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.

its jsut another ID stupid

The anonymity of the Internet amazes me.Today i have been in conversation with at lest three people who think they are talking to a friend of theirs,but are not.They are talking to me.On the Internet your log in defines you and today I am using my nephews log in just for a lark.Of course its not easy trying to sound like an 18 year old(its been a while since I was 18 and the slang has changed to something I just don't get)but i try and after a while I tell them that they have been talking to the wrong person.The reactions are the best.From oh me god to aiyo I am sorry to hey I am bored so can we chat even though I don't know you at all....well its interesting this.None of them talk in sentences,its always a word or two so I am learning to talk in monosyllables.learning to sound sullen and disinterested(i think that the cool thing according to them so I keep it going) but after a while i run out of things to say....in the meanwhile my nephew is probably working overtime sending sms to all his friends warning them that his moms sister is in disguise and they should log out as soon as they see his name on chat(be warned he tells them,if she can sound like me think of all the stuff she can get out of you....air raid warning please eject and don't talk).Well it will take a while for him to warn all of them so i continue to learn teenage lingo and have fun

Getting back to basics

The ration card....its one of those vital pieces of paper that define us very much like the passport,except that in this case it also provides for basic necessities in life like rice,dhal,sugar etc.The idea of course is that of public distribution and government social responsibility hence the price is low and by and large there is a hierarchy there of lower income,middle income etc etc.There are white cards,yellow cards and green cards.Most of the well heeled and reasonably affluent don't use this card for anything but an identity thing but some of us do venture out to buy stuff and that's where it all starts.

Start with the identify bit.There i was at the gas agency trying to change the gas connection to my name(it belonged to my dad).First question.....ration card?.Yes I add after just a wee bit of hesitation.You see I don't have a ration card,neither does the husband,but wise father didn't think it fit to delete my name from his card(he never trusted my ability to plan anything so must have done some forward planning for this day).Well obviously that's not good enough so I settle to change it to my mothers name(she is a natural heir so that's fine).A lot of paper work and more running around government offices but that's another story.I decided that it was also to be done another day so off I went to buy sugar at the ration shop.

There is somethings to be said about the ration shop.For starters,most to the people in line for basic necessities are from the lower socio economic class,they wear sarees,smell of stale sweat and are usually there with a few small children in tow.They also cannot afford to go to fancy supermarkets to shop.Well there I was feeling guilty as hell for having an air conditioned car,enough money to shop at a supermarket and all but I did want to buy sugar nevertheless.Lets look at it objectively,the government owes me that much,after all I pay taxes and they need to provide basic foodstuff right?.So why did I take the precaution to change from jeans and t shirt to kadhi kurta(bought from government kadhi shop at government price),why did I park the car in the corner of the road so no one could notice that I arrived in a car,why did my hair get tied into a ponytail and why did my designer sunglasses stay back in the car?.Actually it was guilt,somehow I felt that I was taking what was not mine,but another rational self said that this is my right so I must exercise it.I stand in the ques,and one woman pushes past me to jump the que.I am ready to protest,until I notice that she is tired,pregnant and has a child in tow,had just finished loads of work in some fancy house(i got all this listening in on the general conversation) and she could do with a rest so I let her be.No one bothered me,they asked if they could buy my share of oil(they assumed I wouldn't need it) and I told them they could but the oil ration has been stoped on my card.The women were kind enough to notice that I didn't have a clue as to procedure so they pointed me in the right direction.
The woman at the counter gave ma a nasty look(or was it my imagination) and only relented when I spoke in tamil and identified as one of them.What i noticed was that she had probably fallen into a talcum powder box this morning.Caked with powder her face as quiet a sight and she took her own time to get the bill organised.She asked if I wanted anything else and I replied that I didn't (I wasn't sure what i was entitled to and didn't want to ask).Well we waited for a while and got all that we wanted.Interestingly in the ration shop you bring your own bags and there was no plastic bag in sight.Everyone has cloth bags.Here were reasonably poor folk,being environmentally responsible(without knowing it) and there just down the road were the fancy people with fancy cars using all the plastic in the world and not giving a damn as to what damage they do.

Somewhere in all this I ask myself whats with us the educated lot,can we learn a few lessons from lesser mortals and can we teach them some things too.maybe its time for a little give and take.Maybe its time to go back to basics and find somethings which we have lost in out fast paced lives.

