The Banana Sequel.

Its 4:00 pm, and here I am, at office, drinking milk. Not the warm milk from the vending machine (which does not exist), but the milk I brought from home in a vacuum flask. Yes people, I am a child in an adult’s body. If my Papa sees me drinking milk at office, he will jump with joy. Anyone else seeing this might think that I am retarded. Well, I don’t care as long as there is a calcium blast happening in my stomach.

My life was very eventful during my high school days.  I’d get up at 5 am, get ready and travel many miles to attend the tuition class, then go to school, after which I’d race to my entrance coaching center ( which proved to  be unfruitful when the results came) , and would reach home by 9 pm. Pretty hectic. 

So my parents derived a round the clock, all-round nutrition plan for me which goes something like this. A full mug of Horlicks at 5 a.m…. in which the horlicks would be just a negligible percentage and rest would be whole milk. Anyway the color made me believe that it was hot chocolate or something and we had a win-win situation there. My breakfast was carefully packed in aluminum foil, which was usually toast and omlette. How many eggs went into the making of the omlette is not known till date, but a diet conscious me was made to believe that it was just one egg and nothing more. ( After marriage when I stepped into the kitchen and started making omlettes myself, I realized that one egg cant make an omlette as big as the one I used to have.  Later,I forgave them for that ). Then came lunch, which was usually a combination of rice, vegetables and fish.

However, the evening snack was my personal choice. Before going to entrance coaching I was expected to eat a banana. But I ate hot chicken puffs. Papa said it was junk food, and that bananas were healthy and some nutrition facts about bananas and blah blah….  

But bananas? In front of people ?

So years and years of chicken puffs, hot dogs, burgers and pizzas  later,  here I am, at my desk, drinking milk and wondering which fruit to crush for my baby.

 How about bananas ?

Fraud Fraaands !

I grew up watching my parents help a lot of people who were either in need or in trouble. Back in the 90’s, when we bought a second hand car, whenever we went to the city they slowed down at the bus stop to check for familiar faces. And if there were any, my parents would drop them first. However I used to get pissed at that, as I’d have to share the seat with some random aunty who would eventually ask me my grade and how I was doing at school. That’s the last topic I want to discuss about, you see.

My sister and brother in law are sponsors for the education expenses of a child at an orphanage and are doing their bit. My mother, ever since she started earning, saved a portion of her income for the poor. I am not proud to say that I’m not doing any of these, but I never turned down any genuine opportunity that came my way.

Recently I got an email from an acquaintance. Not a school friend, or a college mate or an ex colleague. Just a random face I met once or twice in my journey. In the email, she said: Hey Anita, hope you’re doing good. How is your family? I need a small help from you. I want to do a course in a XXX university here which would cost me 15000 euros.  I can’t ask my father as he is in a financial crunch from a recent huge expense. My husband doesn’t want me to do this course. Can you please send some money to my account? I will return it once I get a job. Thanks, Ms. ABCD.

Now my reaction to this is WHAT THE HELL !? or even worse.

The mail talks volumes about the immaturity of the person and her perception of others that they are fools. Her husband doesn’t want her to do this course. So she is going around begging and how the hell is she going to collect money as much as that? And she says she will return the money if at all she gets a job ! What if she doesn’t and decides to stay at home? Would that mean that as per the deal the money doesn’t have to be returned? When the husband is around, and the wife collects fund from her friends for her expenses what does that say about the husband? Anyway, I replied to the email in the most decent way possible, that I had a baby now and we are currently unable to meet our own expenses and closed the chapter.

A month later, Ms.ABCD posted on facebook: “ Browsing through my new iphone”.

The same month a bunch of pics were posted in facebook. The album was named ‘ Weekend at the London tower’. Ms. ABCD and her husband, dressed luxuriously looked all classy in the pics.

Do you think this person actually needed the money?

P.S: This was one of the very few instances in all my life that I felt proud of myself. If I had sent the money however small it may be, the above updates on facebook would have made me suicidal.

Random family amusements ..:)

The dentist finally gave me the verdict. Root Canal it is. I hurried home and the first thing I did, was to call my sister, reason being, if something is painful she plainly says it. For her, sympathy and consolation comes later. It was helpful to me many times before, as I could mentally prepare to face such situations. (The other instances I asked her this, was about threading eyebrows and recently about delivery - and for the latter any mental preparation doesn’t help)

Me: Does it pain?

She: No, not at all…They give you an anesthesia before doing it. You wont even know it.

Me: Really ?  You sure?

