A State Of Well-Being Saturday, Nov 14 2009

What a happy Saturday it was. After many many weekends – though for me a weekend and a weekday are only marginally different since the spouse carries all of the weight of gathering the nuts.

It started with my not waking up to my alarm (since I didn’t set any) after a decently early night (11 pm). Of course, I did wake up a couple of times to little p’s crying, but all in all, I got up from bed when I just couldn’t stay in any longer – at about 7.30 am. I usually hit the sack at midnight, read for half an hour, then try to sleep and am up at 6.20 am all groggy eyed and mostly do not get to have any rest through the day till the following midnight. Getting adequate sleep is so all important. I was so refreshed that first thing in the morning, I tackled some long pending cleaning and putting away which I had been totally avoiding for the past two weeks. And it was icing on the cake that husband dear pitched in.

Then there was little p. She slept till 9 (my theory: the week after any vaccination she behaves slightly differently than other times – sleeps more, eats a bit less, is a teeny-weeny bit less active) – which gave me time to finish all the morning stuff, enlist better half’s help for lunch preparation and take a bath before I had to be at her service.

I have been trying to get little p to start on toilet learning for about two weeks now – though actually, I can say that I started only a week ago since I had made some tactical errors which made progress well-nigh impossible. After a couple of disgusting accidents in the first two days (one of which was my fault for being on a call at the wrong moment), she has been responding beautifully to the incentive strategy so much so that the incentives have already dried out and the training seems to have remained. Of course, it is early days yet, and she is far from fully trained and safe, but the success rate has been a lot higher than I had anticipated. We don’t really have accidents – and though she has asked to go on her own initiative very few times, I do the asking at appropriate times and she obliges by peeing then and not in her pants. She also lets me know by actions when a big job needs to be taken care of. This is far more than I had hoped for in the first week. To top it all, in the last 2 days, she has turned in dry diapers after a night’s sleep, after a 4 hour outing, after an afternoon sleep and after a 3 hour and 1 hour outing. Which means that what is being produced is hitting the pot alone most of the time. I am aware that this rate may not continue and there will be accidents and some setbacks – but nothing can take away from the pleasure of an accident free day and evidence of a bladder stronger than mine apparently. Touch wood.

We went out this morning to buy some sundry knickknacks – shoes for little p for a winter trip to north, a couple of towels etc. We happened to step into Bata, a shop about which I have written in an earlier post, since I almost always want to look in when out buying footwear for anyone. What we saw for little p wasn’t quite there – and the better half in the meanwhile looked around. He soon found some black canvas shoes for himself ideal for our daily outing to the park and other nearby places. It cost Rs. 250/-. At that unbelievable price, it would have been a more hard-hearted fellow who would not have bought them. He soon found me similar shoes which were Rs. 199/- and we both happily stared at our feet while trying them on. We walked out of the shop with a bag – though we had come with no intention to buy anything for ourselves. Little p’s shoes were bought at another shop costing more than either of our shoes. Just the joy of having bought inexpensive things is hard to contain. And this run of ours continued for a while in the next shop we went to also.

Little p spied some balls hanging outside a shop – and as is her habit started chanting ball, ball, ball, ball – umpteen times. Even  a couple of times is enough to melt her indulgent dad and off he went to the shop amid protests from me, to buy a ball. I soon gave in when I found that a ball of decent size cost Rs. 30/-. Obviously not great quality – but not bad either. I also spied a set of garish looking plastic mobile phones hanging inside and asked the price. Rs. 25/-, I was told. These were flip open phones with a picture of a Barbie kind of doll and the phrase “Benign Girl” written on them. No prizes for guess which country produced them.  They played a disgusting sound-track when the buttons were pushed and light up a little antenna. There was a cord to hang it around the neck of a child. It was a sure shot purchase and we left the shop with very little out but lots in.

All through the way little p kept dialling someone’s number and talking to them. “ello, ello? ello thati” (hello, hello, hello paati) she kept going and laughing a little each time the phone would say a hello or play its song or light up. She also wanted to keep a tight hold of the ball at the same time. She looked so adorable with the phone in her ear and a smile on her face that our hearts warmed and we smiled so much that our jaws were aching by the time we reached home. Sometimes so much joy can be had for so little money.

Then after dinner little p watched half an hour of Barnie and his friends on TV (thanks to her Dad) – which must be the only thing anyone can watch standing up and dancing instead of passively sitting on a couch. While Barnie introduced various farm animals with lilting kid-friendly songs, an excited p ran up and down excitedly telling us what is being shown next – Maiii (goat), Bowww, Daaaaji (dog) and so on. She was probably more tired after watching TV than before for all the activity it afforded her. Made her tired enough to sleep off at bed time.

The day ended with little p and I making a pink and blue butterfly (which she calls a bee), a star (or a taa in p-parlance), and a face (mama or uncle as per p). with play doh and her dad reading out interesting titbits from a nutrition book he is currently crunching through.

Sigh…the state of well-being is hard to achieve but once it is here, it is like a warm hug.

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Happy Birthday, Dear Little p Saturday, Nov 7 2009

p turns 2 today!!! It is unbelievable that the ugly little thing the doctor showed me many moons ago is now a bona-fide pre-schooler – and not bad-looking either! (At least the baby center mails have said that they will call little p pre-schooler from now on. No more toddler for her. She toddles along just fine, thank you.)

What an eventful couple of years we spent p, my better half and I – with happiness, depression, joy, sadness, pride, embarrassment, worry, laughter, tears, anger, sympathy – all in equal measure. Truly having a child to bring up makes you really live through your emotions – no more vegetating in limbo – because you feel like it.

