Family bathrooms

Isn't it surprising that a bathroom can become a bone of contention among people?.Bathroom habits really define a person.My mornings start with a good brushing of teeth and washing of face and then a cup of tea,but to a large part of my family its the other way around.A cup of tea to wake them up fully and then brushing teeth and washing face.I cant deal with it but I learn to ignore it and stay far away from them in the mornings.Some members of the family walk around with the toothbrush and foam in their mouth with newspaper in hand.It makes me want to puke so I stay in bed with eyes shut tight.There are still others who even have a theory about all this.Something to go with morning breadth having good bacteria.Oh give me a break or better still give me the toothbrush.But funnily enough with all the fuss about having to brush teeth first thing in the morning,the toothbrush is the one thing i always forget when packing to go any place.Then in the morning I beg,borrow or steal(the option of buying one doesn't arise as shops don't always open early in the morning) and if nothing works,I keep my mouth shut all day (big deal for someone like me).The other thing about bathrooms is the amount of time my family members spend in there.My mother takes a good 45 minutes to have a bath and I have to constantly check if she is alive(old people tend to fall in bathrooms,hence the panic).The husband will combine lots of things with a bath....read newspaper,use potty,shave,shampoo hair and whatever else,so another 30 minutes gone.My nephews used the bathroom as an escape hatch from mothers or older relatives who were always finding jobs for them to do.Nowadays if my nephew promises to arrive at my house but decides to have a bath before he does,I can safely assume that the boy will not surface for at least an hour or two.The younger of the nephews can live in the bathroom all day.We have three bathrooms at home(we insisted on this when looking for a flat) and god forbid a day arrives when all are in use by mother,husband and nephew and poor me should need to use one....I may as well go to the neighbours house or learn extreme bladder control.....but I hope the day never comes

freedom

Freedom...it means so many things to different people but from the time i can remember freedom meant a great deal to me.When i was a baby it meant the freedom to cry despite my fathers wrath,as a teenager it was the freedom to dress the way I wanted and to do the things i wanted to do.As a young adult I rebelled at the thought of being just someones wife or mother.For me life was all about living on ones terms so I waited till I was ready to settle down with someone who appreciated what freedom meant to me.Its not always easy to be free,life is all about compromises but freedom is not so simple either.With freedom comes responsibility,with it comes maturity.Freedom takes into consideration other people,the environment and many other things,but the essential to freedom is to understand its complexity and to appreciate its greatness.All my working life I reveled in freedom,I demanded it and its not easy so at one point when freedom can harm ones objectives(somepeople are insecure and free people are difficult to deal with) one needs to decide how important freedom is.It can be a simple thing like having free time for life outside the office,it is freedom to explore the many facets of ones personality and when one wants this more than anything else one takes decisions,hard decisions,decisions that most people don't understand,decisions that one clutches to ones heart with the same happiness as one did when freedom became important.Today I appreciate that freedom has made me a better person,more balanced and content with what i do with my time.Freedom has given me the courage to follow my dreams and live life on my terms.Freedom has taught me the difference between having to do something and needing to do it.It has taught me that life is full of ups and downs but freedom gets you to your goal a little bruised but not broken.

blogging or facebook

Time was when blogging was the latest kid on the block among my friends so the excitement of writing everyday was a big boost to our day.Two years on sometime in the middle,face book took over our lives.Suddenly everyone was there doing some of the most inane quizzes which didn't add an ounce to our lives,just mindless stuff we did because everyone else seemed to be doing it.Then face book took on a new dimension.We used it as a tool to be in touch,and it is a good tool,today I am in touch with so many friends of years gone by which wouldn't have been possible if we hadn't all had one common meeting ground.Then they introduced chat and for a chatterbox like me that was the best thing that happened.
well what does all this say about some of us.Do we need constant excitement and stimulation or is it just that our attention spans are keeping pace with that of the now generation.Today some 20 somethings are amazed that the 40 somethings are discussing face book,which they always imagined was a property of their generation(not surprising considering that the founder is probably old enough to be our grandson or something to that effect).And now I go back to my pet blogs to find that a lot of us have simply stoped writing.I know what my excuse is...well I am using my writing skills to earn a living which doesn't leave much time for blogging but perhaps the economic downturn has left all of us insecure of our jobs and insecurity is hardly the breeding ground for creativity.Well the long and short of it is that I have decided to make a conscious effort to write and be inspired on a daily basis and I hope to keep that promise to myself.

Rain and the city

The monsoons have set in long before it was anticipated and after years we don't have to worry about water.Some years ago all we did was obsess about water and when out next bath could be taken.Thankfully the rain gods have been kind to our city.
Two years ago my car drowned in the downpour.I watched helplessly as the water rose and the car went under.Stranded on the first floor I prayed hard that the rain should stop.My anxiety heightened by two old parents not in the best of health and a water logged locality our of which there was no escape route.I ran through many situations in my head,my blood pressure rising at the same rate as the water.Thankfully the good lord above answered my prayers and the parents didn't have an emergency and the car was insured and everything fell in place but the anxiety haunts me till date.
Today two years later the rain lashes down on my road,the same car stands on the road and i look out at regular intervals to ensure that its safe.This time around the heightened anxiety is missing as one parent is no more and the other is under my nose and my road doesn't get as water logged as before.But we are all human and worry and anxiety are part of our lives.I tried to enjoy the rain and the darkness.I took the car out ,drove through blinding rain until i was stop ed by a large tree that had fallen across the road and sent me back.It reminded me of all my roots.The tree has been around from my days at college,giving us shade while waiting for a bus,giving us beauty on an otherwise stark road.The tree had stood the test of time but not this time and one more memory of a city of yesteryear's is ripped out of my memories.I did enjoy the rain a little,I did enjoy the drive and the the dark skies but somewhere the anxiety lingers,of times gone by of times to come and I wonder....will I ever rest peacefully....perhaps that happens only six feet under.

The one man at the gym

Whats it like to be the only man in an all woman's gym?.Tricky to say the least especially when there are woman of all ages and sizes not to mention the fully covered ultra conservative ones.Even the slightest sign of inappropriate behavior can be the mans downfall.But that's what is so amazing about this chap.Young,presentable with a well toned body he doesn't let you feel hes around.But he is and the one chap who will correct you and make the exercise chart.He knows all our measurements but doesn't make one feel uncomfortable.In fact he is so popular that when he went missing for two months(to set up another gym) we all missed him.He came back a few days ago and was greeted with great affection.We rib his about his girlfriends,we chat with him about the machines and we wish him well when he has good assignments.
I know he a rare type.Most young men in his position would have been strutting their stuff around the young woman at least but this chap deals with everyone on an even keel and everyday I marvel at his attitude because its rare.All his staff look happier when hes around but there is no let up in displine Yesterday when a client wanted someone to help her with the exercises,a trainee was assigned and the man stood close by to watch and correct her if necessary.He didn't jump in and do it himself.Obviously leadership skills are part of what makes him who he is.Not that hes perfect,sometime he makes the odd interpersonal faux pas but like all human beings he does have his ups and downs
I am not sure we notice him as the only man around,over the months we have all gotten so comfortable with him that we talk to him like one of the girls.Well hats of to a decent chap who knows how to conduct himself in such an environment.

when i wast around

Sometime the mind goes back to many years ago and people and places crop up suddenly.It happened by chance.My mother and I were in a discussion about visiting some friends and family.Me proposing the idea and my mother resisting with all her might(she hates going out).
It got me thinking and throwing my mind back a few years(a good number of years actually).I remember a line of friends who lived on spur tank road and Harrington road.I remember visiting friends with my mother in Kilpauk.Most of my memories are of holding my mothers hand and tagging alone by bus or walking around to visit.It was a regular occurrence and not something she disliked.With my father away at work and the two older kids in school,my mother and I started our visits.I think there was a timetable to the visits.In most houses there were no children my age so I was always well fed by the friends(that was the highlight of my visits)and allowed to sit and listen to them chatter away.I never understood half of what they said but they all lived in quaint houses with some garden or trees so i was allowed to climb trees or play by myself for hours until it was time to go back home.I remember on house where I was always served tea if in bright yellow cup and saucer.I felt very grown up and smart drinking from that cup.Now i remember that the only reason she allowed me to drink from it was that it was plastic and my baby hands couldn't do much harm.
I remember the great lunches at my aunts place and the other friend who was a great source of amusement for my mother and her other friends because she gave her kids bread for breakfast.I can figure out why this was such a source of mirth but in those days I believe serving bread was a sign of a lazy mother.
Why did a woman who did so much visiting now dislike the idea of stepping out of the house.I tried to put a fix on it and it probably started around the time that my father retired.Suddenly he was always there and there was no time to visit.Funnily enough all the men of those household retired around the same time and suddenly the woman were not visiting.That was it,no more visits and then we all lost touch.Yesterday when I reminded my mother about these people I discovered that they had all been neighbours at some time or the other when my parents first came to madras and then they became friends.I realised that I my memories started only from the time I was born and that some ten or twelve years before that my parents had a life I know nothing about.They stayed in all kinds of places around the city and sometimes the suburbs,my sisters went to different schools until they joined the one I went to.There was a life I want to discover but no one wants to talk about it.Not my sisters nor my mother so I guess I will have to keep asking questions.Will I also stop visiting,will I also become the hermit that my mother has become.Scary thought but perhaps in the fullness of time I shall go the way of my mother....I wonder.

