backgrounds, some didn’t know a thing about hygiene and left the WC unclean after use. The early birds got cleaner loos, which got progressively worse through the day! Sometimes these WCs itself seemed a luxury, coz we had to use trenches (pits dug out, and covered on 4 sides with rexin). The queues for taking a shower were usually long, that some conveniently skipped it, the others took showers en masse, but RJ went first or last to avoid the awkwardness of waiting, skipping or sharing.

The food used to be sticky-yucky upma / kichidi, idly & non-veg sambhar (with worms and what not!), yellow-yellow-dirty-fellow lime rice (even the best of which I hated), rock-like buns (that you could use to chase the dogs guffawing at your plight), rubbery parotta that you could chew-on forever like cud, and such…that RJ preferred to stay hungry most of the time, surviving on bread and jam, biscuits or snacks.

Cherry Blossom or Kiwi black boot polish, a dot of saliva and off we went with brush in hands and a cloth until we could see our mugs on our boots. The Brasso added the sparkle to our brass badges on the beret, belt and shoulder.

For someone who couldn’t stand for 5 minutes without shifting the leg, wriggling the toe, or swooning, RJ made big progress, standing for hours in the scorching hot sun without complaining. Each camp was a challenge. The numbers were dwindling. Only the fittest and the best made it to the final camp.

The cadets (that’s us) were judged on various parameters.

Minimum height – RJ was 182 cms, the only worry was whether she would fit in with the rest of the not-so-tall contingent.
Drills – Precision in act (the height in which you raise your leg, the clack of the boot when it hits the ground, the brisk march with just the heels touching the ground unsettling a layer of dust below, the click sound when the palm hits the butt of the rifle, as the parade commander yelled at the top of her voice - Saav-dhaan, Vishh-rram, Bayen mode, Dayine mode, Aage chal, Salaami dega salaami shasth, Baaju shasth….), and coordinated timing (ek-do-theen-ek) for every action
Being the Parade Commander (PC), Right Marker and Left Marker of the contingent meant straight selection for RD camp. They tried hard to make RJ the PC of the contingent – what with a height, physique and upright posture like hers (ahem!), but in vain. Try as much as they did, one of the superintendents remarked that RJ sounded like she was screaming from 2 kms away and another remarked that RJ needed to get her voice-box tested! So PC was ruled out for RJ :(. Right Marker was reserved for the tallest boy in the contingent and Left Marker for the tallest girl. So Left Marker RJ became, flaunting the red sashay.
Best Cadet – RJ was one of the Best Cadets chosen and trained for the Best Cadet competition – Written tests (that included GK), Shooting (.22 rifle), Physical tests (drill) etc
Cultural Competitions – RJ was chosen for National Integration skit (On Tamil Nadu, Pondicherry, Andaman & Nicobar Islands, the region we represented) and Western Music
Fitness – 4 Kms Jogging early in the morning with rifle in one arm; Break for Breakfast; Drill for 2 hours; Break for 10 minutes; Drill until lunch time; Lunch Break; Drill from 4 pm to 6 pm; One hour Break to freshen up and reassemble; Cultural Activities (preparing for competitions) and Best Cadet Training….phew!

RJ won a place in the TN Contingent for the Republic Day Camp 1996 Delhi, one among 21 girl cadets chosen to represent the State. It was a feat indeed, coz only the best made it to the end. The rigorous training camps braced us for the worst. We became stronger, brighter, more competitive and more confident. And we looked forward to Republic Day Camp (RDC) during the cold winter month of January 1996, like eager puppies still wet behind the ears...

Part II coming soon!

A 6 yard yarn

2010-08-27T15:35:00.005+05:30

Onam didn’t mean anything to me until a few years back, when I relocated to Cochin in Kerala. The first job I did in Cochin was a flyer for Cochin Duty Free Onam (Booze) Promotions (For Cochin International Airport Limited]. And a Voice Over Recording for the Public Addressal System for the same promo event at the Airport.

I wrote about the times of prosperity during the reign of King Mahabali (an asura king) and how he was banished from his Kingdom by the jealous Gods in the disguise of Vamana (a dwarf) and that he was allowed to visit his Kingdom every year (during Onam)…the usual stuff, but of course with the RGB punch.

I’ve been working with the company I work for currently for dog years (what seems like eternity!). And every Onam we have celebrations at Office. We come to office dressed in traditional attire - Women in Kerala saree and Men in Mundu, there are some spoilsports of course, who come in regular wear. However, that's the blue-moon day I choose to wear a saree, as I'm otherwise literally born-and-brought-up-in-jeans (borrowed that phrase from The Holy Lama - Patented).

The boys come in early to design the Pookalam - flower carpet. The girls are usually busy decking themselves, so they come right in time to pose for the cameras. That includes me, because draping-a-saree takes longer than slipping-into-jeans! And also the time spent taking pictures at home, because it's the rare occasion I wear a saree (an event in itself!), so family, maid, neighbours and myself...all of us are excited. Even my baby has this questioning "Why do you have that thing wrapped around" look on her face. She tried to lift up the saree, wondering if I was wearing jeans underneath! So much for 6 yards, but the yarn continues...

Morning hours are dedicated to work. Lunch time and we have the Onasadhya (Onam Feast with a variety of dishes served on a plantain leaf, and payasam for dessert). Again the boys do the serving (a privilege we've bestowed upon them) and the girls giggle with glee and gobble away to glory!

I had to return to my desk because a client was online for a job brief. By four-ish, entertainment and games began. Tradition has it that newcomers have to introduce themselves and the others can take a potshot at them, to get to know them better (read 'bully them'). Endless rounds later (new-comers outnumbered old-timers such as myself!) with new talents discovered, we formed four groups and started playing dumb-charades (with malayalam movie titles) and I stay dumb most often because I wouldn't know most Malayalam Movie titles, except for playing cheer-leader and taking wild guesses. As the game hots-up with dumb-struck and dumb-found performances by the actors and the guess-ers, we fight against rules, set our own rules, yell and generally make merry (saving ourselves from what would almost land in fist-fights!). By the end of the game, Team No.3 (my team) had more members and more points than the other teams (hee, hee!). The next game was about to begin, but I had to wrap-up as I had to visit my in-laws who weren't keeping too well. Bid adieus, picked up the saree and jumped into the car.

Chock-o-block traffic. Driving bumper-to-bumper, it took me a good 1.5 hours to traverse a distance of 15 kilometres. A severe headache and backache followed. I was ready to drop-dead! M-i-L gave me some tea and balm (visitor turns patient!). Hubby gave me a good massage. All said and done, it was time to wrap up the day.

Onam thus celebrated. 6 yards off, denim back on...until next year maybe.

Fancy this.

2010-08-25T08:01:00.001+05:30

A butterfly fairy in a silk top, pretty frock and stockings, a pair of wings that looked like anybody wearing it could actually fly and a wand that had this magical aura about it, which completed the look. It was an outfit my sister bought for my daughter for her birthday and we saved the wings and the wand for the fancy dress competition that is conducted every year as part of the Onam Celebrations at school.

My 7 yr old daughter with cheeks generously rouged, looking pretty in her outfit, went on the dais. As my hubby, parents and I waited with bated breath to see how she would perform, she walked in with an air of confidence and said with subtle hand gestures and a sweet smile to go with it…

"Hi! I am a butterfly fairy

Though I look pretty now

I was once just an ugly wriggly caterpillar

But don’t you know that each one of us is beautiful from within?

Here’s my magic wand

May each one of you shed your cocoons

And become beautiful butterflies!

Bye…"

We heaved a sigh of relief. It had gone well. There were quite a few kids who turned up for the competition dressed up as a bishop, nun, muthashi (grandmother), Lord Krishna, gypsy, paper girl, rag picker, earth, mother India, sunflower, Michael Jackson, princess, fairy, beauty queen, Swami Vivekananda, Dora the explorer….Some of the kids forgot the dialogue they were supposed to deliver after their grand entry onto the stage.

My daughter managed to pull it off. She is otherwise reserved and shy. But loves to participate – Fancy Dress, Elocution, Light Music, Recitation…

I had prepared a lengthy speech for her Elocution competition ‘Keep Kochi Clean’. She won the third prize. Kudos to you, my girl! She learns in a jiffy and delivers without stage-fear. Something to appreciate. Perhaps she needs to focus more on voice modulation, hand gestures and the right pauses. But I guess she will improve, with time. For now, she’s good. And I’m proud of her.

The cold wave

2010-08-12T11:19:00.001+05:30

At dawn, I wake up with a sore throat. Atishu, atishu…Hubby gets up. Atchu…Becky baby gets up. Sniff-sniff…Ann wakes up too. She is the culprit. She brought the cold in, from school perhaps.

A busy day ahead, I thrust the milk bottle into baby’s mouth, get Ann ready for school and after steaming, a dose of Rhus-tox (homeo medicine) and breakfast, hubby drops her off at the bus stop.

Then there is a chorus of Atishu, Atishu – replete with Bass, Tenor, Soprano, Alto…. A bout of common cold strikes our family cold. We rub eucalyptus oil and do the customary steaming. Feels good. Hubby and I head to work. Becky stays put at home with maid.

Cold gets cold-er over the day. Develops into fever for Becky and me. I pop a paracetamol pill to get rid of the gnawing headache, body ache and fever. Becky gets the paediatric syrup. We get the steam ready. All four of us get under the blanket, breathe-in, breathe-out.

Next morning, my legs and hands are aching. And my head throbbing. I feel feverish. Muster the energy to get Ann ready for school after the steam, rhus-tox, breakfast and glass of milk. And hit the bed again. I decide to work from home that day, when baby gets a bit too cranky to handle, because of the annoying cold. She wants me to be around. We both do the steaming therapy religiously, get a 2 hour sleep, and the waking hours I do errands for the baby and actually manage some work in between. Hectic day, but baby and I feel much better by the end of the day. My voice sounds nasal. And my kids’ too.

Next day, cold develops into dry cough. Co-oh, co-oh. It hurts. Voice sound gruff. The gnawing headache remains. But I head to work. By evening, cough and headache increases 2-fold. Get out by 7 pm from work. Hubby has an appointment with the dentist. So we pickup Ann from mom’s place and rush to the dentist. I sink into the cozy couch at the dentist’s place and watch lame programmes on TV, switch channels as I hold my throbbing head in agony. The wait seems endless. Ann already has a clip on to correct her cross-bite condition and the dentist says its working fine. Hubby wants me to get my teeth checked as well. And the dentist discovers 3 cavities, says my wisdom teeth are smiling at him, begging to be removed. Asks me to think about it and get back if I want it temporarily filled or removed. I smile. The lady dentist compliments that I have a pretty smile. I suspect if it’s a marketing gimmick. And we dash home. Co-oh-co-oh, throb-throb…have dinner, pop paracetamol and crash.