Yesterday, after another chaotic and accident filled morning with my newly started project (toilet learning), I was asking my mom today why do we ever have children when they give us so much trouble.

I know the answer to that one.

Because they make us come truly alive.

p in these two years has developed from an inert being interested only in feeding and sleeping to one who was keen on eating sitting up and crawling to one who stood up and walked and now only runs most of the time – to blabbering to almost talking to saying words clearly and picking up new ones each day to actively playing with her friends, her toys, her puzzles and is now the most cheerful and happy child anybody could wish to have. Of course, she is 2 with all the tantrums just beginning albeit at a reasonable level so far – but what the heck – why should she not get her due as any 2-year-old does. She will start school in a couple of months and then starts another important phase of her life.

For her birthday party later today, we have decorated the living room with balloons and streamers. We have also blown scores of smaller balloons for her and her friends to play with. An inflatable swimming pool has been set up to serve as a mini play zone. Her gift – a magic slate has been nicely gift wrapped with a bow (a word she has picked up recently) on top. Return gifts for her friends have been organized. She will wear new clothes in the morning – bought by her parents after careful selection. And for the party, her most dhinchak clothes – a gift from someone. If she doesn’t wear it today, I am never likely to take it out.

The menu for the kids has been finalized. It will be home made stuffed paneer tikka, mini medu vada, sweet chutney, mini pinwheel sanwiches (if I can possibly pull it off) and cake. To drink, there will be peach dream – again home-made – a concoction of peaches, orange squash and vanilla ice cream. And the cake will be black forest – certainly not home-made – little p will get her first taste of chocolate finally at the ripe old age of 2.   The cake will have a 2 written in as large a font as the size of the cake allows – it is the one number that little p knows and says frequently. The adults will get something to eat as well – but none of it will be home-made, sorry. The focus is only on p and her pals. And I hope she has a blast.

Happy Birthday my darling. May you live to be a 100. And may your kids give you as tough a time as you sometimes give me!!

And also the sheer joy that you always give me.

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Birthday Anxiety Saturday, Oct 31 2009

Yes, you don’t need to remind me that I have expounded enough on the subject in previous blogs (Happy Birthday and The Mother of All Birthday Parties) as well as in person at every opportunity I get. However, I can’t be blamed. It’s the birthday season. At least at my home.

Mine was last month. I am nearly at the top of the hill – soon to start the descent. I thought it only fitting that I should celebrate it with a bang. I did. One day before the D Day,I dunked my mobile phone into a pot full of dirty water at the sink (as in it popped out of my pocket since it hadn’t been fully put in) and one day after the day I realized that the credit card that I use most often was in fact, not in my wallet any more. Of course, I spent the night before and the night after my birthday in scurrying here and there trying to dry my phone, borrow a phone from an all-suffering neighbour-friend to receive the rush of birthday calls I was sure to get and then cancelling my card, asking for a new one, paying some amount for it and so on.

The birthday itself was fairly nice. Little p was dressed in pavadai though she didn’t realize it was my birthday or anything. We all went to a temple. On our way back we stopped at the photographer’s for passport photos of the little one for school forms (unbelievable then). She co-operated beautiful – like she mostly does. Lunch was at Mom’s – so i didn’t have to cook and dinner was out with all the family – so I didn’t have to cook again. I was given clothes by my parents and better half – all of which I had chosen. So there were no surprises. What I didn’t get were flowers or cake, my better half being a unique person who prefers not to buy plucked flowers unless they are to be offered to the lord or to spend 500 or more bucks on a cake which will be consumed by just two and half people and will be refrigerated for the better part of a week or even more. I was ok with the flowers. But the cake would have been a lovely surprise. Anyway I was turning 34. No sense in being nit picky.

I remember when we were first seeing each other, the gifts I bought for my to-be better half’s birthday were all wrong. A soft toy (he was not the type and truth be told I wasn’t either – I just wanted to be the type I guess), a large bar of chocolate( this I had thought could not go wrong – however, chocolates brought on a migraine for him), a reclining Ganesha – a very unusual looking one (he does not really hold Ganesha in much awe – who is also sadly over marketed. I mean I have seen Ganesha statues sitting and typing on a laptop, one getting ready to tee off with a golf club and so on). It was only when I bought a couple of plants and a watering spray did I seem to do the right thing. He loved those gifts. Since then, year has followed year and most of the gifts I have bought for him have been wrong whether I choose them or he does. A palm pilot, which was wasn’t convenient to enough to use, an i-mate mobile phone which was a battery guzzler as well as too bulky to keep in his pocket and so on the list goes. This year I got smart. I bought him a shirt which I liked in a style that he usually wore, but a brand which he would have dismissed as being too expensive for casual wear. He loved it. He wears it. Phew. (Needless to add he knows exactly what to buy for me each year. Maybe I am easy to please – but more likely he is a very good shopper.)

So anticipation of birthdays always brings a sense of trepidation, a few pitter patters in the heart region. You want to surprise the person – yet you don’t know what they need, what they want, whether to buy what they need or what they want, how they will like what you bought for them and so on. You want to take them out for dinner yet, you feel they may like it if you make the effort to make a special dinner at home for them. You want to do a small cake cutting, but don’t know how it may be welcomed – or not welcomed. For kids it is even tougher – to do a party or not, call her friends or yours who have kids or both? Big crowd or small – let’s face it adults take up precious running around space of kids. Fancy clothes or hardy clothes for the birthday child? Personalized or at least age appropriate return gifts or general stuff? What about a birthday gift since she is hardly old enough to know what a birthday gift is?