The Lost life

In the 1930s,girls were neither seen or heard,so any girl trying to break the mould was asking for trouble.She however had no intention of keeping the faith,a free spirit,she choose to follow her heart going after what most kids do in childhood,climb trees,scrape knees and generally get into trouble.This naturally made her popular with the boys(starved for female company as it were).Her sister had to follow her around reluctantly as she was under strict instructions to keep an eye on the younger sister.When the family realised that there was no point in putting restrictions,they allowed a little freedom.As the years went by she blossomed into a lively teenager who used the soot on the vessels as eyeliner(those days her family looked down on makeup of any kind....they still do)and flowers in her hair.Unfortunately in small villages in Kerala,there are only some things that girls are meant to do.Their lives are dictated by social rules and those meant that by 18years if they were not married and well on their way to becoming mothers,then they were destined to be put on the shelf and their lived reduced to a miserable existence.Small wonder then that her parents one mission in life was to find a husband(and one who could tame her wild spirit).They did of course find someone ten years older that her.He was a family friend and the entire community convinced the patents that he was the one for her.His qualities were that he worked in a city(a big one at that) and had a government job(very important in those days of middle class values).Her wishes were never in question,marriage was something that had to be gone through.It was a stage in life and the sooner one got used to it the better.The question of love never entered into it,it was an arrangement.A meeting of families to fulfil some social obligation.
Young as she was the transition wasn't easy,nor was it easy to live with a man and his family that were so different to everything that she had known.Here was a family of loud mouthed individuals(as opposed to her soft spoken world).Here was a family that lived off the land,tilling and toiling in the fields,killing their own meat,fishing for their meals in the river that ran by and when a hard days work was done and much squabbling later,it was a time to drink up and turn louder.Her world had changed and changed for ever.Suddenly the free spirit was gone,she gave up on a life that was watered down before her eyes and the free spirited girl was replaced by a woman who in later years would turn bitter and self pitying....(to be continued)

Small shops and romance

Suddenly there is a profusion of supermarkets in my area of the city(I suspect this is the case in most parts of the city).They are all air conditioned,have numerous staff and are well stocked.In addition their prices seem so much lower that the local chaps.I wandered in the other day but despite the good looks and the swank interiors,it lacks one basic ingredient.Call me old fashioned but I like the fact that my local veggie man will enquire about my family,office and then tell me his story or the current gossip,he also know what I am cooking that day,we exchange recipes and if i run short of money,he knows i will be back so he lets me take the veggies on credit.I go to the grocer next door and the story is the same.I have know the owner from the time I was six,when we took the bus at the same bus stand.Today I can walk in and ask for stuff if I cant find it on the shelf.He know what i buy so will let me know if something I like has come in.
All of these little social interactions are missing in the big format shops.Yes they do have the fancy herbs,the salad veggies and all kinds of exotica but is that everyday life?
It hit home today,the need for patronising the local chaps,the local produce.The veggie man looks rather dull in spirits and when I asked he mentioned that the competition was eating him up and it was only a matter of time before he closed down.He made an interesting observation."mam he said.I operate this shop to earn a living and the big guy over there operates to reduce his income tax".What a telling example of the new economy.The large reliance fresh shops are not very well occupied.Their veggies are anything but fresh and while there is a lot of hype and hoopla there is that basic interpersonal and social exchange missing.Its so much a reflection of our insulated lives that we live in flats and don't know our neighbours,we invest heavy amounts but don't interact with the person on the other side.We bank on the Internet and all we get when we call is a recorded voice that's used by most services.
Where is the personal touch,does efficiency alone matter(even that is debatable what with the call centre culture and everyone doing just a limited operation).Business is all about human being in the end.Its all about communities,its relationships and no amount of large formatting,air conditioning,computerization and gizmo's will replace that basic need for human contact.Its small wonder then that in countries in Europe there is a movement to patronise produce with in a particular geographical range,they have rediscovered the need for human contact,but sadly by the time we realise the value of the small farmer and the small shops,they would long be dead and gone.In the meanwhile I continue to shop at the local small stores because I know them and because I have a relationship going with them.I may pay a little more but oh the joys of rummaging in the sacks fresh from the market,haggling with him about the quality of the wares and the general freshness of local produce will still hold all the romance of shopping for me.