Becky wakes up in the wee hours, co-hoh, co-hoh. Dry cough. Family steaming session again in the morning. Today is definitely better than yesterday. Hope the cold storm dies down soon.

“A family that steams together, heals together.”

Ann

Becky

The wheels go round and round

2010-07-30T23:15:00.001+05:30

I started riding 2-wheelers when I was in Class 6. The first motorcycle/moped I owned was a second hand Kinetic Luna which I shared with my sister and then graduated to a brand new Hero Puch (geared motor cycle) a few years later.

It was against the rules, coz I was driving without a license. We’ve gone triples too, me and my other tom-boyish friends. The traffic cops have seen us riding in school uniforms and we managed to give them the slip with our innocent smiles and flickering eyes (with head tilted to a side) pleading with him to let us go; as we catch the cop's reflection in our side-view mirror, giggling, watching him helplessly wag his finger at us, as if to warn us that he’s letting us go because we’re kids but he will not be this kind the next time he sees us - school kids, without license, triples – that’s triple offence isn’t it?!

My usual mode of commute to and fro school was on the school bus. But when I had basketball practice, special classes or tuitions, I would take my Hero Puch. My pillion rider would either be my sister or one of my friends.

Once we rode on my friend A’s Kinetic Honda (scooter) in our school uniform, to school. A was tall and hefty with short hair, in the front seat. R, that’s me, tall and thin, with short hair, in the back seat. And 2 other friends ‘D’ and ‘V’, one short with short hair and the other short with long hair and glasses, wedged between us. All 4 of us, happily singing, whistling, riding…on 1 scooter. The traffic cop wasn’t there, thank heavens. Maybe the Lord heard us and He wouldn’t have wanted to play the spoilsport anyway!

My dad had a Yezdi, which I used to ride occasionally. And M’das Sir who used take Physics and Chemistry tuitions when I was in Class 12 used to own a Bullet, which he allowed me to ride once a while. Felt like I was king (no dainty princess this) of the road!

I used to dread the public mode of transport – Buses and autos. I remember, once when my Hero Puch had a flat tyre, I thought I’ll take the bus to my tuition class. I waited 5 minutes at the bus stop, no bus in sight, I walked to the next bus stop, no bus and kept walking… actually walked about 5 kilometers or more, all the way to my tuition centre. Now you know what I mean when I say ‘dread’!

From Hero Puch I graduated to a Suzuki motorbike. This time I was old enough to get a license. Man, I felt powerful. Could race with the meanest of machines. No Harley Davidson, but will make do. That was a time and place where there were very few girls riding (geared) bikes. From what I heard, there was just one other girl in the city who used to ride a motorbike. Hadn’t met her though.

And me with my tall frame, short hair, Levis jeans , casual tees, Nike shoes, no fashion accessories and helmet on, could pass off for a guy. When the guys realized I was a girl, I would get a second and third look and then they would want to race with me. Like I cared! My friend who would pillion ride with me would wrap a scarf around her head and face (to keep the heat and dust away), she could pass off as Phulan Devi . Perhaps why, the co-riders on the road kept a safe distance and were afraid to challenge us to a race. Enjoyed the ride, through the dust, the heat, the rains and of course, some minor bruises!

What I hated though was when my friends’ friends, sister’s friends, mom’s friends and dad’s friends reported to my folks that I ride too fast and that I would be sorry if I didn’t heed to their advice and slow down. Aarrgghh! And I also didn’t like having to clean my bike every other day, take it for servicing once every while and when my dad warns me about not running on reserve fuel for too long (and actually running out of fuel, with the nearest petrol bunk not within a mile)…. Aaarrrggghhh! And when my pillion rider holds me around my waist, sits on one side, gives me instructions to ride (pillion riding or back seat driving!)…Aaaarrrrgggghhhh!

I learnt to drive a car when I was in Class 8 (dad taught me). From Class 10, my dad used to let me drive when we went out as a family. I was appointed the unofficial driver (didn’t have a license remember!). When I got license, I was ready for the kill. Didn’t mow anybody down. I am quite a cautious driver, actually . Just 2 or 3 small dents / scratches in my many years of driving experience (which wasn’t even my fault, really!).

On my graduation day, my dad (no he didn’t gift me a car!) let me take the car (He’s someone who used to take such good care of the car that mom, sis and I almost believed that he loved the car more than us!). When I was pursuing my post-graduation, however, my dad let me take the car out more frequently. And I was always the chauffeur when we went on family outings and trips.

Love to be in the driver's seat, in control of things. Hate the "go slow, slam the brakes, left-no-right, you're going too fast..." instructions that come from the backseat driver, who thinks he/she is a co-driver or navigator. When I'm on the hot seat, it's like I wear a pair of horse blinds, complete focus on the road and where I'm headed. I've had my share of accidents, but none too serious. I steer my way ahead.

When I went to Chennai on my first job, I borrowed my cousin's Kinetic Honda and figured my way around the snarling traffic. The scorching sun was no deterrent. When I got to Coimbatore, where my dad was posted then, I got back to riding my Suzuki. I got married, landed in Mumbai. Then it was - Train for daily commute to work (as a passenger only), Car for weekends, family outings or shopping, Pick-up Truck to ferry items to the Godown when the drivers were unavailable (as a volunteer - Hubby's uncle was a tea-taster and had a tea business). I was again the unofficial driver. (If ever I ran out of a job, I knew I could land a job as a driver, given my experience!). Cochin, I ventured about in Suzuki (my bike) and Yamaha (my hubby's bike) initially and then the 4-wheels through narrow roads that looked more like lanes, alleys, blind curves and dead-ends.

Now, I'm done with bikes. I'm no longer fascinated by it. The cars too, I would be happy to let someone else drive. Hate the traffic - more than half the commuters don't seem to know how to ride/drive, some dreaming while driving, some others drunk and driving, some talking on the mobile or smoking while driving...add to it the growing number of vehicles on the road, potholed roads...and what have you!

But looks like I will have to drive, at least for now, perhaps until the time I have the luxury of having a chauffeur drive me around town. Then I will gladly relinquish the post of unofficial driver!

Vrrrrrrrrrrrooooooooooooom!

* All images on this post (included to make this rather long story on wheels a bit racy) are courtesy Google Search and belong to the owners of the respective sites.

My 12th Storey

2010-07-25T15:52:00.002+05:30

My 7 year old daughter asked me the day before if I knew the meaning of Storey that is spelt s-t-o-r-e-y, I said yes. She was visibly excited (half hoping I would tell her a story) and asked me “then tell” and I said “floor of a building” and she asked “how did you know” and I said “I learnt, when I was little” and she seemed to be happy. For she had learnt it too. Now she knows that storey (also spelt 'story') is not the misspelled version of story (fable or tale), but a word that had a meaning of its own.

Now, she finds the view from up the 12th Storey of the 22-Storey Apartment much more beautiful than before. I think about it, makes me feel happy too. Reality is (and realty isn’t misspelled either!), it does look good from up there. The beautiful city of Cochin – unlike the concrete jungle typical of a city, has greenery all around, with villas, high-rise apartments, shopping malls, corporate buildings and other such concrete buildings harmoniously co-existing with nature.

The 12th Storey is actually our second home. We live in a 3-storey Apartment on the 2nd Storey and my folks stay in the 12th Storey of this 22 storey building, just a kilometer from our place. My daughter goes to the 12th Storey when she’s back from school. I’ve got a timetable ready for her, which needs a new look every other week (to keep her excited and inspire her to stick to the timetable at least until the newness lasts), or else it would turn into crushed paper finding its way into the bin.

Timetable goes something like this… (anticipated response in brackets)

Take a shower, change clothes (ok, ok…)
Drink milk, have a quick evening meal - my mom being a good cook, it is this time of the day my 7 year old girl relishes and eats the most (yum-scrum!)
Study / do homework for 1 hour (grrrr….)
Play with other children from the apartment – 1 hour (yipee!)
Break – 15 min (hmmmm…)
Study for 1 hour (oh no, not again!)
TV for 30 min (only half hour? Not fair!)
Keyboard Practice for 30 min (la, la, la….)
Play at home or simply while away time till mommy arrives (yoo-hoo!)

Then mommy (that’s me) arrives to pick her up. My usual routine, I search the dabbas (containers) on the table, and gobble up the remains of mom’s special item for the day (cakes, bhajji, vada, cookies, pudding, kozhukatta, pazham-pori and her various other specialities & experiments!). I check the time. It’s late, got to go. The just 2-months-away-from-2-year old baby will be waiting in our 3-storeyed apartment.

We say bye-bye to the 12th Storey and jump into the elevator. Meet some acquaintances on the way, say hi, bye and the courtesies or small talk in between. Jump into the car and drive away.

I catch-up with my daughter on the way. She tells me the new things she has learnt. She is preparing for the elocution contest “Keep Kochi clean” which is the day after and she rehearses the speech with all the frills. I pat her on her back and we arrive at a 3-storey building.

We take the stairs up and ting-tong, the door opens to Baby (Becky) - all smiles with my t-shirt wrapped around her neck. She skips about in excitement and shows all her antics at one go, to show us what we’d missed. Transition from 12th Storey to 2nd Storey is complete.

And so goes my story…

Ne-po

2010-07-16T15:28:00.005+05:30

She loves to strut around in an over-sized shoe

Walk high on heels with her tiny feet, but she’s all of two

She is bright and happy, naughty and yeah, accident-prone

From day to dusk, she keeps me on her toes, I thus bemoan

When she wakes up she wants the TV music turned on

And until the time she sleeps, it goes on and on and on

She hugs his t-shirt when he’s not around, feeling his warmth perhaps

And wraps my t around her neck to feel my embrace during her naps

She flashes the sweetest smile ever when up to a trick

And the heart, even if made of stone, will melt just as quick

She wants everything her bigger sister takes to study or play

She’s stubborn, nothing more - nothing less is just her way

She claps, she dances, she mimics, her actions speak a million words

And if you’re not looking, she’s on the table, licking up curds

Ne-po is the new word in her vocabulary, which she uses at will

She gets things done her way; you just can’t hold her still

She’s a little devil, at the same time, sweet as an angel

Fiddles with everything, but you can’t pull out the cudgel

She’ll jump off the ledge if you tell her “go”

She knows she’ll land safe, coz she trusts you so

All this and more, she is Becky, my darling baby

And I am discovering myself through her, maybe.