Little p turns 2 next Saturday and I am in a state of jitters just thinking about it. Right now, I am only thinking about food though. I like to make some snacks at home at least for the little tykes – something not totally high on salt or sugar or fried but at least partly nutritious and still tasty. But this year I seem to be unable to come up with any good ideas. A couple of trials of some finger foods have come out disastrously. Despite the fact that I have help from a couple of friends from the Park Mom’s group. Anyway they were deep-fried and the question is – Is home-made junk better in any way than that bought in a shop? I managed fine last year with a couple of sandwiches with interesting fillings – which were difficult to be classified as junk, but this year I have almost decided to buy something off a shop.  Which is not the end of the world – but it really is hard for me to see kids eating junk under my roof. At least I can probably make some interesting juice and fruit custard to offset the other junk I’ll dish up.

Anyway, what I am planning is to just relax and chill – decorate the place with lots of balloons which are my little p’s very favourite, provide the best possible fare but not too elaborate – nobody wants much food at tea time – and watch the kids have fun since most of them are little p’s friends. P is turning 2 already! It seems like yesterday when I spent a lonely night at the hospital waiting for her to arrive. Time does fly. And birthdays loom large.

Should I just google a bit for more recipes? There is some time left…

Sigh. Birthdays.

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Total Disappointment Friday, Oct 30 2009

This is a mall review. Uninterested parties may skip. Meant purely to vent as well as hope that some well-meaning soul at Total Mall will read this, take note and do something.

For the past several months I have zeroed in on Total Mall for all my monthly grocery needs. I have managed to make a system such that I buy groceries once a month in the first week and then buy just fresh produce every week or as required. The prices are usually pretty good – there are several deals and discounts, there is parking and everything is available under one single roof. There is even pulses, rice. wheat etc. available loose like they sell in local kirana shops – the prices of these are particularly low and the quality is also usually ok. Of course, there is always a bit of chaff or other pulses mixed – but in very small quantity. So Total it was. Month after month after month. Lately I am not so sure. Either I have been chosen as the unlucky person who has had problems with them or their service has deteriorated immensely. Let me explain.

A couple of months ago I bought pulses as I usually do. But the cooked dish emanated some unpleasant odour. I thought it was a suspect coconut in the dish and promptly emptied it down the garbage bin along with the coconut. However, another dish using both tamarind and toor dal was made the next day and the same smell emanated. When I opened the jars of both to smell them, it was immediately clear that toor dal was the culprit. It had probably become wet and then was dried or some rat must have done some unmentionable activities in the dal – whatever, the stench was fairly unbearable. I had to literally go out and buy another kilo from a nearby shop, since this dal is the main ingredient in most of the dishes we make, prices notwithstanding. Now I am unsure of where to take it back, whether to do so or just simmer at home. I had clearly been had.

Then last month I bought all my regular stuff (I hadn’t opened the toor dal from the previous month – so I went again). I was billing when the girl doing my bill was busy making plans for lunch with a chap standing nearby who was not in uniform and so I assume not an employee. They were discussing what to order, when to do it, where they will eat, who will pay and also exchanging some money. All talk was in Tamil in the mistaken belief that I was unfamiliar with the tongue. But all this was really slowing my billing – and I usually have very cut to cut schedules. My little p’s lunch time was fast approaching and my stomach had started growling and this girl was taking all the time in the world to finish my billing. I finally asked her to hurry up. The person bagging also finished and i reached home to my daughter and lunch. After putting her to bed, I came out to look for the pack which had diapers – to find it missing. It slowly dawned on me that one whole bag of mine was missing which had 5 packs of 28 diapers each (these are huge), a big Henko washing powder box etc.

I called Total in panic – after all the bag had things worth 2k out of the 3k that I had spent – and was told after some delay and a few checks that my bag was at the help desk and I could come and collect it. Clearly, the bagger had forgotten to put it in my cart. I guess I should have known that with all the distractions they are bound to make a mistake. I went trudging back the following day and fortunately got my stuff. But how could such an error happen? It was a very large bag. I guess I should have also kept an eagle eye on it. But when I have bought about 55 items, it is tough to keep track of all of them.

Yesterday, I went to a different Total since this was on the way back from my daughter’s school-to-be. As usual I shopped for the month and bought a few extra things. When I went to collect the free items, I was handed a couple of sachets of Cif cream. I asked about some wipes I had been promised with a toilet roll and I was informed that it was in the pack itself. In fact the roll was sold to me by citing this offer of free wipes worth Rs. 25/-. However, I got home to find no wipes anywhere. I could not obviously go back, spending petrol money and time and effort for Rs. 25/- wipes, but the feeling of being unnecessarily cheated due to carelessness and inefficiency has not gone.

To top it all, I opened my packs to find the naphthalene balls that I had bought packed in with the cooking oil, pulses (which I bought in sealed packets this time) etc. Any basic bagger knows that non-food items are bagged separately for hygiene reasons. And this was plain toxic. I was shocked at their carelessness!

Then there are the visits to the toilet. I usually avoid visiting the toilet in Total ever since I first stepped in one over a year ago. It had 3 toilets, 2 were functioning and there were 6 housekeeping people sitting inside doing nothing but watching people come and go. They were reasonably clean then. Lately, most of the sensor taps don’t work, there is never any soap, toilet rolls or paper towels, the hand dryer does not work and at least one or two of the toilets are not operational at any given time. This is surprising given that these days almost all malls invest in public conveniences at the very least. What really disgusted me was when I went into the loo most reluctantly yesterday to wash my hands prior to feeding my kid there were a couple housekeeping ladies sitting in one corner. When I asked for soap, they said there was none. When I used my own  paper soap and tried to use a tap, they watched the fun for a few seconds before informing me that only the middle tap worked. The middle tap was distinguished  by the fact that there was a large water (I hope) puddle bang in front of it. I stood on my toes in the middle of the puddle and washed my hands and scurried off hoping I will not slip and fall. Thank the Lord I did not. But the apathy of the people on duty was really appalling. Maybe they were not on duty…maybe it was their lunch break. But whatever, someone should be looking at these things all the time. Or is that too much to expect?