She: And yes, I had a small jaw ache initially, but that’s nothing to do with root canal…its because  I had to keep my mouth opened for a long time.

Me: Ohh !

She: But for you, that shouldn’t be a problem. :|

*********************************************************************************

Now that our baby is here and we do most of the talking to him (which I think is better at this stage as he isn’t old enough to respond) , the only time we get to talk to each other is during the long walk from the parking lot to the grocery shop.

Me: You know, Mummy said I have lots of patience when I give oil massage and bathe Aaron…my sister also said the same. Why don’t you ever appreciate anything about me..?

Few seconds later. (Ya that’s all he takes to find a convincing answer to death questions)

He: “There are too many good things about you that I don’t know where to start from”.\

**********************************************************************************

When Aaron was a couple days old, and we were still at the hospital, he started crying at night and my Mom picked him up. I’d been flamboyantly living like a bachelorette post marriage and now post delivery, and so wasn’t used to baby cries or waking up in the middle of the night. I slowly opened my eyes and saw my Mom pacifying the new born and he soon drifted off to sleep in her arms. I dint get up from my bed, instead peeped into his cradle through the two round holes of the arm rest of the hospital bed.

As my Mom turned, with an expression which clearly said ‘will she ever learn!’ , all she saw were my eyes, through those holes. As she walked back to the bystander bed, she murmured, ‘Reminds me of the dinosaur’.

**********************************************************************************

Although my Papa advices everyone to drive safe, one needs to be life insured and iron hearted to be in the car while he drives. He uses neither of the rear view mirrors -  I was told that it wasn’t in the syllabus during his time. That our car rests unscratched in the garage is the simple testimony to the existence of God and that he listens to our prayers. Once as we were speeding on a particularly busy road, I noticed a small cat which was about to cross. I yelled ‘Papa, don’t !’ and closed my eyes tight…In a split second I turned around and saw that the cat had escaped unscathed. Papa continued the drive totally oblivious of me, or the cat. 

Then I asked, ‘Papa, have you ever run across a cat and killed it?’ ..

Papa: ‘No, but I badly wanted to’.

Scrappy Oxymorons .

Dear Internet ad/app programmers, 

Please have some sense. Or atleast humanitarian traits.

By the way, have you ever seen a baby?

Yours sincerely,

Human Beings.

P.S: Screenshot from a random site I was browsing through.

Car Scars !

I have seen a lot of passionate people, their passion varying from bikes to earrings to interior decoration, but I should genuinely admit that none were as intense as my hubby’s passion to drive cars. Any aspect of a car is known to him, may be as much as a mechanic. He works in software but I believe he was born to be a mechanical engineer.

 We owned a Maruti Swift VDi ( high end Diesel version) at Bangalore and traveled by car from Bangalore to Cochin and back, almost 550km one way, and not a second was boring with him.

The story goes like this...Long long ago, I introduced my best-boy-friend ( presently my hubby) to my parents. Years later he turned out to be such a darling with them that I (still) feel like a daughter in law in my own house. One of those days, Mummy was talking to him on phone and she mentioned casually that I rejected one other proposal of a guy who was very rich, owned several cars and that one of his cars was a Skoda . Of all the things why Mummy had to specify that, and how the Skoda part alone struck deep with him, is still a mystery.
 Since then, no skoda would be spared on the road without him overtaking it. :D Sometimes in the jam packed roads of Bangalore city, if he spots a Skoda, he goes out of his way to overtake it.! Are we mad or what :D

Coming back to the point, all other cars on the road are rated based on its technical  specifications.  For example, if a swift Ldi honks hard from behind he still won’t give way for it to overtake us, whereas he will not only give way but also make the car bow down to a Honda Accord !!. Are we weird or what:D 

Our car not only had a soap but a shampoo and conditioner as well ! So now you’d know that this car rests in the car shed only because we dint have enough space to bring it to our bedroom.

One unfortunate day, while I was parking in the basement of the closely packed parking lot of my office, I happened to glance into the rear view mirror and found that the Maruti Zen parked next to where I was trying to park was shaking. The rear end of my car had accidentally ‘touched’ it (due to poor visibility *cough cough*)…I then took a reverse and parked right, but a teeny weeny scar had appeared there. (I din't check what happened to the Zen... of course :D ). On reaching home when I told him this, he jumped out of his chair, grabbed the keys and ran to the car shed. After ten to fifteen minutes of close examination, during which a lot of undesirable ‘hoo’s and hmph’s and ‘grrrr’s were hurled at me, he said that I was careless and still unfit to drive on the main road on a non-hartal day. I sheepishly went back to my room.