* Ne-po means go-away in the Gibberish Language Dictionary. She uses it - when she wants something (especially if it's something she shouldn't be wanting in the first place), when she wants things done her way, when she doesn't want somebody around her (after using up their service!), when she is fighting, etc. Wonder if we have a word like that in the Oxford English Dictionary that could mean all of this!

BP levels rising!

2010-07-06T18:26:00.002+05:30

The controversy over Deepwater Horizon oil spill / Gulf of Mexico oil spill (also called BP oil spill) is raging. This massive ongoing oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, is considered to be one of the largest offshore spills with about hundreds of millions of gallons spilling from a sea floor oil gusher, resulting in an oil slick spread over 2500 square miles.

An environment disaster undoubtedly, with a detrimental impact on marine and wildlife habitats, also affecting the fishing & tourism industries in the Gulf of Mexico. Miles of beaches, wetlands and estuaries are under threat. The BP engineers are working overtime to fix the spill or at least contain the damage.

The oil is spilling, the oil slick is spreading, the stocks are plunging, and…BP (read “Blood Pressure” from here on) is rising.

Well, this post is not really about the oil spill, why it happened or what are going to be the repercussions, nor is it about taking stock or pointing fingers. It is about my BP which has of late been on the rise…

Some crude reasons for rising levels of BP include:

Global, National, Government, Political, General:

The BP oil spill (since we’re already on the topic), for whatever damage it is doing to life underneath and around.
The fact that it took 26 long years to pass the judgment on Bhopal Gas Tragedy and nothing much was done in the meantime to clean up the toxic waste (media frenzy and people fury only on current affairs, huh?).
The level of Corruption for moving every file under every desk in Government Offices. And to top it all, their lackadaisical approach (it’s the taxpayers money you’re sitting on, damn it!).
The highhandedness of Cops who seem to be out there only to make your life worse (busy meeting their targets must be – no. of cases booked, fines collected etc).
Bribe – givers & takers.
Dowry – givers & takers.
The extremists / rebels who do anything in the name of fighting for justice (religious fanatics, jihadists, terrorists…list is endless).

Neighbourhood, People, Kids, family:

Gossip Mongers – especially those who seem to hang around-with and talk-behind-back of the same person.
Nosy parkers and peeping toms in the neighbourhood.
People passing lewd comments / uncalled-for judgments.
Kids acting like grown-ups, watching serials, telling lies or making lame excuses, being bullies (smartasses!), doing anything-but- behaving like kids.
Hubby asking you to fetch “this” or “that” when it’s actually closer to him and you’ve just sat down to put your feet up!

Business, Workplace, Job:

Loyalty at workplace is hardly rewarded – Hee-Haw! (The jumping jacks make more money a month than what you make a year!).
The politics & double games you are expected to play to succeed in your business.
Boss who says “yesterday” for deadlines, “today” for meetings, and “tomorrow” for pay hike (but tomorrow never comes!).
Colleagues who try to dump the job & client on you, trying to keep their hands clean; Colleagues who send half-baked brief for full-baked ideas; Colleagues who pretend to be morons when they actually are jug heads…(list is endless).
Clients who want the best-in-class @ rock-bottom-prices! (And when the agency closes down because they almost did charity business with the same clients for dog-years, end up paying 10 times more hiring 10 such agencies!)

Telephone, Emails, Internet, Computer:

Call centre executives (CCEs) who ask for Mr. XYZ, when their records clearly state the customer is female; CCEs who make it sound like the next half hour of product selling actually comes free, just that Rs.123 followed by a few 0’s will show up in the next month’s statement; CCEs (sitting in some Godforsaken place in Chennai) who ask “Why saar…you are the privilege customer, that is why we are giving you these special offer saar!” and can’t take “not interested” for an answer…(the list is again endless, nevertheless annoying!)
Phones through which you can’t hear a thing, and must repeatedly say “sorry?, excuse me?, could you please speak up a bit?...” and the person on the other hand thinks you are either deaf or dumb.
Computers that don’t work as fast as you do and “hang” just when the work is almost done but you haven’t saved the file yet.
Internet connection that’s slow as a snail.
Emails that don’t make sense even if you read, re-read, a million times over… and it still sounds like Greek & Latin!

Traffic, Vehicles:

Motorists forming 6 lanes, when there’s space only for 2 lanes, and creating a traffic jam (The person in the extreme right lane is hollering & honking the most, because if he doesn’t, he’ll be at the receiving end!)
Buses halting in the middle of the road even when there are bus bays / bus stops, sticking their big red butts not letting anyone overtake, on the left or right!
Auto rickshaws overtaking on the left and denting the car or ripping the side-view mirror casing off (haven’t replaced it yet…too expensive!) and then having the gall to stop and pick up a fight (starts with wordy duel and almost ends in fist fights!).
The old fart engine packed in a box running on wheels, which leaves a trail of smoke & hoot, blackening your windshield and blinding & deafening other motorists within a mile.
Roads that are more like gaping holes (not just potholes) with ‘tar’ being a mere filler, in between.
No flyovers, pedestrian walkways / crossings, just roads that seem to be getting narrower by the day.

These are just few of the many things that can tick me off. My face flushes red and I think it’s high time I check my BP….Meanwhile send in your chants and sweet mantras that can help me keep my cool :)

A species* that is likely to become extinct

2010-06-17T18:35:00.003+05:30

Jo-hukoom-mere-aka.

They work their ass-off. Hee-Haw!
They’re willing to do any job that comes their way. Hee-Haw!
They volunteer to do a job or sort a problem, which eventually gets added to their job profile, with no increase in the take home, except for the extra load of work and pressure. Hee-Haw!
They lend their fundas – “interface”, “approach notes”, “information architecture”, “rationale”, “process flow”…that soon become the norm at the workplace. Hee-Haw!
They yap about all and sundry to keep their sanity. Hee-Haw!
They pledge their loyalty to the Company they work in. Even when a bigger better job is offered to them, they refuse to budge. Hee-Haw!

Cover-up agents.

They cover-up follies in a diplomatic manner. Hee-Haw!
When client asks for schedule: “Will discuss with team and get back to you”. Hee-Haw!
When client asks when the job will be done: “Team is working on it. Will keep you posted.” Hee-Haw!
When the irate client asks, Why is this blue, when I asked for red: Bloody hell, they think on their feet and with the most convincing of expressions reply: “Blue symbolizes hope, joy , prosperity, royalty…” da, da, da it goes till the client says, yeah…coming to think of it, I’m beginning to like it. Hee-Haw!
And so on…

No-moolah. No problem.

If not paid a couple of months (financial crunch), they don’t question. They swear allegiance; wear a pair of horse blinds so they are not tempted to jump at the slightest whiff of opportunity coming their way. Hee-Haw!
If the last raise or promotion came a couple of years back, they let it pass. What the heck! In fact, they slog harder. Hee-Haw!
They sweet-talk others (the not paid, half-paid, demoralized or simply wanting to graze the meadows that seem greener on the other side kinds) to continue working in the company. Hee-Haw!

Thick-skinned, nothing affects them.

Not the KMA (Kiss My Ass) policy of the higher-ups. This species would rather swear by the Kick-ass methodology to get work done or to solve a problem. Hee-Haw!
Not the laid-back attitude of colleagues. A kick in the butt (or at least saying “I’m gonna kick your butt”) can fix that attitude. Hee-Haw!
Not the incorrigible commonsense-less behavior of other teams working on the project who pretend that it is the soon-to-be-extinct-species’ job to tell them if they’re doing their job right or wrong (The species under study would like to call them blockheads, morons, jackasses or what have you!). Hee-Haw!
Not the dressing-down from the boss, which is often not even remotely related to what the species is actually supposed to do. Hee-Haw!
Not the boring jobs that come their way. Hee-Haw!
Not the “deadline yesterday” jobs that may get done “the day before”, but may remain in office for “another week or so” because “some moron” forgot to upload it. Hee-Haw!
Not the brown, watery, sugary stuff they get twice a day. Hee-Haw!
Not even the HR mandate, as per which, you need to behave like a zombie. Hee-Haw!
Nothing, NOTHING can stop this species. But fear is, they’ll soon be extinct. Hee-Haw!

Now, am I turning into a fossil?

* The species (subject of this post), as research reveals, is fast disappearing from the face of the earth. Send in your votes (comments) to sustain this species and to save it from being extinct.

A workaholic’s T20 confessions

2010-06-07T23:33:00.001+05:30

Someone who’s so addicted to work, that everything seems double.
Starts with one, then mixes a couple of other. After a heady cocktail, starts all over again.
Stays slumped in the chair, with a morose expression and a blank screen under the pretext of “thinking”.
When there’s a call, swears (Gosh…work is also a 4-letter word people!) and drawls over the r’s and the l’s. Unintelligible conversation pursues.
Calls everybody else a “moron”, thinks everything else is “funny”.
Hates going to a meeting, and stifles the irrepressible yawn begging to be excused with the lamest of excuses “Oxygen depletion”.
Staggers around, drunk in a pile of work.
No hiccups, just goes on gulping it down, sometimes bottoms-up.
Smiles when the work is piling. Laughs when it hits the ceiling.
Is always right. Can’t argue there.
Ain’t a stickler for time. Deadlines, yes. But not the coming in or going out.
And once in, doesn’t bother to leave till the lights are out and the shutters are half down.
Will work-ass-off or kick-ass to get work done.
Got nothing to confide. Life is an open book. And the workplace gets most of the waking hours.
No one questions, not even the big B. Comes dirt cheap, yet very effective you see.
Rub salt, some lime and down a tequila. You’ll know what I mean. Got some more peanuts?
Can’t stay off it, sometimes. Not even some weekends or those weak-days!
Maybe it’s the hangover of yesterday. The head is pounding.
The watering hole beckons. The bartender is ready with the cocktail.
I’m headed to a de-addiction centre instead. Enuff said.