All in all I am totally disappointed and disenchanted with my decision to make Total my shopping destination each month. Will I go back? I am not sure. Maybe I won’t. Or maybe I will due to force of habit. But if I do, I’ll make sure that I have an extra pair of eyes, ears, nose and a very strong bladder.

 

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I just can’t keep up Friday, Oct 9 2009

They say that in the first few years of their lives, children grow mentally and physically at unbelievable rates. I am finding out every day. In an earlier post I had mentioned that Little p had started actually saying clear words at 22 months – I remember even counting some 20 or so and feeling very happy and proud. But now, she is in an amazing phase of life. About 3 new words a day that we can understand and despite being a stay at home mom, even I am missing a few of them when they come out. Life’s a roller coaster with her.

In the last month she has got moooom (moon), aau (alu – as in potato), oass (oats – her evening snack), neeeeee (nai – that is ghee in Tamil – which is requested with every meal risking high cholesterol), shee you (to be followed after bye), b’bye (as a variation), chacha (her uncle), chachi (his wife – her aunt), taar (star), meeaam (a cat’s meow), maaiin (a goat’s plaintive cry – and she does sound very plaintive), aathi (hindi for elephant), aamay (aamai – tortoise in Tamil), aanni (aanai – elephant in Tamil), orse (horse), veena (vendam – don’t want), doocha (dosa or even roti or anything resembling dosa) – this becomes a chant at breakfast time – doo-cha, doo-cha, doo-cha , thanni (water – this i haven’t yet heard – S of the B&B fame said little p asked for water on two successive days at her place by pointing and using this word, opfice (office – where her dad has gone when she can’t find him on waking up in the mornings, also something I haven’t yet heard first hand but had it reported by the better half), paati (grandmom – long awaited by both her grand moms.), daagy or daady(doggy – after months of saying bhoo at every given opportunity), poooo (flower in Tamil), daaas (dance – which she loves to practice with or without music) – and I am sure there are many that I am forgetting.

She has also started getting a few concepts – like realizing when something is spicy. She says “kaalal” (kaaram – meaning hot, as in spicy hot) in a very sorry tone when I give her something that is more spicy than she can handle. Something else that I’ve noticed she’s understood now is the concept of you do this, then we can do that. First eat,  then we can watch TV – not only does she understand this unlike days of yore when it would have sounded like a simple no to her, but she also remembers that this was promised to her and comes running out of the bathroom after washing her hands post dinner and sits down in her favourite chair ready for her treat. .

She can now give an actual kissie on our cheek apart from a flying kissie. She has also got the hang of singing along  - well not really the proper words but she knows  that one sentence follows the next and then it all ends in a particular chorus. Like “The ants were marching one by one, hurrah, hurrah, the ants were marching one by one and a little one stopped to suck his thumb, and the ants went down into the ground to get out of the rain, boom boom boom”. She will use all sorts of made up words to sing this while marching with just one leg – guess she can’t co-ordinate both yet – not for marching anyway – and ends with ‘mum, mum, mum’ (boom boom boom). So I am guessing she is trying to copy the song. She even sang this song all the way to the park the day she understood how a song goes.

Then today at dinner, when she was halfway done, she looked at me and shook her finger and said “no”. We haven’t really used the word too often unless she is doing something which could be dangerous for her – like pulling a mug filled with hot tea from the kitchen counter. And that hasn’t happened in some time. So I wonder how she suddenly remembered to shake her finger at me and say no. Then recently when she pointed to a tin of biscuits just before her lunch, my mom said no! in a very firm tone. Little p sometimes imagines that biscuits are called no – and now points to the tin and says no! no! assuming we will understand better what she is asking for.

What a remarkable, fulfilling and joyous phase of childhood this is! I am loving it (to borrow a line from an old client of mine).

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A Class Apart Tuesday, Sep 22 2009

I think I must soon get back to writing funny posts – or at least informative ones – in which my readers can get an idea of what’s going on – a sort of mail that conveys all happenings. But for this post I’ll stick as usual to a train of thought that recurs time and again in my mind in a period of time – just like most of my posts.

It all began with tea-cups.

But I am getting ahead of myself here. Let me go back to the start. We are getting our house renovated – actually building new wardrobes and earmarking a room for little p in the precious little space we have. Needless to add, it is a headache in so many ways – the head carpenter cum contractor did not show up for the first few days, he then showed up with one other carpenter, everything moved slowly, time was lost in a day of power cut, festivals, physiological needs (like eating at 5.45pm to break a day long fast) and hence work for the day getting over early, the deadline for a room approaching nearer due to the start of a big festival – and the workers then staying on till midnight, even 1 am on one day to finish the job, phew. The list is endless. And through it all someone has to be home all the time – so no more running errands or going for a walk or an outing without scheduling someone else to be at home. Added to this the complication of a two year old running around in all the mess who had to be transported several times a day to her alter home – her grandparents’ place so she could eat or sleep in peace.

In all this, my very generous spouse offered tea several times to all the workmen. It is a nice offer – and I must appreciate his generosity in this aspect. But my feeling in the matter was that unless it is after 10pm or something, tea is always available in the shops downstairs. It is a nice break for them and they go and come as they please. Also, except in some cases, I was the one making 5 cups of tea. Should I really be cribbing about making a bit of tea when there are so many other problems the world is facing? Maybe not.