Lazy and happy

Once again the same question..."don't you get bored being at home after working so long".I am not sure why i am asked this question time and again.Considering i took the decision of sound body and mind and after having been in the rat race for 20 odd years I wonder why everyone who knows me is so surprised at my answer.I am enjoying myself in years.The last time i felt so relaxed was when i left school and had 6 months to myself before college started.Nowadays kids would have used that time to learn a new course,get a prat time job,rush around from one activity to another.But we lived in a time when i could do nothing and get away with it.I read,ate,played(as in playing on the road...at 16 in those days that was quiet acceptable) and had a good relaxed time.I think I deserve to rediscover that time and if its suits me fine why does everyone look so shocked.
Let see now,do I really enjoy myself.Yes and no.Sometimes i am overcome with guilt for not earning my living anymore,guilty for having to ask the husband for money all the time(what i made i invested and have no intention of touching for the moment).Sometimes I feel unproductive in the corporate sense of the word.But most of the time I am happy to be doing the odd jobs at home to catch up on reading,to go to the gym to not have to drive in maddening traffic and still keep appointments in time.I am happy to have been there done that and I am happy to know that I can split my life into eras.I enjoyed every segment thus far and have made my own decisions so its easier to leave life behind and live forward.
I have to keep coming back to this topic as the questions come up very often .Probably the only thing I miss is that stories and things don't crop up with the same regularity as they did before because my outings are few and far between but for the moment I am not complaining

Mummys day out

My mother and many woman of her time,lived lives that were totally dependent on first their parents,then their husbands and finally their children.The were provided for by and large and should a husband not provide,then they had made a bad marriage and the parents or their fate was the cause,if it were a good marriage and good fate then the husband would have provided all.
All their lives were spent that way,they are great mothers,perfect wives but where they happy or did they waste the one life they had in the services of duty and family.I am never sure how to answer that question especially when marriages lasted 60 and more years.They had to be doing something right.
Now my mother for instance will always lament her fate at being married to a man who was not quiet what she imagined a husband to be(some truth no doubt).The fact however remains that my father took on all the financial responsibilities and my mother took care of running the house and bringing up children.Some time later when she was in her 50s,my mother like most women of her generation she decided to give up going out of the house for anything.She got used to being house bound and watching tv and yelling at my father for getting under her feet all the time and interfering(that's what men do when they retire and have no office to go to and no people to yell at)Over the years getting my mother to step out of the front door was a task that would put every skill of strategist to good use.If anyone managed to get her out of the house,even to visit her daughters,it was considered a big victory and the person concerned would well qualify for a noble price in blackmail.Which is precisely what works with her.
Now being left in the charge of a 76 year old mother (who under all that dependence can be as stubborn as a mule)I have become adept in the art of emotional blackmail.So today after having thought through the night on a game plan,I decided to go ahead.Of course no surprised are allowed so she was told that the bank needed to see her in person(no such requirement exists).She was warned of dire consequences(I did tell her her bank account would be frozen and all her money given away...which she believed)I was ready to take the plunge.Now anyone reading this might think that i am a nasty daughter who is harassing a senior citizen.Far from it.
Imagine my despair when the papers reported that bank employees were on strike.Well having hidden the papers from her I proceeded to get ready and finally after much wasting of time and constant grumbling,she was out of the front door and to the bank.Well you can imagine,not a soul stir ed in the bank and me,I was most surprised."Oh it looks like a strike doesn't it" I said with the innocence of a 5 year old(assuming they are innocent nowadays).Well "we just have to go back I guess" says she.Was I going to allow that?.Of course not.Opportunities come only once and now that the mother was out in the open I was going to cash in big time."we shall visit some family friends" I say.Huge protest (which are promptly ignored) and long face and sulk sulk.Well there are some advantages of being the driver so i drive to the friends house (all the time telling her that its bad manners to talk to people only when you need them....she refuses to accept that she does any such thing)and escape on the pretext of having to run errands.Half an hour later I am back to fetch her and she seems happy enough to have gossiped and had a good cup of tea(Oh they managed to make good tea says she....huge compliment coming from her and to be taken as...oh the outing wasn't too bad).So we manage to be back home in time for her tv serial (where everyone cries because they have bad marriages and bad fate),she get back into her glad rags and yours truly is tired by the sheer enormity of what she has accomplished.Friday being another day,we shall get her out again because the bank work is not over,but the sly mother has figured out that her equally sly daughter may not have been speaking the whole truth when she swore blind that the bank wanted her there in person.So for now she has promised to sigh cheque and reduce me back to my status of errand boy to a very lovable by adamant mother.

Oh Monday

Mondays,it seems commonplace to hate this particular day of the week.For most people the beginning of the week spells another six days of having to run and rush through the day in a desperate attempt to reach targets,meet deadlines and meet the weekend(which unfortunately cannot be rushed).I was one of the breed though for many years I looked forward to Mondays because i enjoyed what i did.Many years on when I choose to give up a full time job (around the time that Mondays became less and less a day to look forward to)I basked in the joy of being able to forget the days of the week.One didn't need to know because there are no deadlines to keep and one can do what one wants irrespective of the day of the week.
But all of a sudden,I woke up one morning,earlier than usual because this "oh its a Monday" feeling hit me.Why I wonder,what made it happen.I am still trying to figure it out but haven't found out as yet.Is it because my brain started sending me messages that its time to get to some paying work.Is my unconscious mind dying of guilt because I am not bothering about finances or is it just that the amount in the bank balance looks so small( even my mother who has never held a job has more money than me) or was it the sudden and.....guess what,i cant even remember the reason but all it takes it a friends shoulder to cry on and I am feeling better already.Finally it all boils down to getting a grip on ones self and making an effort.Getting hold of a project to work on and that's the key

Unrecognizable thats who i am....

You could have known me for twenty years of your life but if you haven't seen me in six months,chances are that you will walk right past and not acknowledge my presence.That's because you wont have recognised me.Now lets get this right,its nothing to do with height weight and all that other stuff.Its just that over the years for some strange reason I look different almost everyday.I wasn't aware of it until a professor insisted that I sit in the same place in class ever day.He swore that he had to search for me as the look changed every day.Not surprising then that I am constantly walking up to old schoolmates and college mates and having to introduce myself and hear them gasp in surprise at the change.I am convinced that its all about the rest of the world having bad recognition skills.
Imagine my surprise then this morning as I stood waiting for the butcher to cut the chicken for me.A couple walked into the shop and I knew instantly that the woman had been with me in school or had she worked with me.A quick scramble through my brain files and i knew that she was a classmates sister from school.Should I confirm it?.Or should I just go by after all she had known me for sixteen odd years(years when we moved from being children to teenagers to young adults...where the most change happened).I decided to let it pass and was just about to leave when she smiled and we both started to say something....well wonders never cease.She remembered me and we exchanged notes of fellow school friends.It left me convinced that this was all about recognition skills or that the brains ability for long term memory is far greater than short term ones.Shared experiences,time spent it all matters.Of course even in the case of girls who didn't recognise me,the fact remained that when we did get over the initial shock,life was back to normal.So here I am all ready to go out again this evening and chances are that there will be people who know me but wont recognise me.One things for sure,I am safe from being identified from any police line up and that's for sure....like they say there is always a silver lining.

The possibilities

Sometimes its just about making the effort.It has been days of thinking of doing things but not getting down to it,especially the jobs one doesn't want to do,like dealing with the government and such.
So this week,having put things off long enough I went ahead and attacked.First stop was to get the ration card done,surprise surprise....the crowds were less and the work got done in under half hour,next stop,nationalised bank....no progress but at lest some follow up done and to discover that the financial situation is not as bad as I imagined it to be.Reassured,I attack spending.Now why does one need to spend tons of money in supermarkets buying basic necessities when its all available at the public distribution system.Again the crowds are non existent(lesson to be learnt,go in the middle of the month) and I get dhal,wheat,sugar and tea,what more can i ask for.The bill is under a hundred bucks and if that's not fair price then I wonder what it is.Eco friendly too,I have to take my own bags so all the cloth bags are out and my months expenditure on food has been cut down real fast and with no compromise on quality.
Meat and fish is also getting better,avoiding the super markets is such a good idea.The quality of food is better,our cooking methods have bettered (thanks to the mother officially taking over the kitchen) and we are feeling a lot better health wise.The rains have added another positive.The car doesn't have to be taken out so much,its beautiful to walk on the roads and get the much needed exercise,to chat with the shopkeepers,to check out the gardens and to watch all my plants bask in the lovely rain....oh its so good to be able to stop and smell the roses.