On a constant trip

2010-05-26T10:47:00.000+05:30

This time, to Fish Pond, Njarackal. With Family and some ex-neighhbours. It’s a backwater picnic spot roughly about 22 kms from our home. The sky is a bit gloomy, with grey clouds and the sun hidden well within its frills. The weatherman (my better half) declares “it’s the perfect weather for some boating, and no it’s not gonna rain today”.

There’s a small foot-over-water bridge to get there. From there, we take a row boat to get to the other side of the fish pond. The men do the rowing. The rest of us do the yapping. The seat that I’m seated on is broken, and I’m trying my balancing act to keep my butt fixed somewhere, lest I slide to the centre where the wood is almost in splinters. Baby adds to the woes. She’s excited to be on a boat and jumping all over me. The sights around momentarily keep me preoccupied and I forget the butt on the broken wooden seat for a while.

Tranquil waters lined by coconut trees and mangroves. There are a couple of platforms built in the middle of nowhere (the pond) where we can stop by and drink-in the view around. But they were wrecked, so we ditch the plan. We reach a place by the shore where there’s place to sit down, fish, lie on a hammock, and generally enjoy the beauty of nature, so we dock there. We wade through the water, as we get closer to the shore. I almost lose my slippers in the sticky mud beneath the waters. We relax, snack, the kids try their hand at fishing and actually manage to catch one fish (we jump with excitement!), lie in the hammock tied between 2 coconut trees and while away time with no cares in this world.

The men take the row boat across and decide to bring two pedal boats instead (No, the men in the picture are not our men, they're fishermen rowing on their boats in search of their prize catch). We get in and pedal across the pond. Simply serene, beautiful and yes, very intoxicating (hope it doesn’t get addictive!). We sort of laze about, not wanting to go back to the concrete jungles and the madness. Then we get to food. We’re famished after the hours of pedaling. So dig in, without waiting for the word ‘go’. Fish curry meals. Daughter eats twice more than her usual capacity. Icecream for dessert. All of us grin silly.

We then head to a beach closeby. The place is called Milky Way. No Galaxy this. But a world of its own. Baby refuses to get out of the water. We linger on. The clouds get darker. There's a brief lull. The clouds close in and break into a drizzle. We dash to the car and drive away. Ah, a weekend spent well!

Monday, as we’re trying hard to get rid of the Monday morning blues, getting ready to get back to work, news that our maid is not coming back hits us like the storm after the calm. We’re wondering what to do, who takes leave to manage the kids et cetera, when hubby comes up with the idea that we could all take a trip to Alappuzha (where my maid is from) to speak to her, plead with her to come back. We jump into the car and get ready for the trip.

When we get there, she tells her sob story. Son and daughter-in-law fighting with each other when she’s away that it almost came to divorce, 2 little grand children, so she won’t be able to come back, and stuff.

We tell our sob story. Both of us working, baby is now used to having her around, it would be difficult to find another maid in a day’s time, school going to reopen in a week’s time and stuff. Baby adds to the sentiment by crying when we leave the place. We are desperate. We tell her that we’ll give her son a job as well. And she promises to come with her son the next day. We leave with hope resurfacing. Our spirits are lifted.

We go shop-hopping (Kallu shop, i.e., Toddy shop). Plenty of them around the place. Toddy shops are popular for their spicy-yummy delicacies & side eats – mostly fried fish, kappa and fish curry. Slurp, slurp! And then some pure sweet toddy. Daughters too have big gulps of the local drink. Now did they get tipsy? Must’ve, bcoz they sort of crashed in the car, soon after.

And what have we...some fine trips - some planned, some at the spur of the moment.

From Queen of Arabian Sea to Queen of Hills

2010-05-16T21:52:00.000+05:30

We set out on a journey. Hubby, 2 daughters, myself and my parents. A whole jing-bang (extended family) was to join us later in Coonoor. We drove down (or should I say uphill?) - From Cochin - the Queen of Arabian Sea, to Nilgiris - the Queen of Hills.

Day 1, Drive to Nilgiri (Blue Hills / Blue Mountain) enroute Thrissur & Coimbatore:
A rather long journey by road. Thankfully we had a few stopovers, visiting family and friends enroute. And the pleasant sights from Mettupalayam to Coonoor was a bonus. Coonoor is a place that goes back to my childhood days. I did my primary schooling, when my dad was posted there. From the time we reached Coonoor, the nostalgia was overwhelming. We were headed to my Uncle's place, in Railey Compound, which was where I lived (way back in the 80s). I could very clearly remember the road that led to the house I used to stay. Memories flashed before my eyes. Gulp! Never felt this way before.

Day 1, Coonoor:
Found a place to park. Had to walk down quite a few steps before we got to the house. Freshened up and set out, on foot. The whole of Coonoor is more or less connected by steps (the short-cut). Over 2 decades, and nothing much had changed. More houses, more people, more vehicles, more heat, more pollution perhaps. But still, it looked more or less the same to me.

We first headed to my old school, my alma mater - St.Joseph's Anglo Indian Higher Secondary School. My heart was racing. Gulp! Gulp! Gulp! as I walked down the memory lane. Many new blocks seemed to have come up. But my classrooms seemed intact. The steps where we used to play "Crocodile", the ground where we used to play "Dog and the bone", the auditorium where I sang, danced and participated in fancy dress competitions, the chapel, the garden, the cafetaria where I ate "delicious cocunut burfee"....brought back fond memories of my school days. I was excitedly playing guide to my hubby & elder daughter telling them sweet anecdotes of my past. I didn't want to leave. I even thought, maybe I should put my daughters in this school, so I'll have reason to come again, and again! But alas, I had to bid adieu, at least for the moment.

We then went to the marketplace. An old family friend who had a shop (provision store), still has the same shop, which got no bigger, just that there were a lot more things. She looked the same too. The veg & fruit market looked inviting and fresh as fresh can be. Met a few old family friends along the way. They'd seen me when I was a kid and here I was with 2 kids my own!

We walked and climbed and panted all the way. Railway Station, railway level crossing, small shops and everything around looked fascinating enough. My legs were literally begging for mercy (my elder daughter was riding piggy-back on hubby bcoz she got awfully tired with all that walking!), so we called it a day.

Day 2, Ooty:
To Ooty by train. As the train chugged along the hilly terrain, we took in the lovely sights around us. The quaint hilly town, the brightly coloured houses stacked up the hill, the rolling greens of tea plantation, the hills and valleys, the tunnels and everything else in between. Feast to the eyes!

Dodabetta (the 2nd highest peak in South India). The drive up was tiring with all those hairpin bends. But I guess it was worth it. Top of the world (err...South India)!

Boat House. A boat ride in the lake. The tall trees on all sides, blue skies above, a toy train entering the tunnel, crisp waters under, mist clad hills around.

Botanical Garden was a pretty sight. What with all the many varieties of flowers, trees and plants. The mist covered the place, slowly yet steadily. Picture perfect shots. The drizzle got us scurrying on our feet and we winded up for the day. Missed the Rose Garden (supposed to have 25000 varieties of flowers!).

Day 3, Kodanad View Point & Kotagiri:
A beautiful drive. Breathtaking sights uphill. We stopped for photo shots, memories for keeps. The view was absolutely stunning from the View Point. More pictures. We spent a while and resumed our journey back to Coonoor. The drive back was just as interesting. We stop by, the men take a leak. We christen the place loo-hills. And continue the journey downhill.

We passed by Kotagiri. Tea plantations, houses dotting the hills, hairpin bends (and baby puke!) and we finally reach Coonoor.

Day 4, Back to Queen of Arabian Sea, enroute Kotagiri and Coimbatore:
We started our journey back home. Road diversion because of peak traffic in weekend. We were asked to take the Kotagiri route.

"Kotagiri, here we come". A relative of my hubby is head of a provinciate. We became his guests of honour. He took us around the place. Not many adjectives left (used up all of them, haven't I!) to describe the place. You have to see it to believe it. Food on the house. And we resumed our journey.

3 weeks after the trip, Back to routine in Cochin:

Memories linger. Photographs do the talking. The trip was a good break from all the heat down here (sultry weather, routine work, yada, yada...). Looking forward to the next vacation already!

So long...

The Zombie Ritual

2010-04-27T17:55:00.000+05:30

At the Workplace:

Enter. Find scooters / bikes parked in the only 4-wheel parking slot left. Leave it under the gummy tree and don't look behind.
Remove your brains and boots at the door.
Swipe card and hear the automated "welcome" message (that you probably don't hear because you just left your brains in your boots).
Don't bother looking up, nobody can see you (you are the invisible Zombie, remember?).
Head straight to your desk, don't acknowledge, smile or greet anybody on your way (They don't even know you exist!).
Switch on your machine, then perhaps look on your sides, somebody might be waiting to catch your glance, smile or simply grin (Now they can see you!).
Check your mails. There would be at least one mail to shoot your blood to the brain and get you started on the job (Of calling, mailing, yelling, puffing and doing everything else instead of actually getting to the problem). A great way to start work!
Settle down and get down to work (if you can get out of the non-stop calls, emails, concalls, meetings, stenography, minutes of the meetings, dressing downs, passing the buck sessions, scheduling, status updates, planning, evaluating, testing...anything but what you really ought to do!)
Break for grapevine. A cup of brown-sugary-milky stuff they call tea, some biscuits, peanuts or kurkure and barrels of grapevine (Burp!).
Get back to work (if you can avoid the million other interruptions with a pair of horse-blinds maybe!).
Break for lunch. Nonsensical conversation - Proclaim judgement on Tom, Dick and Harry, Talk about Current Affairs, Home Affairs and just about any topic under the sun, with some rice to go with it!
Back to work (got to hire a couple of clones to take over the ancillary jobs that is quickly becoming your main job!)
Break for the milky-sugary stuff with a faint whiff of tea. Gossip-mongers these Zombies(So the focus is the hot conversations, and the tea soon gets cold!).
Swears to get work done this time over, when trrring, trrring...Big B on the other end, requesting for a 5 minute Discussion.
5 minute stretches to 5 hours.
Late again! Zombie will now have to deal with the dressing-down session at home...
But Zombie is back to work again. Happy to see the other zombies at work.
And life goes on!

Rain, rain come again

2010-04-25T22:49:00.000+05:30

A welcome respite from the incessant heat and humidity, it's almost always rain, rain, come again (and not "go away" for little Johnny to play!). And the rains are here with a bang.