But the main problem in my mind was what to give it in. The spouse solved it on one of the earlier tea making sessions that he handled in my absence. He gave them tea in our best china cups. Our only china cups. They are actually very nice and I have always felt sorry that I have only 4 – I wish the friend who gifted them to us as we were leaving to come back to India would have splurged on 2 more. Sadly, that was not to be. So I proudly get out the cups and saucers for really important guests and just the cup for close friends and family.

When P told me he had used those cups (what else could he have used – there were no others, he asked justifiably. Glasses?, I asked.) – I was a bit dismayed. Could I now use the same cups, albeit washed thoroughly, for my other guests? I mean for people who are our “class”? I sounded snobbish and mean even in my thoughts to myself. So i continued giving them tea in those cups only for the duration of the work before the eid holidays. But I could shake the feeling that I will now feel guilty about using those cups for my friends and family.

Why? Well – largely a hygiene issue I think. The different hygeine habits of labourers, carpenters, other religions also perhaps – do they brush everyday, they chew gutka, they eat betel leaves and spit everywhere and always have vermillion coloured lips and teeth, do they have a bath everyday? I thought about a similar experience when I was young and we had some remodelling work done at our place and my Mom did have a set of glasses we never used to give the labourers water and tea. Even the lady who came to pick up the garbage, called jamadarni in the north ( I hope this doesn’t hurt class sentiments) – had a specific jamadarni glass to give water in when she asked which we never drank from.

I wondered if it was a religion issue – I am almost sure it isn’t. This “them and us” is a bit unnerving. You like to believe that you are a modern, liberal, open minded soul – but scratch the surface and there lurks a very non-inclusive, parochial, snobbish person. Oh – I am quite familiar with the workers – talk to some of them, ask them questions not always relating to work, share stories from my life as is relevant in a conversation. But I guess I must be all the things I described above too.   So, while I paid for, spent time and effort, in taking my maid to the doctor when she contracted typhoid recently, I was wary of her and her mom sitting in my car on the way to the doctor – and wondered for many days if my car is not stinking more than normal. And felt totally guilty for it.

I think I need the course in diversity and inclusiveness that the spouse’s work place offers to their employees mandatorily.

But what I got was new tea-cups. A complete new set of six cups.

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Pelham Grenville Wodehouse Tuesday, Aug 25 2009

A Whitney Houston song springs to mind as soon as I think of PG Wodehouse (he hated his full name by the way and never used it if he could help it) – though it was sung in a different context – Oh What a man, what a man, what a man! How could someone write like he did is what I wonder about most. Not that I started out that way.

From early childhood I had watched my much older siblings (one sister, one brother), immersed in books – mostly fiction. At that point I was still reading only Chandamama and Target. They bought an early Enid Blyton for me in the hope that i would start reading books – but I was too late for the Secret Seven variety and too early for the Famous Five or Five Findouters. Also I took one look at the book and proclaimed loudly,” I can never read these kind of books – there are no pictures! It looks so boring!” I was all of 6 years old I think. Famous last words.

I guess why I eventually started was that there were just so many books lying around at home – in a coveted book shelf lovingly covered, indexed, audited regularly and maintained by my brother mainly but also my sister because it was both of them with their precious Rs10 per month pocket money who used to buy second hand but in good condition books from street shops.

So well – Enid Blyton happened – Malory Towers, The Twins at St. Clares’, Famous Five, Five Findouters, Alfred Hitchcock’s Three Investigators, Trixie Belden and what not. When I was 13 my siblings decided that the time was right for a PG Wodehouse. I was give Leave it to Psmith to read. After watching me read for 5 minutes, my brother took away the book. He said, “If you haven’t cracked even a single smile after reading the first 3 paragraphs of the book, clearly you are not ready for PG Wodehouse. ” Chagrined as I was at his judgement, I decided to go with it for the time being. I guess I was pretty easy going then.

A couple of years later I decided to try PG W again. And this time, I not only cracked several smiles,  I guffawed my way through the book while my sibs cheered me on with thumping approval. I had arrived – both to the happy world of PGW and also in the eyes of my dear sis and bro.

Through the following years, after having finished many of the PGW books that we owned, I didn’t go back to him again for several years. In fact, more than 15 years passed by and I recently picked up a couple and read them through my convalescence from chicken pox. It kept me in good humor and away from dark depression throughout the week – there wasn’t any way I could be low when I was laughing so much! How can a man have written like that, was what I went back to wondering almost immediately.

I mean, sample this – “An empty aunt can’t possibly beam like a full aunt.” This, from Bertie Wooster, whose aunt fails to greet him cheerfully since on his advice she starves herself at dinner so that her husband is sorry for her and forgives her for overspending at some casino on a recent holiday. Then there is “I have no doubt you could have flung bricks by the hour in England’s most populated districts without endangering the safety of a single girl capable of becoming Mrs. Augustus Fink-Nottle without an anaesthetic.” Also “An eerie silence seemed to envelope the room like a linseed poultice”.  ”She couldn’t have given me a better cue. She had handed it to me on a plate with watercress round it”

Much can be written about this author – as has already been by numerous critics and authors. But this whole post has been written just for the pleasure of transcribing this paragraph from Plum Pie for PG Wodehouse lovers. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. It goes like this.

The impression left on the mind when one reads in the papers of the local rules and regulations in force all over the country is that life in America can be very difficult. Almost every avenue to wholesome fun seems to be barred. In Rumford, Maine, for instance, it is illegal for a tenant to bite his landlord, while in Youngstown, Ohio, stiff sentences are passed on those who tie giraffes to light standards. In Nogales, Arizona, there is an ordinance prohibiting the wearing of braces; in San Francisco one which won’t let you shoot jack rabbits from cable cars; and in Dunn, South Carolina, unless you have the permission of the headmistress, a permission very sparingly granted, it is unlawful to ‘act in an obnoxious manner on the campus of a girls’ school’.