My days are numbered

The aversion to numbers or anything faintly numerical,started when I was around six.My father who had a pretty decent grip on numbers,had to deal first with the disappointment of having to deal with three daughters(the common belief being that boys were more numerically inclined)and to add to that he discovers that the first two could barely count and were nowhere close to being numbers driven.In one last ditch attempt he decided to start me young and math classes began the moment I entered school.He tried when I started to talk but didn't succeed.Well being my fathers and mothers daughter,I was a combination of stubborn determination and dormant rebellion so if he thought he was going to teach me maths,it had better be my way(one plus one equals two would mean putting two chocolates to do the addition or nothing else).Well every time he sat down to teach,the battle started.He was a man of little patience who simply couldn't understand how any child with even the basic brain could be so difficult when it came to simple arithmetic.Well the long and short of it is that I developed an eternal hatred towards anything numerical.
Imagine my surprise and my parents shock when I ended up with a distinction in statistics in college.My mother was convinced that the examiner was drunk when he corrected my papers and my father secretly had that "I told you she had some brains" look on his face.As I started working and generally getting some experience of life the truth dawned that perhaps I should have fallen in line early in life and realised that everything finally comes down to numbers.So from sales targets,to income tax,to simple everyday accounts,there was no getting away from it.The tragedy was that even something I love like drawing,painting and cooking needed some quantitative ability to get places.So I stopped dreaming of being a painter and instead decided to cook everything that didn't need precision measurements.So baking was simply out of the question.
Years later and now that I have time on my hands,I have decided to bury the ghost of my numerical aversion so the baking is first on my list.It started with chocolate fudge...all measurements in place and the dish is an instant hit with all my friends.Well well,the first hurdle has been overcome.So my next step was chocolate brownie.This required the next level of measurements so I made my attempt.Except that the oven was a bit too hot,the brownies came out a nice sticky brown exactly the way they are meant to be.So my confidence sufficiently boosted I am well on my way to the next level of testing.Its going to be bread next and if I get that right well perhaps my father can be proved right.....there is a bit if brains just waiting to be used.I may have tackled the office accounts and targets and other mundane ever day corporate stuff(that's only meant to survive and impress the boss) but to be able to master a passion long lying dormant because I believed I couldn't master numbers.....well that's a new high and now its all coming together,the ingredients are all ready and I am ready to arrive hot off the oven.

old order changes

We started school learning to write.I remember many note books with pink lines as borders with three blue lines in between and we had to write in a way that all the starting letters touched the pink lines and the others stayed within the blue lines.End result....lovely handwriting.This was also repeated for Tamil class as well so much so that my Tamil handwriting is picture perfect.
When it came to reading,we had regular reading classes both in English and Tamil.While English was a good class,Tamil was sheer humiliation(worse when one has an elder sister in the same school who is fluent in any language taught and is constantly being held up as an example).The sheer anxiety of those Tamil reading class makes me wonder how I survived all those school years staying sane.Unfortunately Tamil turned to french in college and if one didn't have the advantage of the Alliance francais then well,it couldn't have gotten much worse.
The point of all this is that years later when the ink pen gave way to the ball point,to the felt tip to the key board....well hand writings went for a toss.Imagine my surprise when the bank manager claims that my signatures don't match the original(signed some twenty years ago).Its shameful because my dad was 87 when the manager claimed his signature didnt match the original.To be in the same position some 40 years earlier is cause for concern.Now as to reading,well that's gone by the wayside to.When was the last time I read aloud....cant remember.Not allowed to sing aloud even in the car when travelling with husband as the man objects loudly(one would think that if any support was forthcoming it should be from family,whatever happened to the better of for worse promise?).
So I am wondering if i should start to write letters to friends and family(used to do this earlier only to realise that most of them never got posted coz lazy me couldn't dream of walking up to the Post office)but then again why when i can call.So this is probably an obituary to the written word and to public speaking.....sigh....once again I am faced with the fact that my world has changed forever.....on the bright side....I am still standing

Goodbye sunshine hello thunder

Funny how when one is nice to people,one gets taken for a ride or at best ignored.Get nasty and they take notice,end result however is that if one is dealing with inefficient people then the matter stays unresolved.
For starters I worked for a company that had no clue to accounting so they generally dumped money into my account and expected me to run an office....so poor me looks rather rich on paper(the truth being far different).Now if one is rich and middle class and salaried(difficult to be all the same at once as they are all different states of being but yours truly always manages to do the impossible) and cant manage to explain to nosy auditors how I came about being allegedly rich.One then goes to ones bank.Now here is a bank that spends millions on advertising to say how great they are etc etc so poor me despite having been in advertising so long(helps you come to terms with the fact that all advertising is rubbish and untrue)actually went to them for help.Being polite by nature I asked them for information and waited patiently since i was told that the data will be available in two days.When two days became four,I asked them firmly why the data wasn't available.Went four days became ten,I blew a fuse.Strange,it fell of deaf ears,they continued to mouth the same excuses and despite my rants,they are unable to give me the information.This bank is famous for this and while I find that being polite and nasty gets the same results....well I may as well feel good and let of steam at them.This is a bank,but I find that nasty behaviour works in most places.Talk of a crying child getting more attention.My new motto in life is to shout,rant,be nasty and say goodbye to my nice self.It was nice being you but the world has changed and I am adapting to a changing world.

under attack

To be part of a minority is not a very happy state but not one that is top of mind either.Personal attack on the other hand is something else.It makes one feel vulnerable and introspective.Was it me,was it something I said and one tends to keep thinking back.Its funny that as human beings we focus more on the negatives(unless one is an out and out positive person).
Recently some of us commented on a story that was doing the rounds.Sordid as it was,we decided to look at the funny side.It didn't work....suddenly the mail box was full of self righteous,sanctimonious remarks from women who live far away and who in my opinion had lost their sense of humour (assuming they had one in the first place).The outcome was that I ended up feeling vulnerable and sad.It took two other women to come up with something funny to put my mind at rest but the outcome was strange.Most of the group thought that the funny side was misplaced.Did they expect us to be sad for the whole world?.But then again have we become so immune to disaster and sordid details that we no longer care?....I am still not sure.

poof...zap the little devils

Hmm...let see,I don't like the little men and women who dot the income tax office.Frankly I don't like auditors either though mine is a nice smart tam bram who knows his stuff but the point being that they make my otherwise peaceful life a bit of a mess.I mean I like making money,I slogged for the better part of my life and ended up making some serious money close to retirement when the rest of the 20 something are raking it in at the beginnings of their work life.So why cant they just let me enjoy it,let me indulge a bit and well just let me save for a rainy day.No but you see that's the tragedy,now to begin with I hate keeping records.There was this lovely boy in office who was so pucca he kept tabs on all my finances and I was fine but don't you know how difficult it is to hang on to chaps like that.
Tell me why would someone be interested in my financial history?After all I am a poor church mouse who was paid a bit and like a good middle woman decided that the little money saved was fine ....but no they actually want to know why i paid who and what....give me a break ...am i supposed to remember all that...the tragedy is that they think its income when its all been expenditure....how many salaried people get extra income.Honestly how does one make them understand.So now I am actually expected to keep track of all the money I spend and account for it at a time when i am sponging off the husband.They even take the pleasure out of sponging...I need something strong to zap these little devils out of the system and in the mean while I ve decided I don't like money at all,It gives me a headache .The only solution then is to turn dumb and become a helpless housewife who has to run to the husband for every decision.Maybe i shall try it,why not ....talk of recreating oneself.Ha sounds like a plan....hmm I am liking it.

Boys,men and mallu men

This week the focus is on my community(i have had an overdose of them hence)By and large I don't like mallu men(the few exceptions are my small group of mallu men who remain friends and whose friendships I cherish,but all of them without exception have been living out of Kerala all their lives).What bugs me most about them is their condescending attitude to woman(cant really blame them as the average woman in Kerala is a doormat).Its probably their upbringing and the constant reinforcement of societal values that gives them an upper hand.Unfortunately its the middle aged ones that are the most dangerous.For starters they leer,pass uncalled for comments and can get intrusive in a way that one wants to break those ever present coconuts over their heads in the hope that whatever sense may be hidden in the recesses of their otherwise dead brains,can be brought out.Sadly its also the woman in kerala who are part to blame for these men.Boys are a grand obsession in this state(maybe so in other places as well).Girls are taught very often that despite being educated and articulate and working,their primary responsibility in life to be be someones wife or mother.Its a tragedy that if one dares to do otherwise there is instant talk of the girls loose morals,bad parenting or just economy and the click click of many tongues can make one feel that this is the worst possible situation to be in.Small wonder then that the men quiet literally believe that they are gods gift to womankind.Strangely this gives them license to behave as they please,to treat woman as sex objects and to ridicule and turn violent should a brave woman stand up to their advances.God forbid one is in an unfortunate situation of being saddled with all men in a train compartment.After having striped one naked with their eyes(rest assured its as bad as being physically assaulted)they will them continue to make snide remarks and if all this fails,then they will inch their way into your personal space.If they are are down by a few drinks(often the case as they always drink bottoms up) then be sure to have pepper spray handy or a good sharp heeled shoe or even the ever present umbrella.
Once again it comes back to socialization,if men of the same community can be nice and generous and respecting of women when they have nothing to do with their native land,one cant but imagine that it has a lot to do with Kerala society in general.When will these mothers make sure their kids learn to cook and clear up after a meal.Would it be so difficult for them to learn that sisters are equals in life and not inferior beings(then they tend to treat their wives and other women differently)well that will be the day....in the meanwhile the women continue to believe that their lot in life is to wait for crumbs off the mans table....Unfortunately while writing this I realised that i also know a lot of mallu men (who despite cross cultural exposure) continue to remain chauvinistic and macho and can be a pain in the wrong place.My advice....please steer clear of this breed(i have managed to do so).So I end with a prayer that the good Lord give the mallu man a shock to his system very soon and in the course of evolution,please god can you re engineer their brains and that of their mothers also so that the next generation will be better....?