In thunder ,lightining and in rain

Its a beautiful day today,there's rain and thunder and the leaves on the trees are a new green,the colour of freshly drenched leaves.The large windows of the house ensure a beautiful view and the day is just right for wandering around,under an umbrella.Unfortunately no one in the house shares the enthusiasm.For starters,the mother is terrified of thunder and rain depresses her.The husband on the other hand thinks this is perfect weather to watch a movie and eat hot spicy snacks.So here I am a poor old enthusiast trying very hard to drum up some spirit.
With all my pleas falling on deaf ears,I decided to take the law into my own hands so was busy getting ready to walk,umbrella and shoes at the ready.Unfortunately the mother spots me and all hell breaks loose.She is convinced that I will be struck by lightning or crushed under a tree(never mind that there are hardly any trees around) and her hysteria gets to me(didn't know I was so wanted,guess i am expected to feel loved etc etc but this is a bit much).So as a compromise i take the car.Its great fun to drive in the rain,hardly any traffic and I simply love the sound of splashing through puddles(would love to be barefoot and splashing but good daughter that I am i defer to parental authority).Glad to escape and be out in the open I head for the library,later it seems like perfect weather to have a cup of tea with a friend and catch up(she was here the last morning so nothing much to catch up so obviously she is an escape)I had every intention of going to the nursery to check out some plants,veggie shop to chat with the veggie man and get some fresh veggies but all that is not to be.Damn the mobile phone,I cant ever escape any more,I am always found.Its the husband wanting to know if I was planning to come home(the veiled glee in his voice is a dead give away,the mother had got to him).A lecture later I am home to face a happy husband(trilled that the mother is going on hammer and tongs at my irresponsible behaviour.....being out in the rain in a car if you please)and a hysterical mother.I fail to understand why she has such little faith in my driving ability or my simple common sense.I am convinced my mother has regressed to the time when I was a teenager.Now I am constantly monitored,she needs to know where I am and who I am with(its no help that the husband is lapping it all up happy that the mother is able to achieve what he hasn't in ten years).Well it looks like I have been outnumbered so here I am a forty year old teenager who has been grounded for not keeping curfew.Oh dear c'est la vie.

Bling,government offices and life

First it was a visit to the post office,then to the telephone office.In the past these offices have been places so depressing that one would avoid them as far as possible.Dust everywhere,files creating walls instead of cubicles and people with attitudes to match.If any work got done it was between tea breaks,lunch breaks and so on.
Obviously competition makes a big difference.The BSNL office was actually air conditioned,they could process my request online,people were polite and took time to answer questions.They actually asked us if we had feedback and what not.
The post office was even better,air conditioned,all the women in uniform and counters well marked.Obviously the competition from courier companies and the email makes for a change in attitude and environment.
One thing though hadn't changed.Every woman worth her salt in both offices was loaded with jewellery.I counted a minimum of four gold chains each in varying weights and sizes,bangles that could make enough sound to qualify for an orchestra.As many rings as there are fingers and earrings glittered all around.
The jewellery market is obviously in the pink of health and will continue to be so provided these woman continue in government offices.
That brings me to the next topic.All of them had enough money to buy all the things that their counterparts in other offices could but the priority here was jewellery.Was it peer pressure or just the way of society.We talk of socio economic class,defined by household income and education but what we fail to put emphasis on is that socio economic class goes beyond household income and education.It has so much more to do with the kind of environment that one grows up in,the choice of schools and colleges,the work environment and the exposure to society in general.All things being equal,the environment hold the key.That really is what makes people different and that is the key to targeting,marketing and reach.Numbers are just that,indicators.

Attitude that kills

When people talk of attitude,Ive often wondered what they meant until I found it myself.Everything finally is about attitude.It dictates ones life,the course of ones thoughts and the well being of ones mind.Its such a dangerous weapon that it can destroy as it can heal.Double edged sword if any.
Today as in the many years of my life I have been battling a negative attitude.I can see it destroying a person I love and I am helpless because like I ve discovered the path of ones life is in ones own mind.
Trying to see the good things in life is not easy but believing that everyone else has it good and its only me with a sad life is looking at life in a jaded form.Doesn't it occur to people that human beings are individuals and have to exercise that right.When you fail to count blessing and can only look at the so called bad things,when you refuse to believe that you can change the course of your life in however small a measure,then that attitude can slowly destroy ones core and no one,simply no one can help with that.I realised that trying to break down this wall of negativity was pointless at this point.Either I don't know how to deal with it or I don't think its important anymore.Perhaps its true that a leopard cant change its spots but negativity can spread,its infectious and I have every reason to keep my distance from it.