The harsh winds (what seems like a 100 miles/hr or more), the loud and roaring thunder (that frightens puppies and babies alike), the flash of lightning (that strikes across the skies and burns anything it comes in contact with to cinders), the dark and gloomy clouds (that carry such a foreboding and mournful appearance), the first few large drops of water (that is cool yet heavy), the smell of wet mud (that most of us love), the pitter-patter of the rains (that is fun when you're indoors, tucked in under the blanket or holding a cup of hot chocolate), the umbrellas of various shapes, sizes and colours (wet and dripping, opening and closing), the bigger vehicles splashing muddy water over smaller vehicles (and the smaller vehicles splashing it over pedestrians), the noise of toads and crickets after the rains (singing lovey-dovey songs perhaps), the puddles and pools (what's left of the rains, a gentle reminder of the water that we could have harvested and used during dry spell)...and I could go on pitter-patter about the rains, but it's got to stop somewhere, so I can get on with what I really started out to.

Much as I have waited for the rains, that is actually sweet relief, after the scorching heat and the sultry weather that has stretched from after the last monsoon, I prefer to enjoy it indoors. Watching the pitter-patter (and most often thunder & lightning means no power, which means no watching TV!), Singing with the kids (hubby lends the bass), Snacking (hot chocolate and hot bajji is my favourite!), and generally Lazying about.

The wet outdoors are quite a sight. I pull out my camera and take some random shots. The rains seem to bring everything around to life. Two boys playing cricket in the rain. Click. The green looks greener. Click. I go in, grab a snack. I step out. Two boys multiplied many times over. Enjoying cricket with the rain pouring down, the ball lost in the puddle. Click. I think the boys are crazy to play in the rain. They perhaps think, I am crazy to stay indoors.

Rain. Perspectives.

Here ends the incessant rains, the incessant chatter. But the toads and cricket continue with their croak-croak and crick-crick into the night.

Money Laundry

2010-04-18T19:55:00.002+05:30

Some crisp currency clenched in my fist, I looked up, guilt writ across my face. I shouldn't have done it, blame it on being an "erring" mortal being!

Money laundry. Imagine that! No, I din't get it wrong. I did not pinch anybody else's money. So the subject I embark upon is obviously not "money laundering", as you would have imagined. What with all the brouhaha of money-laundering in the IPL (read "Indian Political League" and "Indian Premier League"). This is simply about forgetfully leaving some money in your pocket, only to "find" or rather "discover" it perhaps months later, crushed yet crisp, after the soaking, washing, twisting, rinsing and drying in the washing machine.

Well, the other things that are oft forgotten in pockets before laundry, include tickets (bus, movie, park...), bills and receipts (supermarket, ATM receipts...) yada, yada, yada. Just a couple of days back, I discovered some crisp notes and an ancient shopping bill in my jeans pocket (jeans going through laundry is unimaginable in the first place, coz I usually "dryclean" - read, "hang it out to dry", but that subject is matter for another post, lest I digress).

Are currencies really designed to go through the laundry process? It isn't. It sort of fades off (doesn't it!), becomes crispier and if you put it out to dry in the sun it would perhaps just crumble.

But it should be made laundry-able, don't you think? The number of hands it changes, the sweat, the blood stains, the saliva, the grease, the tobacco and God knows what, justifies the need for a "hand (or) machine wash cum tumble dry cum steam iron"-able currency note. That way, the currency would be "crisp as new" for a long time to come. And just like how we iron, fold and stack clothes neatly in a wardrobe, we can stack these washed, dried and ironed notes in bundles of 100 and stash it away in the safe or in the bank as we please.

Ladies and ladas, I rest my case. Let's write to the RBI for laundry-able currency notes.

When darkness spoke

2010-03-28T18:18:00.000+05:30

It was an hour everybody was counting down to. Or so I seemed to think. The hour came. Our apartment was plunged into darkness. There were a few other houses and apartments in our neighbourhood that followed suit. The others seem unaffected, going about their routine life as if nothing mattered to them. We groped our way in the darkness and got to the rooftop. There was an eerie silence. And it was dark. But we felt good.

It was earth hour. A campaign to raise awareness on climate change. A call to every individual, every business and every community throughout the world. To stand up, take responsibility, get involved and find a way towards a sustainable future.

If an hour of darkness (no lights, fans, AC, TV, Computer, Fridge, Washing Machine, Microwave, or any other electric appliances) can help make a difference, so be it. Because we understand if we don't do this something, someday it will not be a "choice", it would rather be "because there's no other alternative".

Wake up people. Do your bit. Turn off lights / fans / any other appliances, if you are not using them or if you step out of the room. If there are 4 in a family, instead of each occupying a separate room (with light, tv, ac/fan etc on), try to cuddle up in a single room, and bond with each other. Go outdoors with family & friends on weekends. Home after work, instead of being a couch potato looking at the idiot box 24x7 (the rest of your waking hours I mean), try spending quality time with family, talking to each other. If you're the last person to leave home / office, remember to switch off the mains. Take a shower in cold water, rather than use the Geyser. And other seemingly "little" things that can make a "big" difference.

The world is getting hotter by the day. Global warming they say. Sweat, sweat. Obviously, there’s more to it than switching off lights for one hour once a year during "Earth hour". It is about find a way / working together to create a sustainable low carbon future for our planet.

Do something guys. Say something guys.

Of walls, tweets, scraps and posts

2010-03-21T22:25:00.000+05:30

What's on your mind is on your wall. No graffiti artwork this. Not a brick wall either. It's the wall on Facebook (fb). I write something on my wall, my friends get to see it, whether they like it or not. I write something on somebody else's wall, and everybody else who are somebody else's friends also get to see it. Then, some people seem busy farming. The others, waging some kind of war or the other. Some others, making friends. Some requests. Some suggestions. And plenty such stuff, that makes sense to some and means nonsense to some others.

I tweet and retweet. No I'm not a bird. I tell the world (or anyone who cares to listen) about what I'm doing every second, every minute, every hour, every day...in just 140 characters on Twitter. I "tweet" in short. Do you?

Got some scraps, said I. You want me to clean it up for you, said she. Uh-huh! I mean, some of my good old friends found me on Orkut and left some scraps (sent a message / commented), so I can revert to them with my scrap (message / comment), to get back in touch with them.

I just posted it. Not the letter in the post box, you slow-as-a-snail dimwit. A "blog" ("Web log" in short). And I'm waiting for comments. But the rule in blogdom is, scratch someone's back and they'll scratch yours. Got few followers and seem to be losing them soon as well. So gotto go...pleasing, then pleading.

Nighty night...after a long day posting, tweeting, commenting, and then blogging about it!

Overdue

2010-01-31T16:28:00.000+05:30

Better late than never. So here I am.

I had to literally vanish from blogsphere. No maid. It was sort of like a relay. Morning, up at 5.30, send elder daughter to school by 7 (that included packing her bag, her lunch, her snacks....), baby wakes up before or after, thrust bottle into her mouth, no she didn't go back to sleep, she just got her energy feed to make me run around her, manage to cook the breakfast and lunch in between, clean up (can't skip that, bcoz baby walks around with her lens to pick up the tiniest speck I might have missed and put in her mouth), give baby her bath (she hates to come out of it, so there's a struggle there as well!), have breakfast, pack lunch, take a bath, get dressed, drive down to mom's place which is close by, drop-off parcel (baby!), rush to work swearing at the I'm-not-in-a-hurry type of drivers who won't let you pass (it would already be past 10 am by then, and my work hours are supposed to start at 9.30 am), a pile of work waiting for me, only time seemed to pass, the work list only got bigger, at the fag end of the day - work followed me out of the door, the drive down to mom's place, pick up both daughters, drive down home, no it doesn't end there, there's dinner to cook, eat, clean up, get things ready for the next day, phew! It was a marathon. And I'm glad it has ended.

We got a maid yday. So far so good. A bit hard of hearing (I may have to better my sign language skills). But, she seems to be ok otherwise. She made some delicious beef curry today. God bless her. I hope the baby takes to her.

The other long overdue story, is that of my trip to Kuwait, with family, to celebrate Xmas & New Year with my sis & family. Had a great time.

Sightseeing/Fun - Kuwait Towers, Entertainment City, Scientific Centre & Aquarium, Beach Side.

Movies - Avatar (3D) at the iMAX in 360 deg Mall, Under the Sea (3D) at the Scientific Centre, Motor Race (4D) at the Entertainment City.

Shopping/Window Shopping at the many Malls & Gold Souk.

Visiting Friends & Relatives

Fine Dining - At Ruby Tuesday (Continental - some yum scrum seafood delicacies, dessert and drink), Nandos (Portuguese - Mild, hot, very hot chicken & lamb delicacies), Chocolate (Yummy Chocolate Fondu & pudding), Satchi (Japanese - tried Sushi & Maki), Mc Donalds, Burger King, Pizza Hut and such restaurants. We also got to have Arabic Food (can't remember the names of the dishes, but they were good!), Thai Food (loved the Tom Yum soup), Indian Chinese Food, Kerala Food and Arabic Sweet

In short - A splendid holiday and a good break from our routine.

Now, looking forward to our next holiday. And hoping to get back to blogging. If time (read 'maid') permits, that is!

Story by Linda John

2009-12-03T07:59:00.000+05:30

Zena the Crocodile, and his friends.
- Story by Miss Linda John, published by Star Night

In a place called Wilmont in the Mexican city, there lived a crocodile named Zena who worked in the zoo. He was a clever and handsome croc. Most people appreciated him for his talent and looks. Yet he was very sad because he had no friend. When he got back home, he decided to start looking out for new friends.

The next day, he put up a notice on the main gate:
FRIENDS WANTED.
- ZENA CROC
NATIONAL PARK
BIG PIE STREET
WILMONT, MEXICO.

He waited eagerly for a response.

The following day, somebody rang the door bell. Zena saw a little girl with a serious expression, standing at the door.
Girl: I came here to be your friend.
Croc: Please come in.
Girl: My name is Meethi.
Croc: My name is Zena and I am glad you came here to become my friend.

The door bell rang again. There was a small furry thing, with four legs and a tail.
Meethi to small furry thing: I think you are a pup.
Pup: Yes I am. My name is Tim.
Tim to Zena: I came here to become your friend.