Disclaimer:To all the nice mallu men(and I mean the ones that are my friends) who read this...my apologies,sometimes guys you are the minority sadly

Gods own country and the Devils own people

Last week I took a long 15 hour train trip to Kerala.Someone called it gods own country and the devils own people but we shall come to that later.
After passing brown arid dry terrain of Tamil Nadu,it comes as a shock to enter Kerala.One can almost see an invisible hand with a piece of good green crayon draw a deep line between the two
states.
Kerala is lush and green with beautiful waterfalls and the smell of damp earth which is so refreshing after the heat and dust of the neighbouring places.The rain falls in torrents or a slight drizzle and the sound is a soothing plonk plonk on the sand outside.Almost all the countryside is dotted with houses with typical conical roofs strong enough to allow torrential rain fall off like water off a ducks back.Each of the houses( however rich or poor the occupants may be)will have a small garden and some plantain trees,papaya a jack fruit or a mango tree and sometimes the tapioca trees.Now that the build up to onam(the harvest festival) is on,the gardens are dotted with yam plants in all their glory and one can be sure that a tender yam is just waiting to be dug out and melt in ones mouth(its hardly needs much cooking time).Flowers abound and again they are fairly typical,the hibiscus,the yellow trumpet flower and the theti (a red round bushy flower).The gardens are lovingly tended to on a daily basis and is often inhabited with a couple of chickens,hens and the odd duck.I love the duck.Its a bird that is pretty common in Kerala and can be found in ponds and rivers.Not very tasty contrary to popular taste but there is something to be said about the duck and the way they always swim in formation and do those upside down jumps in the water.
In between all this green expanse there are breaks and they come up on you rather suddenly.The lakes and backwaters beckon with their lovely long snake boats with fisherman throwing the nets for the catch of the day(rest assured that fresh fish is always on the menu of all homes).The waters are clean and silvery and the black boats almost inspire the most dull person into wanting to paint.The waterways are long and wide and can be seen interspersed with large coconut groves and small coves to anchor the boats.
Kerala besides being beautiful,is also clean.The mallu obsession with washing(its all that water around them) doesn't stop with just washing themselves,even the animals,roads and gardens are clean.Its a joy to just see so much cleanliness around.The garbage is most houses is burned and turned back into the soil.This is not some countryside story.Trivandrum the capital city is exactly like this.Hardly any high rise,just the odd ones that mar the landscape but by an large its all houses with gardens small,large and medium.Walk into any ones house and someone like me will come back richer with small fiery chillies,lovely pink chambaka ,and a thousand other fresh home grown produce.
For all this beauty that is Kerala,the people (despite being some of the most educated and the most literate state) are small minded,lazy,opposed to progress and intolerably arrogant and its the tragedy of the state that all the beauty of the environment is wasted on the people who in my limited experience,haven't changed a bit in all the years that I have seen and interacted with them.Fottunately the ones who do leave the state do turn out to be pretty nice(with the usual exceptions) so one can only conclude that too much homogeneity is not very healthy.

The quack in me

Being a quack is not something most people would be proud of but i am and with reason.For 30 years I have had practical lessons on diabetes and can with a great deal of confidence decide what to do in an emergency or even change the dosage of insulin with out too many problems(I always consult a doctor to confirm my decisions).I discovered quiet by surprise that I am a pretty good quack so I have over the past few months been sharpening my quacking skills.Its paid off.A few months ago when a friend was agonising over her daughters fever(this friend imagines that even the smallest of illness can be something of mind boggling urgency so...)I sat and watched.On a closer look at the daughter it occurred to me that she was a lot more yellow than the average Chinese and that can only mean one thing....jaundice.When i pronounced my diagnosis of the case I was met with silence,then the "oh my god,I hope your not right".Well good quack that i am,I am most often right so when the doc confirmed my diagnosis I was rather elated(poor girl had to live through horrible diet restrictions)my next case of that of the husband and his tail bone problem.While he went on and on about the pain,I did my research rather well and confirmed that a good dose of physiotherapy would do the trick.I even gave him the options available...so much for Internet research.It amused me no end when the doc repeated all my alternatives and was rather miffed that i seem to know all the answers.The junior doc who was pretty bugged with well informed patients,suggested that since i knew so much I didn't have to bother about the hospital visit...Sour grapes if you ever heard one.
Today I have diagnosed that I have tennis elbow (without knowing a thing about the game mind you)and know what course of treatment needs to be done ,...not for me the steroids so after having decided I went to the doc who told me what I need to do...rather easy this whole ortho business....there are no cures for any damage to body parts,unless broken in which case there is surgery,but should you make the mistake of breaking a rib there is very little to do besides rest and relaxation so the docs jobs is rather easy.Like the good doc says there are no emergencies in ortho.Today I asked some hundred questions during my 10 minute therapy and have decided that after diabetics my next quack specialization is going to be orthopedics....ha talk of home remedies...long live the Internet.

Of death and life

There is something to be said about stages in life.There was a time when almost all my time was taken up attending weddings,then it was visiting friends with babies,and now its attending funerals.As a policy i never went for funerals as longs as the parents were around,but with the death of the father it looks like it set off a trend.Many a close friend or family seems to be going underground literally.At the cemetery I seem to know more people six feet under than above and the tears I've cried could fill an ocean.Most of them are deaths that have occurred at a time when most people have lived their lives to the full and therefore one is happy for them and we can reflect on a good life.There are others that have gone in the blink of an eye when one was least expecting them to and those are the tragedies.
Recently at the funeral of my uncle,I had the opportunity to revisit the land of my parents and to reconnect with family after twenty years.There is something terribly overwhelming about meeting family after so many years.To begin with one have never imagined that ones family is so large,and all under one roof.Secondly it brings back fond memories of happy childhood days of play and happiness and one wonders why we never kept in touch.There was this cousin who spent her holidays with us and with whom i had a great friendship.My holidays were spent in their house and i still remember giggling in church in orthodox kerala because we had to kiss the priest hand and he unfortunately was a young man who couldn't handle the attention we gave him just to see him rattle while my aunt who was a stalwart of the church,glared at us which surely meant that punishment was around the corner.
To reconnect i decided to visit all my cousins only to realise that there were the next and the next generation there to greet me.The nephews and nieces looked curiously at this aunt who turned up in jeans and who was striping their garden of all fruit.The younger children wanted to know where i had been all these years and my cousins and i spent a good day catching up on family politics.Suddenly it was good to be back with family and we had all grown into different individuals but the bonds remain the same.Surprisingly one cousin complemented me on my command over the malayalam language which left me shocked,She was known to be stingy with her compliments but i considered that age and experience had mellowed her.
It was time to leave and we have all promised to exchange notes on a regular basis but I sometimes wonder if in all this tragedy there is some hope,some silver lining to it all ....

the tail of two dogs

Loyalty....it was considered a virtue some years ago,A number of my contemporaries worked for companies because they had been treated well,their efforts recognised and so on.We rated loyalty very high on our agenda.Then the times changed and a new breed entered the work force.While job hopping was looked down upon in our time...rolling stones gathering no moss and all that...the new breed didn't know what moss was(not surprising as they grew up in concrete jungles) and for them job hopping was a reaffirmation of their abilities and the fact that they were needed all the time.Somewhere along the line companies also bought into the idea and that when loyalty became a liability.If we stayed on too long it was because we were not getting other jobs and that kind of questioned our skill sets and that's when some of us had to throw loyalty out of the window.
Did this virtue go out of only the corporate sector?.Far from it.Yesterday it was brought home to me so clearly how little loyalty pays.
There are two dogs on our street.They are both strays but there ends the difference.One is the extrovert.She has very sharp survival skills so she wanders among different houses,spending a day or two in each.She will greet you with swishy tail and prance around like she hasn't seen us in years.This is the treatment that anyone in the building she stays in gets.You don't have to feed her,pet her or do anything but she does her bit.End result is that most of us let her use our terrace or our car parks as temporary home,we feed her left overs and one person actually took her home to three streets away when they moved,so she now spends the week with them and is back for the weekend ruling the roost in our street.She is well fed and clean and this is a direct result of ditching loyalty to any one house and instead keeping all her eggs in different baskets.
The other dog,is the exact opposite.He also wandered into our street a few years ago and then decided on the house he wanted as home.He started by hanging around outside the gate,slowly moving into the garden and then making himself at home on the door step.His loyalties were very clearly to one house and one family alone.They fed him and played with him so all was well until one fateful day when the woman of the house died and the house was sold and everyone moved away.They didn't take the dog with them and the gates of the house was locked,so there he is an abandoned dog.Imagine my surprise when I tried feeding him last night.He didn't know how to get out of the gate and because he had not kept his options open,(preferring to safeguard the house and in the process bite a few people)there the food was on the road and the dog just stayed close and watched but couldn't eat and I was too scared to venture closer.The long and short of the whole exercise was that our extrovert dog came over and gobbled up all the food while the other one just looked on helplessly.Did his loyalty really pay or like so many of us who threw it away,would he have been better off doing his own thing.I believe he would.In the meanwhile I am still trying to get him to eat a bit.