You hardly know where where to live in America these days, especially if you are a woman. Go to Owensboro, Kentucky, and you get arrested for buying a new hat without having your husband try it on first, while if you decide on Carmel, California, you find that you are not allowed to take a bath in a business office, the one thing all women want to do on settling down in a new community. For men probably the spot to be avoided with greatest care is Norton, Virgina, where ‘it is illegal to tickle a girl’.

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Wordly Wise Sunday, Aug 23 2009

If you don’t know little p or know her too well, you may want to skip this post. It is long and written by a mother. So you now have fair warning.

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My little p has always been a bit quiet – but only by words, not really deed. She can quietly get into all sorts of scraps – and then scream blue murder. Her first few months were pretty silent – so much so that people who met her and spent some time with her used to say that she is a peaceful and calm child. Calm was how I would have described her right from the start – even through most of her crying bouts. So when she didn’t really say her first words at 11 or 12 or even 13 months – it was hardly a surprise. Her few words were all in her own p-tongue – details are in Darling p – an earlier post.

Then one  night in her 14th month, as was my custom from the time she turned a year old, I was asking her to repeat some random words – appa thatha (Dad, Granddad) – thinking that these would be easy on the tongue and also I could hardly immodestly teach her to say amma (Mom), ahead of Appa. She suddenly broke out and said – Aththa, Thatha, Aththa Thatha…and repeated it several times – probably glad about having spoken something which Mom and Dad understood and ecstatic about their reaction to her first words. That night she found it hard to go to sleep – the urge to keep repeating her precious words and then laughing with me kept her awake long past her usual bedtime.

However, our joy was short lived. She soon relapsed to her old ways and her lodilodilodi came back as did a  whole new vocabulary of p-tongue. As the weeks passed by, she became more and more communicative and could give  complex instructions in point language (where she would point at something accompanied by an indeterminate sound – uhnnnn.) She could also follow almost any multi-step instructions too without much trouble. Of course, this was only if she wanted to. Long sentences would be uttered by her – and not a word we would get.

Now finally in her 22nd month – starting from a couple of weeks ago she seems to be picking up almost a word a day. It is nothing short of miraculous and so totally entertaining and adorably cute that it has to be blogged about. Her current vocab stands as follows:

1. Bhooo – Meaning dog. This is her most favourite word and is repeated about 647 times in a day – randomly or in response to questions the answer to which is dog or when going through the animal book which has 27 four-legged animals and a few rocks resembling four legged animals – all of which are called bhoo, or when confronted by a real bhoo while going to the park and so on .  The occasion to use this word are numerous and little p makes full use of each of them.

2. Kaka – Crow and also the sound the crow makes at which time it is used in triplicate – kakaka. Any member of the avian family is usually referred to as kaka – from swan to pigeon to bat to sometimes a hat shaped like a bird etc. Of course, the several books that she has be they nursery rhymes, animals, big book of first words etc. – all have many many examples of kaka which are joyfully pointed out each time by our little p.

3. Akka – actually means big sister in tamil. But little p uses it a bit freely – for her grandmoms, maids – whatever their age might be, aunties, girls who are bigger than her, some babies and sometimes even me when stressed or in need of me urgently. So if I go into a room and she can’t see me anymore, “akkaaaaaaaa”, she will shout from wherever it is she happens to be standing at the time.

4. Amma, Appa – Mom and Dad but only used for pointing purposes. Point to mom and say “amma” very deliberately like she is actually enunciating a complex word. Similarly with appa. But when it comes to the crunch and she needs one of us it is usually the above mentioned akka or anna (big brother).

5. Thatha – meaning grandad – again used for labelling alone. As for calling either of her granddads, the occasion hasn’t arisen yet – she being a bit less comfortable with menkind than womenkind. The counterpart “paati” for grandmom, she is unable to manage so far. Akka suffices in the meanwhile.

6. Papa – Meaning baby – any small being in a pram or in their parents’ arms comes under this category.

7. Tho – meaning throw – as in throw the ball. This she learnt from a body parts book which shows the action of throwing and catching.

7. Thatch – meaning catch – as in “here catch this ball that comes onto your face”!

8. Bai – She actually means ball not really maid in Hindi – or anything spherical like a globe or a marble.

9. Paai – milk – which is actually paal – but hard consonants are a bit beyond little p yet. Even semi hard consonants.

10. Chai – or thai – meaning tea – this is her first hindi word and it has slipped in spite of our best efforts to only speak tamil with her. But she has obviously heard us talk too many times and use this word. So this comes out only when she sees a mug of some indeterminate hot beverage in our hand.

11. Shshion – taught by her paternal grandmom – a way to make pigeons fly away, accompanied by a shake of the arm. It actually works – I tried it one day! And of course pigeons and some birds are also called shion sometimes.

12. Mumumum – food – when asked should we eat mumum? how do we eat? littlep’s reply is prompt – she will smile and say mum mum mum – you can actually hear her delight at the prospect of food.

13. Anga – there – said without the hard g sound. Where is it? Anga! Pointing somewhere.

14. Aathooo – Auto – Once on our way back from park, I asked her to call the auto guy – just to distract her from asking me to pick her up. Autoo I said – and surprise surprise she immediately repeated Aathooo. Since then she has entertained one and all and even managed to flag down a couple of autos when we actually don’t want them with her aaathooo. This is by far the cutest word she says – and we are guilty of making her repeat it ad nauseum just because she says it so cutely.