All were very glad that they had found friends for themselves. They wondered what game they could play together.
Meethi screamed excitedly: Let's draw and colour a rainbow.
Croc cried: But we have no hands to draw.
Tim chipped in: OK, let's play something like hitting the ball with the tail.
Meethi complained: But I have no tail.

Now they were clearly disappointed, bcoz they realized that each one of them was a different kind. It got dark. Impatience was growing in.
Meethi declared: We can never become friends. Let's all depart. Goodbye!
They went their own way.

Zena was very sad that he lost his friends. But he never again thought of making friends and never ever hung up any more notices.

THE END.

* This story was handwritten by my dear sis MSA (a good 22 years back). I discovered it recently in a storybook, which I pulled out from the cupboard to read to my daughter. The paper was found neatly folded in a self-made envelope (torn on one side) and addressed from/to:

From
Star Night Magazines Company Limited

To
Miss Alice
London, UK

I fondly remembered those good old days, when we used to make up situations, where the whole drama unfolded before our very eyes. We used to make up characters and don their roles. My sister was almost always Linda John, sometimes a writer, sometimes a waiter, sometimes a cook. I was almost always Ann, sometimes an artist, sometimes an architect, sometimes a diner, sometimes a teacher. Our friend and neighbour (wonder where she is and what she does now) was almost always Alice, sometimes a rich estate owner, sometimes a princess, sometimes a beggar.

We used to pitch tents inside our rooms and play these games till the sun went down. I remember another game, for which we bought small earthern pots with our pocket money (which was sparse those days), put them on 3 bricks and firewood. Set fire, cooked food. One of our older friends used to do the cooking, and we used to wait for it to cook, so we could eat our fill.

Hmmm....those were the days indeed.

Heavens...here I come!

2009-11-23T18:39:00.000+05:30

It was an outing I didn't quite look forward to. Some of our neighbours and my family set out to this destination that was tucked somewhere up the hills. It was Saturday. I went to work as usual. By about 1.15 pm I got out of office, reached home in a jiffy with my foot on the pedal, had a hurried lunch, changed clothes, grabbed my baby and jumped into the car with my hubby. It was a long ride. We caught up with the others enroute. Had some Chai & Vada.

The journey from Vadankacherry to Nelliampathy was lovely. Lush green paddy fields on either side. The majestic mountains in the backdrop. It was indeed a visual treat for my weary eyes. The Pothundy Dam was again a ravishing sight. When we reached the foothills, there was this Forest Guard check post, where they make a note of all the vehicles entering the forest area (Yeah...we were actually going to tread the territory that belonged to the wild and the unknown). Here's where the unforeseen and the untoward occurred.

We had our cars parked one after the other and a few of us stepped out of our cars to straighten our legs. Suddenly, the tranquil setting was interrupted. We heard the kids cry out "Baba, baba...". We saw one of the cars (part of our entourage) moving in the reverse direction, slowly but gaining speed because it was a slope. The quick-on-his-feet (he had some presence of mind) Baba (father) - ran, opened the door, jumped into the seat and screeched the car to a halt. The car right behind veered to the right in the nick of time. Phew. Our hearts had skipped a couple of beats. We were all shaking our heads, in total disbelief of what had just happened and glad that we were all safe and heading again to our destined destination.

We took in the beautiful sight around us. The lake below, the hills and valleys, the greenery around, the occasional springs and waterfalls, the winding roads, the hairpin bends, the tea plantations on either side, the chirping birds...we went higher and higher up! Loved each moment of it.

I almost thought I would turn into Wordsworth and churn out a million poems at a wave of my pen...but alas, got caught up in the hectic schedules that followed at work, and just managed this measely bit of a travelogue, that I know wouldn't do full justice to my journey. Nevertheless, something's better than nothing!

At about 7 pm, we reached our Destination.
A Bungalow sitting pretty amidst the coffee and tea plantations at Rajakkad Estate, Padagiri, Nelliampathy (Palakkad District, Kerala). We ventured about the bungalow...spacious rooms, high ceilings , not a single fan but nice and cold, each of us picked our rooms and dumped bag and baggage. A bonfire was set outside, perfect for the weather. We sat around, sang, danced and played games and downed some shots to sort of warm up. Chicken Biryani followed. We then ventured out into the wild. Got to see some deer. We retired to bed.

Next morning, we were all up quite early. 5.30 am. Washed up, had some black coffee, and decided to trek up the hill. There was a stream closeby. A couple of guys pretended to fish, fishing rod and all. We walked and walked. There were some leeches that kept us worried, the bloody blood suckers! I got pricked by 4 of them, but managed to get them off my legs before the damage was done. We got to see some wild goats on our way. Plucked fresh oranges and ate them. Sugarcane too. It was a refreshing walk. The experience cannot be expressed in words. It was awesome.

When we went back to the bungalow, breakfast was served. Puri-masala. We gobbled it up (lost count actually!) and set out on our next adventure ride. On a tractor. In fact, I got to drive the mean machine (a few metres backward and forward, that's all, but was sure good enough). It was a roller-coaster ride, but fun all the same, as we were riding right into the forest, with no path - gravel nor muddy. We got to see lion-tailed monkeys and a palace in ruins.

Next on our itinerary was the organic farm. Then the view point at Seethargundu Estate. It was mind-blowing. We felt on top of the world. The sight below was fabulous. Picture perfect I must say. We got to see the mist blowing from below, wrapping the mountains. We took a deep breath. Fresh air and perhaps a fear of heights. My head was spinning, intoxicated perhaps, with all that beauty around.

Greenland Estate next. We got to see a few exotic species of birds, among them, emus, flying ducks, turkeys that let out a chorus croon (like in an orchestra) everytime we whistled etc caught our attention. There were some breeds of dogs too.

Our legs were begging for mercy now. And we were famished. Midway, on our way back to the bungalow, one of the cars had a small problem. By the time we had lunch, it was 4 pm. Time to wrap up our vacation and bid goodbye to the heavens. It was drizzling. Maybe the heavens shed a few tears, as we were leaving.

The sights were just as beautiful, top to bottom. Earth....here we come!

Chipak gayi*, with sweat and all!

2009-11-15T22:32:00.000+05:30

Have you heard of the Chipko Movement? A socio-ecological movement that practiced the Gandhian method of Satyagraha and non-violent resistance through the act of hugging trees to protect them from being felled.

It was a small village in Chamoli District, Uttarakhand. The Government had restricted huge areas of forest from being cleared, so women had to walk for long hours each day to gather firewood and fodder.

The woodcutters told the women that the forest could fetch resin, timber and therefore foreign exchange. The women retorted, “Yes we are well aware of the produce that a forest can give mankind – soil, water and pure air.” They then hugged the trees and prevented it from being felled.

It was a rather sultry day. It had rained a few days back and the humidity was growing in, but the clouds weren’t heavy or black enough to rain. My daughter had her Junior Cultural Day Program at School. She was one of those Village Women – a wood collector.

She had to be dropped at School by 6.45 am for the makeover (Saree, head scarf, junk jewellery and some yellow paint on her face). The program was to start by 9.00 am. We (parents anxious to see their daughter perform) got there with the little one in my arms, at about 9.40 am. We got to see our little village woman in the balcony where all the participants were dressed up and seated along with their teachers. I could hardly recognize her (what with the yellow paint and all!).

Speeches that never seemed to end took a while. We checked the schedule and to our horror discovered that Chipko Movement (a skit by Class II – my daughter’s class) was almost towards the end. The baby in my arms was sweating profusely, she was literally stuck to me (chipak gayi).

2 kids took us through the whole show. The kindergarten kids kicked off the cultural programs followed by Class I, Class IV, Class III. 3 hours went by. A good show I must say. We were sort of glued to our seats (kursi se chipak gaye), what with the kind of sweating in that sweltering hot weather! Baby was getting jittery. We had no option but to wait for our daughter’s turn. The other parents, whose kids were done with their performances started trickling out of the auditorium. I was afraid by the time my daughter’s turn arrived, there would be nobody but us to watch. We were counting down to the show.

However, I do think it was worth the wait. A marvelous show, with beautiful stage settings, props, SFX, BGM, Village Women - my daughter being one of them, and her doting parents (that’s us!) giving her all their attention, the Police, the Woodcutters and the works, bringing the Chipko Movement to life, and sending out a very strong message “Save our environment”. We were indeed glued to our seats (ab completely chipak gaye) with the awesome performance put up by these little boys and girls.

I was all anxious to capture it all on video, my arms were begging for mercy. And then, wiping the sweat, the makeup (that refused to come off) and finally getting back home! Phew...All is well that ends well.

FYI:
Chipak Gayi: Getting stuck / glued
Chipko Movement: Where the village women hugged trees to protect it from being felled

M for Money. M for Marriage.

2009-10-30T19:01:00.000+05:30

Just like grocery, food, cosmetics, clothes, house, car and much else we care to buy for a living, there’s another item available for sale, especially in markets in Kerala. It’s an auction of sorts, where the highest bidder gets the privilege of taking the item home after a grand handing-over ceremony.

You’ll know what I’m talking about if/when you’re between 21 & 25, finished your graduation / post-graduation, Syrian Christian (SC), eligible spinster hailing from Kerala (esp Thiruvalla, Kottayam, Pathanamthitta Districts)… ready to hit the market (at least that’s when it all begins!).

The Sunday Matrimonial columns bring them in.

Grooms Wanted: 21 yr old, white (a point to note!), good looking (could have contested for Miss Universe!), SC girl of medium height (meaning 4’ 9’’ or 5’6” or somewhere in between?), in Kottayam, seeks TDH boy (as in Tall, Dark & Handsome or Tom, Dick & Harry) with good qualification (read Engineer or Doctor) and good job (read Government job, Bank job or working in the Gulf).

Brides Wanted: 28 yr old, 185 cms tall, handsome SC boy, working as Manager in reputed Oil Company in the Gulf, seeks fair, beautiful and well educated girl, preferably a Nurse / Teacher (point to be noted), having sound family background (read cash-rich).

There is a spate of calls, in response. Half of which could be people from the newspaper desk to prove that their paper indeed brings response. Quarter of which could be dimwits who don’t get the details in the ad right. And the other quarter may or may not work (it’s like a weather forecast…it may or may not rain).

The brokers are worse. It’s like setting up a blind date. The difference is, the date here is usually between parents. And the main factor discussed (apart from exchanging courtesies) is how much money and gold can the bride’s family cough up in exchange for their son.