grass roots

I have been having a lot to do with ration cards lately.The card entitles some people to all kinds of commodities like rice sugar dhal etc and if its not used for two months then the card is cancelled.Considering how difficult it is to get a new one,we normally allowed someone else to use our card to buy stuff as we didn't need so much
Now that my mother lives with me the responsibility of keeping the card active is mine(my dad took care of that and being an old person he got away with a lot).To begin with,ration shops are dark,crumbling places piled high with sacks of everything.Its mostly full of people who either walk there or live close by.Very few people arrive in cars the way I do and that's not a nice thing.It almost makes one feel that one is cheating the lesser mortals of their access to food(never mind that I am entitled to it).With all that guilt(really that's my problem) i park the car a good distance away and walk to the place and stand in line.I start by getting stared at,then they chat me up(convinced that i don't understand the language)and are taken aback when i reply in fluent tamil and continue the conversation.The trick is to identify with the masses so i discuss food prices and crib about how hard it is to make ends meet and so on.I even chat and enquire about the little tykes that accompany the mothers and shuffle my way to the counter where after a few visits I plucked up the courage to ask for all the commodities listed there.
I take care to dress in drab clothes and rubber chappals and look as much at home as my housemaid(and manage it very well).Having gotten over their initial shock,they get curious and soon the chap measuring out the stuff is commenting about my cloth bag which I bring along and encouraging me to buy more stuff and with promises to keep things for me.I am now welcomed with a big smile by counter staff and have become an oddity in the place but have been accepted. Its still not easy standing in long lines in the hot sun but sometimes it needs just such an experience to remind one of the problems and trials of the less fortunate and appreciate what one had,so its time again to go back to the ration shop but i shall wait till the second week when the rush is a little less and once again I will get all the news on what keeps people going on a different plane

The family and the ration card

When one runs up against the bureaucracy,there is only one choice...fall in line.Which is why this morning saw us land up at the family ration card office to apply for one which would in no uncertain terms,establish the fact that we live in this country and in this city so let no one dispute it.Never mind that we also have a passport and a voter id which are all issued by the government.
Having decided to get one we find ourselves faced with three ques of people(no one is sure why they are in a a particular one)and since all of the instructions are in tamil,i decide to be translator so i recall those horrible tamil lessons i endured as a child and begin reading the instructions,by which time the impatient husband has managed to reach some clark and given in his papers.
Now we have no idea what the definition of family is really and as we have decided that the husband will apply in his name and i will not be mentioned,it seems that he is a single man for the purpose of the family ration card.,and there begin our first brush with how difficult it is to be single in this country.They don't issue cards to single people,because by the governments logic you need to be part of a family(as in father mother,children dog etc).So we appeal to the higher authority.I choose to stay behind (trying to look like the other woman may seem hep in some circles but not here and as i cant be identified as wife the best thing to do is to remain invisible).So the conversation goes like this.
senior clark...."why are you single"
husband....smile in resigned fashion
senior clark....ok we don't issue cards to single people....you have to have family...why do you need card?
husband...the gas agency wants proof of my existence.
senior clark(a little foxed by this new development)...do you cook?
husband....(with straight face)I have a cook
senior clark....(having never had such a situation before)...hmm...ok you go and submit papers.
(we heave a collective sigh of relief and move to Que)
after sweating a bit and beginning to smell as bad as the rest of the crowd,we submit papers and get a chit in return,not even a printed receipt.

well now we wait for verification and in the meanwhile we are still trying to figure out how the husband and i are related for the purposes of governance...and as for me,i am still not sure if i should be my mothers daughter or my husbands wife....hey what ever happened to me and my identity....well remember we may be a growing economy,affluence all around,educated independent woman but the reality at the grassroots is still the logic and reasoning of the dark ages....so i wait to be recognised

babies all

Baby,the word is usually used to describe a real young person or could be a term of endearment but to be named "baby" is something else.Among malayalees this is so common that its translations are a dime a dozen and any given family can have more than two babies(as in names) so there is a Kunju(baby in mallu land) and then a Kunjukunju and a baby john or just a baby.Its an unisex name so one is never sure if the baby in question is a man or woman.Imagine our dilemma as kids when every uncle around was a baby of some kind.So we got our own system in place.We prefixed the name of the place the uncle worked in so we ended up with a "coimbatore uncle" a "trivandrum uncle and so on.
The baby obsession doesn't end there,it also extends to the aunts so we have kochamma (small aunt i think) which in modern times has become a "koch" so we have stylist sounding names like valsa koch,susi koch and so on(the baby theme still holds)
The worst experience was when a client told us his name was baby john and for the life of us all we could think of was baby corn(food being an obsession as much as the baby type) so while we thought of the many ways to eat or cook baby corn,the man himself was by no stretch of imagination even half as appetising.So every time we rang his number we repeated the name many times just to wipe out visions of baby corn.
Strangely non of the babies are every referred to as babies...i sure must get to then bottom of this.I wonder if this was a way to ensure that the so called babies never grew up?I am going to ask one of those geographical uncles to explain this once and for all.So much for the saying...whats in a name....every thing i should imagine.

retail therapy

At the best of times I am a bad shopper and if shopping has anything to do with buying clothes or household things then I am hopeless at it.It begins with having to look respectable(shop assistants are a snobbish lot and will ignore you if they think you cant afford what they have to sell and that's judged by the way you dress) and most often than not the nightmare begins the moment one enters the shop.
The big retailers all have perfume counters at the entrance so the moment the doors open one is swamped by eager young men (not for a moment must one believe they are attracted to you...they are not) trying to sell the so called latest perfume from some fashion house or the other.brushing them off is rather difficult and no amount of arguing with them that the so called latest is last years range(remember some of us read the foreign fashion magazines)will brush them away.If all else fails prepare to be sprayed on by a dozen different fragrances and come out smelling like a flower shop or worse a tart.
When the successful escape has been engineered then the girls get at you.What erks me the most is that the girls have a nasty habit of peddling the anti wrinkle creams the moment they see me(yes i am on the wrong side of 40 but there is no need to rub it in literally).If i refuse they will go on to anti pigmentation creams,fairness creams etc.All I ever want is mascara or lipstick but they don't seem to think that someone my age may,just may want to bad an eyelash at some drop dead gorgeous hulk but well considering most women may be in denial about wrinkles,the girls do have a tough job ahead and chances are that the commissions on these products are the highest.
As one climbs the floors to the women's ware lot the experience can get more depressing.To begin with most shops today stock only the smallest of sizes,then of course the latest trend seems to be the balloon dress or the strapy number both of which can make the likes of me look like mutton dressed as lamb.So while the shop assistant will swear that the clothes look good on you the trick is to put it right back.Has anyone ever come across a shop assistant who actually tells you that something doesn't look good?.lets face it the poor girl will have an unhappy client on hand(no one wants to know the truth...that's the whole point of retail therapy) so in her own interests she had rather lie..
All in all retail therapy is no longer retail therapy so when depression or just sheer boredom overtakes,i head for the supermarket.The happy shelves of food can lift a sagging spirit and add to a sagging body too but the hours spent on food shopping is real retail therapy as far as i am concerned.

gay or straight

I am either getting rather outdated or am just sane in a mad world.The newspapers are full of murder,rape gay marriages and such news.I am not sure what the purpose of this news is.Does it change society?.No if at all it gives every pervert and murderer a chance at his or her 16 minutes of fame.Do we stem crime?,no we just glamorise it for the sake of readership and viewership.
Take the instance of gay marriages.All newspapers in my city thought it was news,perhaps it is,but looking at the photograph i was a little surprised.There seemed to be a man and a woman(man dressed in drag) and i am puzzled.I am under the mistaken notion that gay and lesbian marriages happen because men are in love with men and women with women.If that is so why do they need to have a man and woman role in this relationship.Why not just remain same sex and be happy.If i were in love with a woman I am sure i would want her to remain a woman instead of taking on a male role.The very fact that gays and lesbians need to follow opposite roles,tells me that there is an underlying need for opposite roles so can this whole debate on gay and lesbian tendencies be right.Call me conservative but honestly if I needed a male and female role in a relationship to feel normal them why not just stay straight.
Confused i may sound but I still believe that a heterosexual relationship is far more natural and instinctive and all this war on gay rights is just a section of petulant people wanting some attention and sorry i have no sympathy for them.
Ps.I actually have over the top gay friends whom i like but i like them as people and not for their sexual preferences.