15. Ca – or car for ordinary people. On occasion she has even said ammaaa when she sights my car. When further questioned as to what it is, she says, “ca”. The only drawback is that she wants to go everywhere in the ca. Even her grandmom’s house which in the next building. We just have to pass the ca and she wants to get into it and on to her seat.

16. Bye – Surprisingly this came about only a couple of days ago – most kids get this word faster. Little p wants her Dad to be out of all pictures from 9 pm onwards. If he so much as comes into the room when she is preparing to go to sleep, she will show him the door – quite literally. She will point to the door, look at Dad and say “bye” with an imperious shake of her head. If she could speak, we may well hear: “You may go now.” I wonder where she picked this one up – funny as it is, it is also pretty hurtful to Dad. Of course she also uses it with me when I come to annoy her with requests of let’s change your diaper, let’s do susu, let’s brush your teeth, let’s have breakfast etc. She will wave me bye and continue with what she was doing assuming I will now leave.

And then early this week (on 17th Aug to be precise) came – a sentence! “Amma va”, said little p, when she wanted me to come down from the upper berth in the train we were travelling in!  Meaning – “Mom, come.” Our faces wreathed in smiles we each gave her a kiss of accomplishment, while she stared quizzically at us.

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There may be some words that I have forgotten in the everyday excitement of hearing little p talk – but this gives a fair indication of the words she speaks –  so any of you who so desire may conduct an intelligent conversation with her on phone or when you next meet her. In the meanwhile, please say a little prayer for her as she recovers from a form of chicken pox not covered by her vaccine. She is on the mend now and should be out of it by mid next week by which time she may know 10 new words! Thrilling – these wonder years!

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My Experiments With T Monday, Aug 10 2009

There are two types of people in this world – some are coffee people and some are tea people. Now, for lack of any other description (or a confusing gamut of them – like milk people, orange juice people, aerated drink people etc.), I subscribe to the latter. I am tea person. Simply put, I mean that I prefer drinking tea to coffee. By no stretch of imagination do I mean that I am the kind of connoisseur (a word I can barely spell without help from the spell check) who knows several types of tea, or who drinks tea without milk, but with lemon, or with a dash of milk but no sugar, or with nothing but just the tea leaves bunged into hot water and the mixture strained out almost immediately to give a pale brandy coloured hot liquid.

So when Teasantosh came to our lives, I was hardly jumping with joy. With a name like that, he was bound to be someone who could reel off names and estates of tea like Dhirubhai Ambani is touted to have reeled off stock prices in his messenger boy days.

What happened was this – the better half got a mail from his B-school group about this new entrepreneur type who was marketing and delivering tea leaves directly from the factory at cheaper rates than what was available in the market. Not only that, he offered 10 or more different types of tea for sale. A list was enclosed and as an added incentive a sample pack with a bit of each of the 10 teas was also available for Rs.200 for trial purposes.

Of course, the better half himself is a coffee person – any time of the day or night or week or month or year. But with the noble thought of  giving Teasantosh a leg up and also in the interest of trying new and interesting things (which is his life’s motto), he suggested if perhaps we could order one all sample pack. Never one to say no to things if it is possible to say yes, I acquiesced.

Sunday dawned bright and sunny and Teasantosh delivered the pack to our house. Disappointingly, far from being a fount of knowledge about the teas he was selling, he had almost no information about them. All efforts of the better half to draw him into conversation about how the various flavours came about came to a nought. He left and we hoped that at least the teas won’t disappoint.

That evening, I picked up the pack labelled Assam Grand first. Sounded least offensive – and also least exciting. Now here I have to say that I make tea like a philistine. A lot of people like the end product, but many don’t and if any of these two groups see me make tea they will convince themselves that I will be serving ditch water to them. I first take a cup and pour one measure of milk and two measures of water in it. This makes the quantity of watery milk equal to the quantity of tea I intend to make – say one cup full or two cups etc. I pour this liquid into a pan and bring it to boil. I add a general quantity of sugar in it in the meanwhile and some tea masala if I have it in stock. I then, add tea leaves in it when it starts to boil – the same number of teaspoons as there are cups of tea to be made. I switch off the flame, wait for a couple of minutes and strain this mix into mugs – and voila! tea is ready.

This is clearly a far cry from how tea is made in cultured society – where water is boiled and taken off the flame. Then tea leaves are added and there is some wait involved while the tea brews. Milk is heated separately (if taken at all) – the tea mixture is strained into cups after a while, hot milk and sugar is added and the finished product is more often than not, a too weak or too strong  liquid of indifferent temperature. I suppose the teas that I bought from Teasantosh were to be made like this.

But I just proceeded in my usual way and replaced the regular tea leaves with Assam Grand – and lo and behold! the mixture suddenly turned sunshine orange. Convinced something must have gone horribly wrong I switched off the flame immediately. Once I strained the tea into cups I realized that this is really how they show tea on tv – it is this very sunny orangey hue. I tasted it with trepidation – it was not bad. It was tea. But an orange coloured tea. The better half showed more enthusiasm and appreciation – praising the flavour and the taste and just stopping short of the bouquet – if teas have a bouquet. Clearly, I am not the sorts to be sensitive to such matters.

The following day I tried Assam Tri-blend (and no there were not three coloured stripes which appeared in the tea  much to my disappointment) – but this was a bit yellowish orange in colour. The taste – well – it was a bit different from my regular tea – but all in all not much different from Assam Grand. Well – maybe since they are both from Assam.

I next tried Orange Pekoe. No doubt about it – if any tea should be orange in colour this should be it. As an added bonus I imagined a faint orange taste in the tea too. Well – why else would you call it Orange pekoe. So imagine my surprise when I put in a couple of spoons of orange pekoe in the boiling milk-water mix, what should happen – but…nothing! Almost no colour! Just a little muddy milky colour. I kept it on flame for far longer than usual – and finally gave up. Orange pekoe was going to look like dirty milk. And taste no better I must add – for I soon took a sip and quickly came to that conclusion..