Then come in the views of the extended family and friends. The grandparents, aunts and uncles (who you didn’t know existed until then), friends and well-wishers (you know what I mean!). They step out of their way to offer their assistance or give their opinion on matters (even without asking).

Once upon a time, I was this eligible spinster on a vacation to my maternal grandparent's house in a small town called Ranny, in Kerala. It's a beautiful place, kinda uphill with winding roads and rubber plantations on either side. I was 24 then, and my grandfather started checking the matrimonial column and calling the eligible bachelor boys' families frantically, from the day I landed. I was witness to one of the ugliest nature of haggling in the marriage market.

Excerpts of a telecon I overheard...
Appachan (Grandpa): I'm so and so, and you? (Establishing credentials). [They find some common connection and the next couple of minutes is dedicated to telecon in that direction. Then resumes...] What does your son do? My granddaughter is here for a few days. Why don't you drop in today or tomorrow and see her?

In the backdrop:
Me (Panic button on): Mom, let's get out of here quick! I didn't come here to buy myself a buddy boy.
Mom(hushes me up): Relax. You have to get married some day or the other.

On the other end of the telephone (on speaker phone, so we get to hear the atrocious conversation, loud and clear):
Lady(Thankfully not my mother-in-law!): My son is an engineer in KSEB. You know, sound Government job, getting a fat cheque and all! So how much are you ready to give?

In the backdrop:
Me (With my jaws wide open and my eyes ready to pop out): What? Is she out of her mind? What does she mean, how much we are ready to give?
Mom (hushes me up again): Quiet. That's the way marriage aliances work.
Me: Hmmph..I think I'll rather stay a spinster!

Back to the telecon:
Appachan (Keeping his composure): They're just 2 daughters, the elder girl is married off and is abroad. So, you know...(and trails off).
Lady (She's lucky I'm not her daughter-in-law or I would have probably wrung her neck): 10 lakhs, nothing less!

In the backdrop:
Me (ready to swoon at this outrageous demand for money, and swearing under my breath!)

On the telephone:
Appachan: I suggest you first come and see the girl and if you like her and everything goes well, we'll get to money matters.
Lady (Shamelessly desperate to make money at somebody else's expense) If you're ready to give 10 lakhs, we'll come.

Appachan turns in our direction, we nod our head left to right to express our disapproval.

Back on phone:
Appachan: We'll think about it...

Beep, beep. End of call. End of alliance. I returned home after the vacation feeling heavier, full of questions. How could anyone demean themselves asking a total stranger blatantly for something they do not deserve? Do they consider their son a product for sale in the marriage market? Where the auction starts at 10 lakhs and the highest bidder becomes the bride? Is that the price value they've given their son? Isn't human life worth a lot more, above currency value? The questions remain. The practice remains. And boys are preferred over girls.

PS: Since asking for dowry is against the law, people think they outsmart the legal system, by asking for the "share" of the girl! Such people need to be lined up and asked to shoot themselves, because what they commit is a bastardly and shameless act of daylight robbery!

Ladies and Ladaas, I rest my case.

Points to note:
1. White - Fair complexion (In Kerala it is 'nice colour', white or black)
2. Nurse / Teacher - There's a big demand for nurses, as it is a free ticket abroad. Nurses from Kerala rake in big moolah in the US, Europe and the Middle East. Teachers in Government Schools in Kerala are also in demand in the marriage market. Government job, easy money, plenty vacation!

Who is He?

2009-10-26T08:16:00.000+05:30

He seems to be really popular. He goes by many nicknames. Heard of him ever since I was born.

Everybody waits, what seems like an eternity, for an audience with him. He seems to be someone you can look up to in times of adversity. Most of them believe in the barter system for favours from him. Some of them put him on a pedestal, some believe he lives just next door and some others simply shun him and prefer to stay farthest from him.

Most countries or regions are separated because of his multiple personality. Most wars happen in his name. And yet they call him the all understanding being, when he is watching it happen right under his nose!

Why doesn’t he do anything to stop the nonsense preached and practiced in his name? Why does he prefer to stay anonymous and keep people guessing, rather arguing with each other – “I” know him better than “you”, “I” am right, and “you” are wrong, so on and so forth? Wouldn’t it have been easier if he came down and sorted it all out by himself?

The question remains, "who is he?". But fact remains, if it wasn’t for him, we would have been rudderless and without any focus. “Faith”, “hope” and “love” would perhaps have meant nothing without him.

It is our belief that keeps us going in times of trials and tribulations. It is he who keeps our feet firmly grounded when we are reaching higher and higher in pursuit of material gains. It is he who taught us to love, care and share, and reminds us subtly every time we fail to do so.

The many names, the many faces, the many places at all once, are perhaps his will. It is a small test to our faith. The stronger one remains, the more loving and caring one becomes, the closer you get to him. And our search for who he is, gives us a better insight of ourselves. We become more introspective, looking inwards rather than outwards, to check if we’re leading meaningful lives.

I realize I’m getting all preachy and philosophical here. Not sure why I broached this subject at all. Maybe it was all meant to be. Thank you for your patient hearing…err…reading!

I am 16, going on 16+17

2009-10-24T18:20:00.000+05:30

At 16, I thought the world was all about me. I felt very important, and I was actually considered quite mature for a teenager. I didn’t worry about trivial things. I was the happy-go-lucky kind, happy with life and everything around. Maybe I was lucky after all, because there were kids with real problems. I didn’t have any cares in this world. Just home, school, family, friends…and of course, the all important ‘me’.

At 16+4, a Math & Physics graduate, aiming to be a fighter pilot in the Indian Air Force, but as destiny would have it otherwise, I was lost at the crossroads, wondering which way the life-full-of-promises was awaiting me. Advertising. A marked deviation from Science obviously, but I couldn’t imagine myself as an academician or a scientist, and I thought the only other thing that I could do was write. So I set out. I had to do something after all, coz there was no such thing as a free meal!

At 16+8, I was an accomplished copywriter, on my own two feet. A few of us got together to start up an ad agency. The very first year saw a huge turnover. Then one fine day, it so happened that one of the lead guys got an assignment abroad (a call from his previous agency which he couldn’t refuse), another guy – a printing engineer got an appointment as professor in a reputed institution (he would have been a fool if he’d turned it down), one lady had to join her family who had just then moved to Dubai (again, no choice there) and then myself…well, I got married (the timing couldn’t have been better, or I would have perhaps been at the crossroads again!). Each of us went our own way. The success story came to an abrupt end. (The agency was open for a couple of years after that, but finally wound up, is what I heard). I wasn’t the typical ‘stay-at-home, cook-and-clean-for-pati (husband)’ patni (wife), but my hubby wasn’t the typical pati either. He gave me my space. I gave him his. And we shared a space that was truly special.

At 16+10, I was working on big brands in an Ad Agency in Bombay. Then, I had my first baby. For a year I stayed at home and enjoyed the just-turned-mother phase thoroughly. I continued working from home though (man, was I raking in the moolah!). But I was already pining to get back to full time work! With a baby in my arms, I heard school and college kids referring to me as “aunty”! Mama was fine, but “aunty” was something I was yet to get used to!

At 16+12, I moved down south with family. Worked hard, partied harder. Bought a house. We were on the fine line, balancing work and home. But found quality time, however sparse, to spend with family. I used to cook back then. And it showed. My husband lost a good 8-10 kilos and I was ‘skinny legs and all’. I got used to “aunty”, grrrr…udgingly.

At 16+15, I had my second baby. Not an easy pregnancy, I must tell you. A hiatus of 3 months from work. At home, enjoying the mother-again phase. It felt nice every time the baby smiled. I coochy-cooed, giggled and played with her. Felt like a baby myself. However, the career woman had to get back to work after the maternity leave, leaving the poor child sucking on lactogen. Youngsters fresh out of college were showing up at work. A good ‘decade’ younger than I. I realize I’m now full time “patni”, “mama”, “ma’am” and “aunty”, but enjoying every single responsibility fully well.

At 16+17, here I am, singing ‘I am 16, going on 16+17’ (Remember Sound of Music?). My kids help keep the child in me alive. I still feel as good as 16. Though now my world means – My kids, hubby, the rest of my family & friends, myself, and then anybody else who matters to me in this world, in that precise order!

I remember, when I was about 22 years old, I thought 28 was old. When I was 28, I thought 32 was old. But now I’m thinking, ‘old’ is only in the ‘thinking’. If you think you are young, you are forever young. That reminds me of my all time favourite song - Bob Dylan’s ‘May you stay forever young’.

“May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be strong,
May you stay…forever young!”

Just 3, but no less mean!

2009-10-22T18:33:00.000+05:30

In yellow and black, these snorty looking 3-wheeled menace-on-the-roads, have always kept me at a safe distance. The public transport system (more specifically, the state buses and autorickshaws) is not something I prefer to use unless of course there's no other alternative.

I remember an incident back in my school days. I used to go to tuition classes on a two-wheeler. One day, I had a flat tire. I had no option but to take a bus. I went to the bus stop, waited for 5 minutes, no sign of the bus, decided to walk to the next bus stop, instead of idling away my time in the bus stop. Waited again for 5 minutes. No sign, walked again....My destination was a good 5 km away. And believe it or not, I walked it up! Can't wait for nothing. Not even a bus.

Coming back to the topic of the snorty-looking mean-machine on 3 wheels (what they call 'autorickshaws', or 'auto' in short), here's a brief description of how it looks to me (or others who see it in my perspective):

It has a rod for a starter, that you pick up from the floor to start the engine (The auto driver pulls it up in a jerk, my biggest fear is, if it'll come apart)
It has a handle like in a scooter, to steer the vehicle in any direction you want to (literally 'any').
The clutch is on the handle, just like in a scooter, to change gears (top speed of 30-35 km, but most of them try to push it to 50 km, when you can hear the engine screaming at the top of its ummm.....voice?)
It's got a balloon-shaped horn on its side (that rather looks like a big belly, ready to belch that loud 'paum-paum'!)
The engine is too loud for my liking (funny spluttering sound at that!)
It runs on diesel or petrol...not sure (But it leaves a trail of smoke and smells rather of kerosene!)
It has a blunt nose with a head lamp fixed to it (It looks like someone punched him real hard on the nose)
It has a glass window pane in front (so the driver & the unfortunate passengers can see where they are actually headed!)
It is closed behind with a small window opening (perhaps, for passengers to see if the cops are chasing them?!)
It has a driver's cabin with a single seat, separated by 2 or 3 horizontal bars from the passenger area (Wish it was sound proof as well, so the passengers would have been spared the needless chatter with desperate-to-make-small-or-idle-talk auto drivers!).
The passenger area usually accommodates 3 people (in regular autos - there are bigger ones too). But I've seen autos plying school children to & fro the school carrying at least 8-10 children at a time in regular autos!
When it's raining, 2 flaps drop from either sides at the pull of a rope (so the slush is not in your face...some innovation, I must say!