rediscovering

Its been four months since i gave up my job to be at home with a parent and freelance for a bit.For the first time today there was time to reflect in all the frenzy that has been the last few months so what had it all amounted to.
To begin with I discovered i could write and write well,I also discovered that by being at home I saved myself a lot of money.I don't have to take the car out so often so all that petrol saved in this time if rising global prices is good.I have started cooking so its fun eating food that one likes and those are the plus points.On the other side thanks to being out of the rat race,the stress has diminished but the clothes sense has gone,so permanent attire is pyjamas and t shirts or shorts when it gets too hot and unlike the office the home is not fully air conditioned.
Today my cupboard looked like the leaning tower of Pisa.Haven't cleared it for months and the clothes have piled up.Also since there is no need to dress well (veggie man is only interested in how much I buy as are most shopkeepers)the clothes have not been used in a while so need to find a reason to wear them.Not surprising then that today when i tried wearing earrings the ear holes had closed but managed anyhow so there i was with my nice clothes,jewellery and combed hair and people actually commented in the positive so have decided to dress well once a week just in case i forget how i used to look.
Today i also for the first time realised that my only conversations have been with one friend(also working from home) and its not much by way of intellectual stimulation(when all we discuss is price rise and the ways of the world) and to top it all I haven't read a decent book in ages.For the first time i felt stupid,like I have been out of touch with the world(considering how the tv news and the newspapers go there is nothing much said for being in touch)or that I haven't used my brains in a long time so for starters I shall go through every freebie offer that credit cards give,get myself some landmark vouchers and hit the book shelves.I need to read a good book to feel sane again.....and maybe meet some new people go for a few plays and get our a bit more,but its all so cosy to be left alone and not bothered,I can leave my cell phone off and nothing will happen so its also a great feeling but its good to feel stupid once in a while...wake up calls are necessary to life

The cooks gone,long live the chef

I am not at the best of times a good housekeeper.As long as most things function i am fine with it,which is why for the last two years I have just about glanced at my kitchen and the most i did was to make a cup of tea.This was thanks to a rather smart cook who entered my life two years ago and as he could churn out most things basic and a few exotics....well one enjoyed it and wondered how long it would last.
Most people i know agree that the moment the woman of the house decides to give up full time jobs,the house help leave.This is largely due to the fact that woman then monitor all that the help does.I wasn't unduly worried as i am the last person to be supervising people as long as my food arrived at table i was happy.
Unfortunately for the cook ,I happen to be a pretty good cook myself besides which i can innovate,substitute stuff if something wasn't available or just cook up a recipe as i go along.For years now I have made many a man insecure(lots of men are insecure around smart women...fact of life) but i hardly expected the cook to become insecure and leave.Well that's exactly what he did.The fact of the matter I believe is that when the mother moved in with us,she proved to be the best cook of the lot and years of experience has taught her not to be taken in ,so the end result is that two good women cooks in the house equals one run away cook.
Now that he is gone my first task was to actually check out the kitchen after two years.Bad idea that.Remember the cook unlike the inmates is only interested in preparing the food.he couldn't care less about the kitchen being clean.My first shock was the chimney.It took me a whole morning to clean years of muck from that.Then i attacked the back of the gas stove.It was filled with muck mixed with cooking oil so that took another hour or so and one thing led to the other and its taken a whole day,a bottle of cleaner many scotch brights and now there is a semblance of order.Or at least it looks like a kitchen i can operate from.
My next big agenda was to move in the most efficient manner to tackle the cooking and the shopping (one being very much interlinked with the other).With the prices going through the roof for most food items and lpg going up by 50 bucks i decided that this requires some sound resource management.The idea is to save gas,cut down unnecessary trips to shops in the car and to buy just the right amount of supplies.This requires some serious maths and planning.
The weekly menu is my first step in cutting cost.For starters it reduces cooking time (a lot of time is lost wondering what to cook on a daily basis) as the menu tells me exactly what each meal consists of.It also helps in shopping for veggies and fruit as I don't have to buy everything and then work backwards.The menu dictates what i need to buy,which in turn cuts down on trips to the shops.
The biggest challenge to menu planning i realised is to balance foods.One cant have everything every day nor can one have two carbohydrates together so the need to balance protein,carbs,fats etc becomes important.It also needs to factor in left overs that are bound to come in and it needs one to plan for specials (for when guest come or for occasions) and take into account diets(diabetic mothers need special foods).Like all things in management this requires time and lots of thinking besides which it need to be approved by the rest to the management team who are still out there not knowing that something is a foot.
The best part of the cook leaving of course is that I am back to cooking (which i enjoy) and am having to brush up my memory of recipes but for starters the mother and i have unearthed some long forgotten recipes which we are getting together so the menu may go through some changes but some ingredients will never go off the shelves....coconut,ginger and garlic.
As for cost,the new excel sheet on household expense is being monitored closely.Me thinks all this is due to two factors....one ....I am so jobless i have time for all this,second this whole corporate culture is so much a part of my dna that i need to have systems,backup plans,contingency plans and the works and the house is beginning to run like an office.

Men I love

I have wondered if its possible to love more than one man at a time and have come to the conclusion that it is possible.It is also possible to love many men besides the husband except that love is of so many kinds that few people appreciate how one can love different people at different times and actually be friends with the opposite sex and be happy.So I went through my long list of friends and decided that there are a few men out there in the friends list who matter and who mean a lot to me.I have known most of them for at least twenty years or more so these are long standing relationships and the reasons why they still stand the test of time is because each of these men have always been the best friends that one can possibly ask for.
So lets start with a few commonalities among them,for starters I found to my amazement that they were all chubby chaps and a few wore spectacles.Why was this so striking I don't know,did I choose them deliberately ?....no i didn't,I met each of them at different points in life so its probably just co incidence.Another striking feature of all is that the husband is the complete antitheses of all these men(which is probably why he is the husband).

The first of them I met soon after I started working.It wasn't the brightest start to friendship.He came on too strong,looked too self assured and just wasn't going to get the better of me.But the chap soon realised that his usual "woman will fall for this" attitude wasn't washing with the likes of me.Then of course he changed tactics and became down to earth management trainee who was there to learn so "yes mam your the boss"etc etc.Well I taught him whatever I thought he needed to know on the job and after the first week the uneasy start had blurred and we actually found that we enjoyed the same pass times,had a very happy ,laid back look on life and could be friends with each other simply because we had gotten under each others skin.The fun part really was that the chap thought he was the Indian version of Casanova and truly believed that all the women were waiting to fall into his arms(he still believes it despite being married for over 15 years and is probably being introduced to his sons girlfriends).He made it his business to flirt with each and every woman who came his way and I must give the devil his due that his charm worked on most of them.Of course when either of us wanted to get rid of a fatal attraction we pretended to be an item and that always bailed us out of tricky situations.He left at the end of four weeks and in the absence of mobile phones and email,we managed to keep in touch through snail mail and the occasional visits.Till today we don't call each other that much ,we hardly email each other nor do we visit,but on the rare chance that either of us is in ones city we meet for lunch and those gaps in our life no longer exist.Its a friendship that has stood the test of time and there is a certainty that when we are really down and out we only have to call.

The next person is who i call my little teddy bear.When I first saw him my instant reaction was to ask him how old he was.There he was all chubby cheeks,mischief in his eyes and neatly pressed clothes.His blazer buttons were polished to high sheen so much so that we could touch up our lipstick with the use of his buttons.His shoes were polished as only he can,hair neatly combed and with a smart grin on his face he sauntered into my life.A stickler for everything to be pukka,he didn't think much of my shoulder length earrings or my glass bangles,but as he didn't have much of a choice he turned charming.His biggest strength was his old fashioned ways.He would actually open doors for me,make sure i was always comfortable when he was around and I actually allowed him to "aunty " me at regular intervals.He was and is just too cute for words.
We went for french classes together and I would need help with his french,only because he was thinking up the most romantic sentences to tell the pretty teacher when it was his turn.She in turn was very amused and indulged him.
The other big quality of this chap was his ability to hold his drink,the boy could start at two in the afternoon and continue late into the night and still walk straight while half the party was ready to crawl.He is the only one who can get me to drink large Bacardi's and not flinch.I trust his abilities as bar tender.
When he met with a tragic accident which had us all shaken up,the boy actually encouraged us to visit him and had his bedroom turned into a bar and would serve us stuff lying in bed.I remember introducing him to a friend of mine(they were so alike,I just knew they would get along) and years later there I was in the same city with these two men and I(who was the common link) was completely ignored while they carried on a conversation over my head.
We don't call,we don't email but again this is a friendship that is still one very close one and to this day the boy will cringe when we sees me in public as he still lives in fear that i will pull his cheeks in public and tell him what a nice little teddy bear he is.