Mummry Mix (with a name like that – the mind boggles!), Grand Hotel Tea, Royal Dust – all were tried in quick succession in the following days – all turned out to be varying types of orange tea with a bit of a flavour. One of the teas that I have not had the courage to try yet has been – chocolate mix. Never a great fan of the stuff – the thought of it being mixed with tea or some of its flavour being imparted to the tea has my stomach churning. Maybe one of these days I will pick it up. The other one that I haven’t tried yet is green tea – this one clearly has to be made like the Japanese ritual – no question of milk, boiling the tea and all. And it is supposed to ward off all sorts of diseases. I must try this once. Soon. Sometime. In fact I must drink this religiously several times a day. I suppose.

My experiments have led me to conclude that I am street-tea type of  person not a tea type of person. I think the most ordinary tea leaves and some milk and sugar is all I need to make tea satisfactory to my dense taste buds. All this culture vulture becomes hogwash when it comes in contact with me. I should really ask actual tea people among my friends to tell me how they like the teas.

So I guess I have no choice but to foist all my teas on to unsuspecting guests one by one – since I have 10 packs of barely touched tea.

Now you know. So make sure you ask for coffee when you come home. You’ll be safer.

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Blighted! Thursday, Aug 6 2009

Like how most of these things become known to a person, I found out in the bath. I had been having fever like symptoms without much fever for three days and that morning it was the breaking news. Or I should actually say that the news was that I had broken out.

With chicken pox.

It was in some ways expected - I had not been vaccinated – not seen the need to I guess or maybe I had thought that I was God in disguise and nothing can affect me.  I had not had it as a child. So when in the vague vicinity of my nephew who showed symptoms a day after he arrived here on a brief holiday, some of the virus must have gotten on to me. So there it was.

I stepped out of the bath and called family member 1 (let’s call them FM1).

Me: Do you think this spot is chicken pox?

FM1 (With a little leap and saucer-like eyes): Yes! Yes!! This is exactly what it it is – it is chicken pox. I meant to tell you not to visit your brother when he came but you would have minded so I kept quite. Now see what has happened..

Me: But I….

FM1: They should not have come to our house in such a circumstance – even if they didn’t bring the boy! But this generation! When do they listen to us!! (eyes becoming further saucer-like)

Me: But I thought I was careful…

FM1: (just getting into the flow of things): Careful? You shouldn’t have gone anywhere near that house. Neither should any food come from there to here. Nor should the other kids be playing together! But when do you listen!

Me: But I…

FM1: Now go an lie down on your bed after spreading neem leaves on it.

Me: Neem leaves? Where do I get neem leaves from? ( I was hardly in a position to go climbing trees!)

FM1: Oh ya – where will you find neem leaves…try asking the maid.. (the steam having petered out, FM1 left to share the ghastly news with FM4)

By now I was quite down and depressed. CP does that to you – but nothing that some TLC won’t cure. With this in mind, I dialled FM2 on phone.

Me: Listen, I have CP.

FM2(clearly aghast): What??? I told you not to go to see your brother when he came! So what if he was leaving the country and you may not meet him for 2-3 years? You are so adamant sometimes! You have to have your own way. You never listen to reason. Now look what has happened! If I get it before my exam is over….

Me (in a conciliatory tone): But I didn’t go near the boy once I knew…I must have caught it before even he knew…

FM2: You went everyday to that house! So obviously you had to get it! Why couldn’t you have been more careful? Now we are all jeopardised! But why do you care…

Me: But I…

FM2: I…..blah blah….I….me…blah blah my….. I think blah blah…my…..blah blah…me… (By now i was zoning out. With good reason) If little FM3 has it, you and she go to your mom’s. Or I will go…I can’t catch this just before my last exam!

Me (coldly): First i’ll go to the doctor to confirm about little FM3. Then I will decide.

Call ended here. So much for TLC. The conversation seemed to be about someone else mainly – not really me.

Next call was to FM5 whose house I would have to go and stay in. Short, matter of fact. No fuss. It’s fine. It’ll be ok in 3-4 days. Anyway you can’t do much that you have got it. You pack and come.

Even this conversation  – with not much sympathy overflowing from it, was such a relief for someone already feeling terrible about the disease, life, self and everything else.

So I packed, packed little FM3, stripped the bed completely, put everything in the washing machine including the clothes we were wearing till yesterday. All this while I could hear Fm2 and Fm4 discussing this whole distressing affair in the background. “If she had been careful…once someone gets it, you should not even go to their house…but who listens these days…etc. etc.) 

I left home pronto.

The first taste of people’s reaction left me a little wary of announcing this to anyone else. I mean it is a bit hard on the already suffering soul to watch people leaping 4 steps back once you have said the magic words – however justified they may be.

Further phone calls with more recriminations ensued once I was settled at my new temporary residence. Luckily I am quarantined. So I can shun all interaction with the noble intention of not spreading my disease.

But catching CP has opened my eyes to how an AIDs patient must be getting treated – only several times worse. Is it any wonder that they don’t want to reveal their illness. Or crores are spent on ads and movies with the lesson that one should be kind to a person with a communicable disease?

I guess such disease bring out the worst in everyone – they suddenly begin to think of themselves with the exclusion of everyone else – even the victim.

In my case, though I am now over the infectious stage, since there are several opinions on what the infectious stage is in this disease, I have decided that the life of a recluse is not going to be so bad for a few more days.

It’s comfortable in my cocoon and here I shall remain. For some more time.

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