Our neighbour-our focal point

Morning activity starts around five in the morning,the place is swept and washed and breakfast is on the fire ready for the old lady to get out of bed.At round seven thirty she is out sitting in her favourite chair watching the world go by.One might wonder whats so unusual about all this.The point is that she is our neighbour and our lives are inexplicably linked to hers.No conversations pass between us,no talk at all but we have a direct view of her home and all her activities.

I can remember her from her pattu saree days.She was the most dreaded figure on the street,from vegetable man to street dog no one messed with her.Over the years with ill health and years passing by the pattu saree has given way to a night dress.On occasions when she goes out a dupatta goes on.On the rare occasion that a wedding has to be attended the pattu saree comes out.

Our day begins with watching her,its habit to see her sitting there and doing her thing.To all our guests she is a focal point.Everyone who has at some point stayed with us will enquire about her if she is missing from her post.Two days ago we didn't see her,the house was locked and there was no sign of activity.The next day she was missing again.A pall of gloom descended over our household.Somehow the thought of not seeing her was like a vacuum.Considering we have known her for over thirty odd years(having lived on the same street) but have never bothered to so much as say hello,I find it rather strange.The anxiety was heightened by the fact that too many of her children were around and everyone had grave faces.

Finally I cornered the daughter in law and found out that she was in hospital .My concern was quickly brushed aside by the daughter in law who claimed that the hospital would be more than glad to send her home(she had been yelling at all the staff and generally throwing her weight around)and that she was certain that the old lady would be home before we knew it.She added that she was a witch so there was no need for me to loose sleep over her.Well she ought to know considering she lives with her.

This morning right as rain,she was up and about,yelling at her son to fetch and carry for her like nothing had changed.She is 90 years old and I hope she lives to be a hundred,because in her I see my own mortality(her eldest son continues to fetch and carry and put up with here constant yelling and I doubt if he will thank me for this post).

Small gods and temples

It started like most of them do as a small idol of a Hindu god.One can find them on most street corners in the city.It remained so for many years with the few people of that area coming stopping by to offer a few flowers and once in a while a chat with an otherwise bored priest.
It is the story of our temples that their beginnings are small but over a period of time the religious sentiments of the local people get the better of them and the contributions increase.With that comes the need for a bigger temple,so an altar gets built which is followed by one more idol and before one is aware a big temple has come up.
This morning I realised that the god that sat at the corner near the electricity building had evolved into a large temple and had occupied the road corner with no thought of how they were obstructing traffic or if the temple had encroached on the road.I wonder if the Chennai corporation gave permission for the additional structures.I believe the money came from the people who patronise this new temple but could a church or a mosque have gotten away with it?.Wouldn't the politicians go up in arms of how we were converting the locals into our religion(never mind that adults cant be forced into anything).Its unfair and unethical to have constructions (temple or no temple) go up in places without any planning.The irony of it is that all the revenue is tax free,and god forbid anyone raised an objection.There would be hell to pay and the majority religion would be supported by the local fanatics to make a fuss until it became a national agenda.I wondered if the gods were laughing at our foolishness.After all do Gods need a home built by us mortals?.