The next day, my aunt invited us to her apartment and we both went very enthusiastically (as she was a great cook ). At the parking area for visitors, hubby could not find a decent place to park and was struggling amidst lots of other cars which were parked in total disarray. I requested him that I will get out of the car and tell him how much more to go on reverse but my request was dismissed with a grin and a hmph.

BANG !  

The noise alerted a sleepy security guy who came running as I hurried to the backside. A pillar had hit into the rear end of the car. The damage was awful. I turned and looked at him.

“The pillar settings are not right in this building” he said.

Baby news :)

When our baby came into our lives in June, many people asked me whether I’d continue to write. Why should I stop blogging because a baby is here? A new born can hardly read my blog and ask me to stop, I thought. But now I know the gist of that question. If I stretch out in any direction, my hands are sure to land on a diaper(sometimes a soiled one) or a baby tissue. Such is the state of affairs at my house after I came from my hometown. I literally worship my parents now…they looked after my sister and me at a time when there were no diapers and took us places when prams were unheard of. Having said that about diapers and prams, it doesn’t mean I am old and lived in the black and white era. Diapers weren’t there or we couldn’t afford it that’s all.

Now talking about the baby, he is a sweetheart. He sleeps all day and plays at night, so that when I toil at work all day I can come home and play with him at unearthly hours …which in turn means that his age in months is equal to how many days I was sleep deprived. But somehow nature has it that a mother falls for her baby’s smile even if he smiles at 2:00 am and so it happened that I have forgotten what sleep is like.  No I am not complaining, because sometimes I wonder what we did before he was born. I cant seem to remember how my husband and me spent our evenings and weekends before he came :D Of course, we talked, gossiped, argued and even fought – about what? No idea.

Walking at malls pushing a pram has become a new experience as well. As he is an infant now, we have adjusted the pram in such a way that he can see us…and I am sure one day he might blog about how he had to see my face all the time, even at malls where there were lots of hot chicks flocking around. And when he is inside he has no other option than to flash his oh-so-innocent toothless smile, which I fall for, and as a response I also start smiling and playing with him. However other people don’t see the baby inside ; they just see me smiling and talking playfully and think I am crazy or something. Well one cant be bothered about all that. Once I am out of Kerala, I can be assured that others mind their own business and not poke into mine.

However I always think that the pregnancy phase was the most beautiful one. People opened doors for me, stared admiringly, gave way at long queues,  parents pampered me to bits and above all, I had the license to eat. Well that eating habit still continues. Earlier I had the tummy and a small person inside to justify about. But now? Neither. Hmm. Certain habits die hard , you see.

So that’s all I can find to write. I am fearfully anticipating the day my baby grows up, finds this blog, and disowns me. :-(

Choir Gags

I used to be one of the forty singers of a popular choir. It was not a church choir, but one which was conducted independently by the grandson of a Christian musical maestro, who composed many popular Christian songs we sing in church to this day. Our choir master, who is a seventy-something old man, weak and frail, was very particular and strict about English pronunciations, tones and every other technical detail of Western church music. We practiced two hours on Sunday evenings, and held concerts during Christmas, sometimes on Easter and on the death anniversary of our choir master’s grandpa.

The attendance of choir members was consistent, regardless of the choir master being extremely strict. When forty of us sang in a harmony, this old genius would know who sang the wrong note, and made us sing from the start.

The two words our choir master insisted on were ‘round tones’. He pressed on the fact that for good vocal output, one should open the mouth and let the jaws loose. But most of us in the choir never did that, and the choir master kept on accusing us saying that we were tight lipped singers who sang through the nose. He was so annoyed with our lip movements and said that we were more concerned of how our faces would look when we opened our mouths, than in the tone quality of the song. He used to advice us to stand in front of a mirror at home, open the mouth in round tones and sing so that we can feel the sound from the chest. Well, you know we can do anything but sing in front of a mirror.

 Soon, our choir master became so infamous on this, that the church public commented that the dog at his house barked in round tones in fright.

One fine Sunday evening, my Mom was bathing my eight month old niece who was in turn, trying to crawl out of her grip. It was a usual ritual so my Mom kept on talking to turn her attention and said… “Does anyone want to see my little beauty here without clothes…no tickets required…it is a free show…free show…” . My grandmother also used to call it ‘free show’ when we were little one or two year olds and refused to wear any clothes. Anyway, after her bath, Mom and me quickly got dressed, waved at the little one, and sped to the choir practice. 