Apart from its funny looks, it feels funny riding on it as well. Here's why:

The driver navigates the auto like it's a tiny tricycle in the middle of heavy traffic (and you can't hear anything else but your heart exploding in your ears).
Autos can really ride bumper (read: auto's nose) to bumper (read: butt of the vehicle in front)... And if I was the 'sitting duck' inside the auto, I would close my eyes, feeling like I'm underneath that 'butt', and hoping that the driver wouldn't drive so close.
The ride is normally bumpy. When I was pregnant, I thought I needn't have to wait all of 9 months and bother going to the hospital - what with all those jerks, the baby would have jumped out anyway bawling "what the hell"! (Would the baby then get auto-citizenship and a free ride for the rest of her life?! Well, I would have refused it, considering the ride in an auto is a rather unpleasant one!)
There's more, but I realize that this post is getting longer than I'd expected, and as usual, I'm losing my patience.

And did I tell you, I once went walking all the way to my friend's house for lunch, bcoz I didn't have the patience to wait for an auto! That was quite a distance to cover on foot, especially for someone who doesn't normally walk even if it's a place just walking-distance away!

But mind you, if there's an emergency, none of the autos seem to stop for you, inspite of putting your hand out, your belly out or your whole self in the middle of the road, risking your life...all for a funny ride in a funny looking auto!

While we're still dwelling on the subject of "auto" here's something funny:
When I was in Bombay I had to depend on the local trains and autos to take me to office and back. In autos out there, there normally is a small message written in the passenger area in hindi which reads - 'Fuck-the theen pravasi' ('th' as in thirst), meaning, 'Only three passengers' in marathi, and on partial translation means something different all together! F*** the you-know-who! OMG!!

Okay, Big Brother. You First.

2009-10-13T22:15:00.000+05:30

He is big. He sports a rather gory shade of outfit and wears an ominous look that instantly spells danger. His usual garb - red complemented with cream or white. He maybe rash and reckless in his ways, but accommodates anybody who would dangle the thumb pointing upwards or put a hand out amicably.

Big brother would chase you around town, breathe down your neck, hoot behind your back, is always in a tearing hurry, goes many places on business, prefers to stick to his schedule and doesn’t care a damn of what his impatience would cost others. He wouldn’t mind scraping his butt against anything that came his way.

The cops don’t frighten him. The thugs neither. He was arrogant down to the letter t. Doesn’t let go of a challenge easily. And he seems to be forever on the run. Sometimes, we come close to having a brush, but I’m usually the one to let go. Until I see the tiny speck fade out into the distance, I pull up, take a few breaths, regain my composure, and set out to wherever it is that I was headed.

And yet, it seemed like a million people depended on him. In spite of all his erroneous ways. So big brother he stays. And he always gets to go ahead of me. I do not begrudge him, rather keep a safe distance.

He tried to give me a chase today. I was glad he was stopped by those amicable people who put out their hands for a ride. I honked twice to express my glee as I overtook him. He didn’t get a chance to get back at me, for I was home, safe from the clutches of the big bad brother of all roads in Kerala – abhi ‘bus’ kar bhai!

Bled to death…err…life!

2009-10-07T17:14:00.000+05:30

It was well planned. The first time over, it had worked. They were confident it would work this time as well. They calculated the day they would do it, prayed and tried to keep calm, not wanting to leave anything to chance.

The day came and went. The countdown began. She had a gut-feeling it had worked. 30 days henceforth, they thought they’ll check. They were elated. On Cloud 9. They couldn’t contain the joy. But they weren’t all too sure.

They rushed to the hospital, pregnant with hope. The doc didn’t confirm it. Said “50-50...It could be ectopic. Come back 2 weeks later”. They were confused, but decided to wait patiently. It was only a matter of 2 weeks. They went again. This time it was confirmed. Their joy knew no bounds. They rejoiced. Shared the news with their child who had been feeling lonely all along and was eagerly waiting for some company. She was euphoric.

The first month went by. The doc seemed to carry some sort of resentment. Her face was always grim. And she always sounded negative. When she was shown an ultrasound report, she read “no foetal heart flicker was noticed” and went on to say that maybe because it was too early to notice, when the report actually said “foetal heart flicker was noticed”.

The lady had some bleeding (which started in the second month), so she was already worried. And to make matters worse, she had to deal with a doc who was driving her to the edge of her seat. The doc scheduled a visit a fortnight later, to do a second ultrasound.

They got there on time. The ultrasound was done. The radiologist said there was a huge subcutaneous clot and that the doc would advise what would be best. The doc (with her usual grim expression) declared that the chances of survival were slim. And asked the gentleman “Are you sure you want to proceed with it. Maybe we can wait a month more and then go for abortion.” They were furious. The doc must have been out of her mind to think they would actually want to abort when everything was planned well in advance. That was the last visit they paid to that doc.

The bleeding continued. The lady was confident though, because she had spotting during the first trimester of her first pregnancy, in spite of which she went on to have a normal pregnancy and delivery. She continued to go to work as usual. One day, the bleeding was heavy. She confided to one of her colleagues. Her colleague was disturbed. Wanted to rush her to the hospital right away. That got her thinking. She called her husband and they fixed an appointment with another gynaec later that evening.

They went to the hospital. The gynaec seemed friendly enough, in stark contrast to the other doc. She asked the usual questions and all seemed fine until…the lady revealed that she had some bleeding and that even in her previous pregnancy she had spotting in her first trimester. The doc said she wanted to check. Then she yelled at the husband, “how could you let your wife go to work when she’s bleeding like this? Get an ultrasound done immediately!” Now they were seriously worried. They rushed. There was a long wait. Eventually, the lady’s turn came and she went in. The gentleman’s heart was beating loud, so loud he was almost going deaf with the noise. The radiologist seemed friendly too. Calmly explained that there was a huge subcutaneous clot, but the foetus was doing ok. That was some relief. They rushed back to see the doc. The doc said “get admitted to the hospital right away!”

Horror struck (the lady hated hospitals!), she begged and pleaded with the doc that she would take complete bed rest if allowed to go home. The doc said a flat no. She insisted that the lady get admitted if she wanted the baby. 4 days lying on the bed, with IV plugged to her vein. It was awful. The gentleman was the bystander, so he missed work too. The day she was discharged, she felt better, as if, she was let out of prison. And that was the last time she saw this doc too.

There was a gynaec who was her neighbour. When the lady casually mentioned to her, her situation, the doc took a look at the ultrasound reports and advised that she drop in to her clinic some time for a quick check up. This doc discussed everything, why, what and how, so the lady was comfortable and decided to stick.

The months rolled by. The bleeding continued. There were self-administered injections and medicines (the so-called “blood clotters”), but no respite. All along, there was just one saving grace. The foetus was holding up fine. In the 9th month, they knew it was a girl baby, did some quick shopping and waited for the d-day. The lady continued to go to work. No hard labour. Just some light deskwork. She ambled in and ambled out.

One Sunday night (a week before her due date), she felt a funny pain in her abdomen. She couldn’t sleep the whole night. She couldn’t roll over either, because of her full blown tummy. She tried all positions, finally she sat up. In the morning, she told her hubby about the pain. They went to the doc, who lived just a couple of floors down their apartment. The doc checked. Said the lady was ready to deliver any time now. They went to the hospital.

In a few hours, the precious little baby came out. Normal delivery. Healthy baby. The lady and gentleman thanked God, their doctor and everybody else who supported them. At the end of a grueling 9 months journey, it was a happy ending after all!

Survivor's Guide

2009-10-06T18:59:00.000+05:30

Sometimes it takes a bit more than smart copy and hard work to keep your job and move up the ladder. Here are a few tips:
1. No cliches or jargons please - Do not follow the conventions or what others have set to follow, per se.
2. Use 'polished' terms or words that add that extra 'finesse' to whatever it is that you are doing [eg: Say 'Approach Note' instead of 'Plan'; 'Concept' instead of 'Idea']
3. When you present something, package it differently, better still, add a flourish [Whether it is verbal or written] - Eg. For a logo demo, include a rationale and put it up as a powerpoint presentation; When you come up with a brand name, put on an accent (anglicized) - it makes it sound good.

More tips coming soon....

The fine line

2009-09-29T16:41:00.000+05:30

There's a very fine line between sanity and insanity. More often than not, we tend to cross-over this "fine" line, pushing ourselves to the limit, under the pretext of keeping our sanity intact. Here's how...

1. Blah, blah. Talk nonsense.
2. Deviate drastically from the original topic of conversation.
3. Think "I am the best" and find everybody else silly.
4. Pass judgement on every Tom, Dick and Harry. Because "I" am the final authority!
5. Work smart. Take a break when you think you can hear that "creaking" sound from upstairs
6. Drink tea that is overdosed with sugar and sucks. But drink it anyways, so you can crib about it.

Notes to Myself

2004-12-04T20:04:00.000+05:30

What is more important to you?
The world or its way...
Both or neither...?

The flow is seemingly endless
It never comes to a halt
Unless of course you stop to think
Where exactly you are headed
Irony is, you have no time to think
So how do you get to know where you're going?

Listen...take your time...but listen all the same
Don't let the world or its ways decide things for you
You live your life however you please
Because you can never please all at once

Sure you need to make a few compromises
As a social animal, we're left with no better alternative
But that doesn't make you a puppet
Nor does it compel you to live life to please others
I would say...live life to please yourself
And I bet, that would be more hard on you than you think!

LIFE IS HARSH
ANYWAY YOU LOOK AT IT
IT COMES BACK FULL CIRCLE!

Between Motherhood & Career

2004-09-28T13:35:00.000+05:30

Torn between motherhood & career, I am today a mere woman, with emotions tucked safely in my garage and sensibilities driving away in the car i never did own. The past was never really ceremonious. My future seems more a dream than ever. My present is a stark reality. So what do I do?