The third person who I met many years after the first two was an instant friendship.I had found a soul mate.Its very rare to find someone who one can relate to instantly but he was there one minute a stranger and an hour later a friend.For one our fathers worked for the same organization so we had a lot in common,for another,he had the transport and I had the connections so we became a team.He was always well dressed(very important as far as I am concerned) smelled wonderful (his sister abroad sent him the latest perfumes and the boy used them like there was no tomorrow)which was rare when we could just about afford some cheap perfume on the salary we got.
He lived close to the office so his house was always the place to hang put in if it all got too much.Being in each others company a lot meant that his mother soon started giving me lunch and everyone else seemed to think we were an item(which we were not but it gave us some fun to let people do the guessing)The boy was a snooker player and introduced me to soggy vegetable cutlets at the railway club and also to his friends (not a very attractive bunch but one ended up being the husband).He was a regular Sunday visitor to our house and was soon charming the parents and becoming part of my friends circle.
For many years long after we both married different people,there were many people who assumed we had married each other.(i still wonder why we gave anyone that impression or was it a good cover for who we were both actually going around with).
To this day I don't trust the boy behind the wheel of a car,he is what one might call a reckless young urn.The one big bond though is food,we both love to cook and our respective spouses don't.We think so alike that we could piece a story together by filling in the gaps in each others account and making a complete fabric,we are both a little paranoid,a little guarded in our ways and love to bitch and imagine the worst possible situations.To this day,if my cribbing of a situation got too much for the husband he would insist that I pick up the phone and talk to this friend and only he will understand what goes on in my head.
We flirt outrageously with each other and if it wasn't for our spouses and friends knowing us the way they do,we may have both been in serious trouble.The boy has been called upon to help in the strangest circumstances.Newly married,the husband being a bit of a fuss pot,I had to call on the friend(he is also the husbands best friend though we met long before the husband and I met)to actually bring the husband down to earth and then take him to the hospital where the husband proceeded to slap the doctor and friend and I realised to our horror that the doctor and his sister were friends of ours and we had a lot of explaining to do on the behaviour of the husband.This is the chap I will call up when I need to check the plot of some hair brained scheme that I have in mind,he is the one who knows when the husband and i have had a scrap(chances are that he has both sides of the story by then).This is a chap I will call at any time of the day or night if I need to be picked up from airport of hotel of if I am simply at a loose end.This is also the one friend with whom I can have major arguments,stop talking to and ignore when I am mad at him but like the other two this is a relationship that has been around for a long long time.

I can only think of three men besides the husband that mean so much to me and for whom I would stand up for and love and fight for because when I count my friends these are the most precious of men friends that I will ever have.

Hells kitchen

Who in their right mind agrees to cook for twenty complete strangers(not all but some,and all friends of sibling) in a kitchen that's as new to one as any place on the moon and to be cooking in a house renowned for its excellent food and the cooking skills of the woman of the house.Well I just did.Recklessness takes over or is it an inflated sense of self....call it what you will but the die was cast and the deed committed.The only sensible think I did was to volunteer the deed on the last day of my stay there knowing fully well that by the time the food was digested and hopefully no one got killed...i would have reached the safety of the plains.The worst that could possibly happen would be that the twenty people would think much more of the siblings cooking and my reputation could be in shreds(considering i don't go so often it would all be forgotten by my next trip).Or they may choose to stay clear of the house the next time I was around.All in all after weighing the pros and cons it didn't seen like too bad an idea.My sister convinced me that they were all nice people and good friends so with that comforting thought(they can forgive and forget even if they were poisoned but lived to tell the tale.What are good friends for anyway)I set about delegating work to the maids to cut and chop all the ingredients while i took afternoon tea in the company of some pretty curious monkeys
The menu was simple biriyani and salad but for starters we had to substitute butter for ghee and zucchini for cucumber,but cooking is all about variety its about being innovative and learning to substitute without compromising flavour.The problem really is having to work in a kitchen one is not familiar with so a lot of time goes just looking for things(solution being that one should arrange all in order before starting but that's not me).
Two hours later having browned the onions to a lovely shade of rust,the aroma wafted out of the house and into the clear mountain air and I had a feeling that perhaps all would be fine.Just as the last of the ingredients had cooked and the fires had been turned down the guests arrived(the hill people are very pucca on time)
In the hills unlike the plains when people are invited for dinner,it means exactly that,so there are no starters or the silly drinks that go around,everyone arrives and sits at table and dinner is on its way.
The food served and I waited with bated breadth to see the reaction.Slowly they returned for second helpings with appreciative sounds and a few compliments (they are very well mannered people so one cant really take everything at face value).The expressions on their faces said one of two things.Here were a bunch of people so hungry and starved that they would eat anything or I am such a good chef and this is the real McCoy.
Second helpings later one child(young enough to still be innocent) actually asked her mother to get the recipe from me for as she declared....this was simply superb.Out of the mouth of babes they say.....so i hung up my apron a very satisfied cook at a dish well turned out and some very appreciative people who promised to come back for the visit the next time i was around....not bad for starters.

paths less travelled

Its called the queen of the hill stations and was the summer retreat of the erstwhile British when they ruled the Madras presidency.Ooty the once quaint hill town had now become a bustling hill station promoted aggressively by the government which results it it turning into a crowded little town with loads of cars and buses( which ought to be in the plains)converging on its narrow roads and polluting an otherwise idyllic environment.The summer season is packed with flower shows,rose shows,dog shows and anything else that is willing to go on display.
To the unfortunate tourist visiting this place it could mean a trip on crowed trains only to arrive at a hill station that's packed to the gills with people of similar fates and to wind up in equally crowded hotels and to shop for souvenirs and home made chocolates (once a speciality of the place ...now a mass industry).Of course one can walk the botanical gardens after paying a tidy sum as entrance fee and enter the place only to be assaulted again by a sea of humanity.
For the more fortunate ones like us with family and friends the Queen of the hill stations can still pass off for a princess.....we see the less crowded,more beautiful Ooty that's hidden from the public eye.To begin with to live inside the botanical gardens is a huge plus...to be able to enter the gardens with the hoards and part ways immediately into a quiet and wonderful wonderland of tall trees and singing birds in another plus and when the urge to see the flowers takes over we simply have to take a path less travelled and enter the gardens through a back entrance that's private and not crowded.
Our daily walks took us into town or to visit tea estates in places like glenmorgan where civilization and crowds are far too distant to worry about,so we lunch under the shade of large trees and sip our after lunch cups of green tea and listen to the birds sing and enjoy our conversations while the dogs wander around and bask in the afternoon sun.The only excitement is when a herd of cows decide to taste the grass of a well kept lawn and wander into our lunch discussion which then has to be stoped to shoo them away.
On less hectic days we laze in the afternoon sun on the terrace of the house lounging on the warm cement and looking up to blue skies and tall trees waiting for our afternoon cakes and tea to arrive.
Our trips to Lovedale takes us to holiday homes with gardens that are a riot of colour and blooming in every shade of the rainbow.Afternoon tea sipped while looking out on the wast expanse of tea gardens and playing with an adorable cocker spaniel are experiences that no tourism department can ever offer.
We meet hill people who are kind and welcoming which is so refreshing after all the city life.They always come with offerings of fruits or vegetables or just little things from home gardens.The pleasure of eating fresh fruits that have been handpicked and seasonal is enough to make anyone feel fresh and healthy.
To those of us fortunate enough to take the road less travelled.....this is an experience to wait for.

Our reckless holiday

Taking a 76 year old mother (who by the way has not steped out of her house in the last 30 years)on holiday is a reckless thing to do,especially if the mother is mine.For starters she hates meeting people,secondly once she has settled down in a place(very difficult for her as there are loads of likes and dislikes) then she does not want to be disturbed (she had made herself at home in my place after two difficult months).Well knowing all this well I still took her on holiday to Ooty no less.From the blinding heat of Chennai to the high altitudes of Ooty is a pretty wide spectrum,so I concluded that I am an unacknowledged suicidal personality or reckless or just plain stupid to not see the enormity of what I had undertaken.Oh well guess I will never learn or learn the hard way all the time.
Of course i took the precaution of taking my nephew and his wife along.The boy fulfills the mother's need to have a man around(very important in her scheme of things and in mine too as the boy in question is calm,collected and has a way with the mother...which i don't).The girl has her uses,she is practical,has access to some of the best doctors and is helpful in many ways (detached from the situation....being married into the family also gives her an objective view of things)
The Central railway station was our first hurdle.Having managed to pack her bags,hail a taxi etc we arrive at the station to be greeted by a well meaning porter who offers the mother a wheel chair(senior citizens can avail this facility at a price).The mothers pride was most hurt(in her scheme of things wheel chairs are meant for the disabled) and she quelled him with a look that sent him scuttling all the way to the far end.And so our journey starts and we arrive pretty decently at the Coimbatore station where I take everyone for a good morning cup of tea at the residency hotel(tea in most hotels is a pathetic affair and when the staff are hardly awake its even worse)After some not so nice comments from the mother on the quality of the tea and the largeness of the bill,we wind our way up the hills one very happy family,until just under an hour when the first of the hairpin bends begin.From then on motion sickness takes over and the rest of the drive is spent in the mother being sick and cursing the day she dared to venture out of the house.We arrived finally at our destination to be met by another sibling and a doctor on hand.Unfortunately the doctor looked like on of the many boys in the boarding school(we were staying at a staff house in an international school) and didn't inspire much confidence,but considering that the queen of hill stations is sadly devoid of a decent hospital (any hospital actually never mind decent or not)we didn't have a choice.Of course looks aside the doc proved to be pretty good so by the afternoon,the wheel chair that was scorned at the station was proving to be a god send for the steep climb up to the house.The next day as luck would have it,the sunny days of Ooty disappeared behind a black cloud and it poured like there was no tomorrow.All said we were scrambling to get a return ticket for the mother who if she had a way (she did mention envying the birds that could fly where ever they wanted to)would have left Ooty that very day to embrace the heat of Chennai....but the railways being what they are and with yours truly having every intention of having a holiday she had to stay put for a week.I am convinced that taking a mother like mine on holiday can turn a saint into a criminal in a blink of an eye....

waspy tales

A wasp after a long time....the last encounter with one was when I was all of 8 yrs and was stung so badly I cant forget the experience.Today the wasp was trying to build a nest in the key hole of one of our doors.The plants in the balcony provided good fodder to line the nest,so as i watched the wasp painstakingly took one leaf after the other and lined the key hole.I decided it was a single parent as there was no one to help.If I got too close then it refused to go anywhere near the key hole.
My mother is of the opinion that I should get rid of the nest and not encourage this exercise,after all being stung by a wasp is not a pleasant experience.I agree but cant bring myself to destroy such industry.The effort to carry each leaf is one thing,to actually measure the size required and to cut each one to size requires even more effort.The wasp didn't look like it was going to harm me,why should it unless I provoked it to anger.So i watch and wait and it continues to build.Methinks it will be a very comfortable nest,cosy and soft probably bound together with saliva used as glue.
I didn't destroy it because in life it takes a lit of effort to build anything,a home,a relationship,a career etc and to encounter people who pull one down at every turn is also common.Its pain full and takes courage to continue and sometimes its worth it and at other times its not.The wasps work this morning reminded me so much of life and it would have been unfair to destroy something built with such care.So it continues to line the nest and I hope they will be a happy family and find some other place to grow up in.I am kind but can only deal with one wasp at a time.

