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.
tea gardens
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
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
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
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
Thursday, July 03, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, June 30, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
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
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
Friday, June 06, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
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.
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.
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....
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....
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, April 04, 2008
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.
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.
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