Random thoughts and bla bla bla

Today I was treated to a splurge in the bookstore,greed gets the better of me when i see books so i search,read,check price and generally loose myself in them.The trip to the bookstore was a reminder of how fragile life is.Last month on this day I was in a different and difficult world.This month a lot of healing has taken place thanks to books.They are my escape route to a world of shared experiences across oceans,cultures and ages.So I came back with a bag load of books to escape into.
On the way,we stop at a place to pick up dvds.The husband is an avid movie buff and the mother a tv serial junkie,me I am a book worm so we are all in our own worlds.However this blog is not about us,its about my little sojourn into the world of other people.While waiting for the husband to choose his movies,I sat in the car to watch the world go by.Five people caught my attention.They were friends for sure,two girls(looked like they were in college but then again they may have been young working women,nowadays the lines are so blurred one is no longer able to slot people)and three men(young and for me that means in the late twenties or early thirties).They were all next to a mid size car(which translates into...."they have the money and earning power").It was pretty obvious that one of them was a couple(the personal space between them was too little and much backslapping and hugging going on)the other two were on the way to becoming one and the third was a real bored our of his skull chap who for some reason had to put up with all this.What was real interesting was that the girl who was part of confirmed couple,was the most relaxed.She was the centre of all the fun.It looked like all of them were there for her.The other interesting observation was that despite having a lot of common interest and constant talking,what really was holding them together was the sms messages and their mobile phones.The mobile phone was being passed around amidst much mirth,the sms messages were enjoyed and all the evening was revolving around the phone.,I wondered if they were sending messages to each other or what.Think back to my own world those many years ago(this group reminder me so much of our gang when we were all finding our own equations).We hung around at the sterling club,watching others play tennis or swim while having great conversations.We had our own bikes and couldn't dream of cars but in the end it all boiled down to physical and mental vibes and never mind the technology or so I believe.Well the husband was back and there ended my observation if human behaviour.All too soon we are back home and like Goldilocks we are in our respective beds one watching a movie laughing his head off,one immersed in a soap opera that's guaranteed to take her blood pressure up and me dying for a cup of tea and a good read so have to end all this bla bla now.

Pen vs gabbing

Finally Ive hit a century,no I haven't joined the Indian cricket team nor has anyone been kind enough to bid for me...alas...the point is that this is my 100th post so I ought to feel rather proud of myself.Blogging took a back seat this week.Working from home means discipline and considering I don't have any,I jump from one task to the other getting somethings done.Some order in chaos.
Today I made a discovery,actually I confirmed a truth.In my long years of slogging in a sales job,chances were that a lot of people didn't want to see me because it invariably meant that I made them spend money,but my journalist friends were treated very differently.People courted them,returned calls(in my case the phones would be switched off but we learn to get them)and actually were nice and talkative with them.Wondered how it would feel to be on the other side.So I reinvented myself as a rookie writer(note I don't call myself a journalist).In the short time that I have dealt with real people(as opposed to stories from my head) I have had them call me back,tell me how nice it was talking to me and the whole nine yards.Talk of publicity and everyone is a sucker for it.Its interesting and fun for the moment but contrary to popular belief it does involve a lot of work,it needs careful handling of quotes and such like,oh well guess it all boils down to trial and error but its fun and interesting.

Man is smart,woman smarter

For the last few weeks there has been a constant refrain among a lot of relatives and friends of what a great daughter I am,except that it doesn't end there(i would have considered this a compliment and been happy)its more often than not followed by"you are like a son they never had" or "youre the man of the house" and so on.The references to being like a man or a son gets on my nerves,as it implies that a daughter however much she does is just not good enough.I gave a lot of thought to why people say this.Is it an overriding belief that boys or rather sons are an asset and the ones who are expected to look after parents in old age,does it stem from the fact that only men are allowed to light the funeral pyre.Whatever may be the reason its so deep rooted that no one considers it offensive to tell a woman how much of a man she is.
I decided then to do some checking.Do sons really look after their parents,do the make the sacrifices that daughters make(without grumbling or going on about it),maybe after all there is some truth behind this blind faith.
A cross section of women with brothers was asked who looks after their parents.In addition I have been studying the behaviour patterns of patients in hospitals Take a look at most of the old people who come on doctors visits and one is sure to find that 90% of them are accompanied by daughters and not sons.Most of my immediate circle of friends look after one or more of their parents and not because they don't have brothers.The boys assume that their careers are more important,their wives and children more important and so the story goes.Do they contribute to the financial security of the parents,well in some cases yes(the easiest thing to do is to write a cheque)and in most cases no.Why then this blind faith and constant reference to the boys.My mother is no exception.Despite everything that we daughters do,she will always believe that she lost out by not having a son.
I believe we as society are to blame for all of this,we treat our boys differently and despite all our education and exposure we are fed on soap operas which show women as the meek and mild ones,constantly being beaten up by husbands or being a burden on families because they cant be married off.Utter load of rubbish that rakes in wild trps and profits for television companies and in the process undermining everything that we women have worked so hard to achieve.The irony is that most of these serials are made by highly successful women.That's the irony of our day and age and I wonder if the next generation will be the same way.....I am still wondering and to those who think that I am as good as a son let me assure that I consider that insulting.I am a good daughter and a damn good woman and if anyone needs to be compared let it be a man for once.