Another piece of History gone

This morning at 6.30am,yet another little piece of street history was put to rest.For thirty odd years on and off she was there right as rain.As children we avoided her,as an adult back on the same street many years later with her still there as my neighbour,i smiled at her,gave her a cutting of my plants once in a while but was never sure if she recognised the child she once knew.I obviously underestimated her memory.She identified me the moment I was back on the street.
Today four years after being back,four years of watching familiar people disappear,their once lovey,tranquil home being torn down to give way to flats.,I saw yet another familiar face disappear.For the first time in four years I visited her home to pay my last respects,shed some tears for a woman who was so much part of my world but quiet distant form it.Was I mourning my own loss of a few months ago,was I mourning the fact that my wonderful green neighbourhood would now disappear,was I mourning because the time has come for me to attend more funerals than ever before,was I mourning my own mortality....I don't know but this sense of sadness descends on me.I watch as they take her body away and I realise quiet suddenly that I was mourning for a spirit that I grudgingly admired.I marvelled at her will to survive,at her constant glee at being the only surviving member of her generation on the street.I willed her to walk and stand after she came back from the hospital,because I didn't want to see a spirit die.But like all else she also had to go,ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
They washed out the house as a final statement and I my heart goes out to her son.For some sixty odd years he has been with her,his life so much a part of hers.I don't know him at all,I would have nothing to say to him but for him its a lonely road ahead.An empty house that will be fought over by greedy relatives and siblings.Host of relatives who descended on the house....people who never once bothered to visit her while she was ill.Then I notice that the woman who actually fed her,sat with her and saw her through her difficult times...was not there.She didn't belong and despite the old lady being with her till the end,custom decrees that the one woman who was always there was not part of all the final rites.Religion and caste drives a wedge there,it was more important than human kindness,it was far more important than anything else so the old lady went alone to her grave and we watch in sadness as curtains come down on an era.

two in the morning

So much is happening in the city all of a sudden,to begin with I have started getting two new papers at home now as against the one of many years.Do I really need two?.No of course not,but sometimes one keeps ones friends happy so when a subscription was trust on me I agreed graciously.Of course having got two pretty nice looking travelling bags(I was entitled to only one but on must never look a gift horse in the mouth and all that...)I cant afford to complain.

Now I have certain issues with this new paper.I for one know that I am getting on in years,so while I do colour my hair and huff and puff valiantly at the gym,I am not so keen to be reminded day in an day out of the fact.So when this new paper uses font so small and insists on filling up every available space with print then it kind of gives me a headache and the need to grab not just reading glasses but also the magnifying glass.So i read the head lines instead.
The other point of all this is that this news paper gives a lot on diets and fads(i think one need to fill up space and that not easy)and unfortunately every nice food under the sun seems to be taboo.Then for days on end they went on and on about the bad drinking water that this city provided.Honestly anyone with a wee bit of common sense knows that,but can we do anything about it(I mean its fine to boil and strain it but what else).Well the paper has no answers either(but this paper doesn't claim to change public opinion so that's forgivable).
The third point is that the paper is so full of information(please note i don't call it news) that one wonders if all of it is necessary and like many of its fellow publications there is a lot on glamour,the pretty young thing ,the party hopper and the same old celebrities(wannabe types).So all in all I am certain I don't need it,but the bags were a huge draw and like I said I like my friends so one continues to get it ....for older people like me more visuals would have done the trick and if its aimed at the dumb young thing then does all this copy work?....hey you bet it does,read it and you will understand,this is information of the kind that is of so little value to the likes of me but of abundant value to the 15+ young thing.....so cheers to news i don't need to know.

key pad pixie

I started a new post and quiet mysteriously everything i wrote disappeared....wonder why...just an honest opinion and the fairy god mother didn't like it so shall be back soon with a new one...this time on my side.

Mad -ras

checked out my favourite blogs today and find that everyone is on a vacation from blogging.Its been ages since I found something to inspire me to write,but it must be the blistering heat that makes me want to eat watermelon all day and curl up in the shade.
On Saturday we drove around the city running errands and suddenly found a whole lot of building that we had forgotten existed.There has been a spree of pulling down hoardings in the city and its like watching a bhurka clad woman taking it off(there is one in my gym so I know what I am talking about).Well suddenly there are trees and buildings and the city seems so much better(i love it even otherwise)Unfortunately for every good thing that happens there is something else not so good.The lovely traffic training park had its building pulled down(beautiful old one around a 100 years) so the same fate for the Admiralty house.Some more seem to go under the hammer.The government claims that they are best done away with because there are in bad condition.My point exactly,the reason why there are the way they are is because no one bothers to maintain them.If we had a policy on heritage buildings then like great cities in other parts of the world,modernity would co exist with tradition and no one would have been unhappy.The old doesn't necessarily have to give way to the new.Does the new look any good....of course not,how can large tracts of glass and concrete look anything like the stuff artists spent so much time making.
One of the papers gave a blueprint of what the city will look like in the future and I am already on a hunt for a place to call home.Why or why do I feel so helpless watching the city disappear.

A forgotten Bangalore

Bangalore was a getaway destination when we were in college.It spelt fun,friends and no rules and the gardens,roses and the climate were added incentives to go there.Over the years its moved from nice little cantonment to a city of no character.Someone described it as a pub city,poor garden city,an apt name perhaps but what a sad commentary on the city.
Since a long weekend was on us and considering our host promised that going to their house meant sidestepping the city,it sounded like a good idea.
The roads were beautiful so the beginning was good.Our hosts live on sarjapur road which was once a village but is now dominated by gated communities which seem so popular in this city.I find it too exclusive.In my mind gated communities right in the middle of a village seem to be missing out on all the splendor of village life,but considering that most of the inhabitants are US returned NRIs who have picked up all the paranoia of their American stint,I am not too surprised.
When out host pointed out a quaint looking restaurant right outside their home and raved about the great food that they serve up,I was more than a little sceptical.All these new fangled,so called authentic places get me all suspicious but decided to keep an open mind.
Despite being at our doorstep so to speak we had to take the car and reach it in a roundabout fashion(typical of Bangalore where even the simplest things become complicated,must be something to do with writing too many software programmes).Once there we climb up a long staircase to the rooftop.
The place looks like a huge veranda open on all sides,lovely wooden beams and tiles give it a warm feeling and the subdued lighting adds to the warmth.Even the furniture looks functional but is comfortable.I took the trouble not to forget glasses especially if i wanted to study the menu but I may as well have left them at home.One can hardly read the menu but looks like most of the guests know their favourites.The place is called kanua after a forgotten grain of rice popular on the Konkan coast.The place itself swears to serving only authentic konkan food and only the veggies of that region is served so forget about the cauliflower and the fancy foods.Our hosts swear by the ghee roast and I decide to forget my waistline for the moment and dig into it.Well it was well worth the effort.The chicken was succulent and rich with the aromas of spices and ghee.The pomfret fry was equally good and so was all the rest of it.One has to take ones own wine along as they don't serve any.After the starters my appetite firmly back in the saddle and I cant keep darting looks kitchen ward.They are kind enough to let me in and I enjoy a good half hour discussing ingredients and recipes.Being from the same coast means that we speak the same language and I watch as the cooks stir the ghee roast around.I realise why it takes so long for the order to come along unlike conventional places with their high speed cooking.Here at last is a bit of the laid back Bangalore that I once knew.Here there is a healthy respect for time and the essence of slow cooking so we stand and chat while I am allowed to wander around and marvel that they still use palm jaggery(not very many people do) and sweet potato and kokum(so much a part of our lives on the konkan coast).I am happy to linger and examine the store cupboard and eat slowly and enjoy the night far from the madding crowds of the pub crawling,twenty something Bangalore where working late and partying late is so much a fad that the glories of a slow life have long been forgotten.I must admit though that after that very satisfying gastronomic experience all thought of climbing the wall back home was thrown to the winds,I was more than happy to sink my bulk into the seating of the car and be driven home.Kanua is a nice place for the unhurried person.