Soon after, our choir master appeared with black notes of a new hymn and distributed it. Along with his copy of the song was an off white envelope which clearly was an invitation card. He opened it, put on his spectacles and read through it seriously. He then slowly put the card back in the envelope raised his small, thin head looked at us, and said, 

“There will be a Russian church concert next Sunday; All are welcome. It will be from 5:00 pm onwards at the Parish hall next to the cemetery”

After a serious pause, he continued, “I repeat. This is no joke. I should see all of you at the concert next Sunday and learn how lip movement and round tones make a difference in singing”

Soon we all started whispering among ourselves. The choir master, noticed our concern, and proceeded,

“No need to worry about entry passes. It is going to be a free show”

From rags to riches...a real story.

I was three years old when my parents built their dream home in Trivandrum. It was not in the heart of the city, but very close. My neighborhood looked more or less like a slum and our house was the only double storeyed structure which stood tall in the entire locality.

Every day, be it day or night, you could hear a tapping sound from any room of our house. Soon we got so familiarized to this noise that we couldn’t hear it anymore. Behind our house, was a small thatched hut, where a man who carved little elephants out of wood for his livelihood, lived with his family. His wife, three sons of whom the youngest was retarded, lived in this hut of two rooms. However all other houses here were more or less of the same type, and so we never felt anything so special about this hut or the people living in it. You could hear the tapping of tools on wood even at nights and many a time I have wondered the practicality of this to raise and educate two kids.

When I was in high school a major change came across this hut, as it changed from thatched roof to a tiled one. Tiled roofs are not very helpful on rainy days but are certainly an improvement from a thatched house. Then Papa used to tell me how hard work and modesty paid off. Me being a teenager at that time, despised advice and stories with morals - or lets put it this way, I hated anything which had atleast a remote chance of making me a better person. And not to mention at that age, parents would always sound wrong and outdated.

Years passed. Our neighborhood changed for the better. This month I came down to my home on a month long vacation. As usual I went to the terrace, and was in for a huge shock. In the place of the tiled roof house there is now a palatial double storeyed building, with modern amenities, granite floors and was huge enough to place our house inside it. Obviously, the man who made wooden elephants moved out and sold his land. I heard that his youngest son was moved temporarily to an asylum and this was a painful occasion for them and everyone else in the neighborhood. This could have made them move out. I stared blankly at the new house, which was getting ready for a house warming ceremony, decorated in blue and yellow lights.

Soon a lady emerged from the front door, appearing all busy and tensed with a huge vessel of a local sweet in it. She called out to someone and a guy took the vessel from her and went out. She looked familiar.Papa came on to the terrace for a smoke and told, that she was the same old lady, whose husband was the man who made wooden elephants. They’d saved and accumulated the meager income, and educated their sons, by living in poverty and sacrifice. The sons made good value of the money, got placed, promoted, worked in Dubai and London for almost a decade and gifted their parents with a home they deserved for sacrificing all their lives for them.

Do you know a better real story for the same theme?

Stork Visit :)

There is absolutely nothing like being on a vacation at home and to be pampered by parents, I tell you. Once again, I got to be my real self, the crazy and lazy daughter, who opens the fridge every now and then wishfully searching for the appearance of a new dish. As my Mom and me had just returned from Muscat, we bought chocolates for relatives, friends and neighbors which were religiously consumed by yours truly. So now my Mom has to look for alternate methods to satisfy her acquaintances whose demands and expectations seems to grow each time she returns from Muscat.

As I was lazing around, gluttony took the better of me and eventually Mom had to toil in the kitchen to meet my ever changing menu. Soon after, my sister and six year old niece turned up from Chennai and we had a blast. Literally it was a blast, as I fought with her, and it hurt her bad. And to mention about the war-of-words, it was not with my sister, but with her six year old. I must be really sick to fight with a kid. Anyway, after leaving for Chennai she accepted my apologies over telephone. I hear she has high regards for me, as I do for her, I will continue to fight with her but if anyone else tries to hurt her I will kick their butt.

Kids, these days, I say. Well, if God gives us kids, then He must surely know how these little menaces are born gizmo freaks. My niece knows better than my sister about the varied options on her mobile phone and so my sister prefers not to reveal her qualification. Shh…She is an electronics engineer, you see. However my niece is not much convinced about this, as she was taught in school that engineers design and build bridges and buildings.

I remember another incident when a friend was expected to visit us with her family on a weekend. They had three kids, and we thoughtfully stocked ice creams and chocolates in the fridge. On their arrival, we proudly offered the kids ice creams first when the eldest of them snapped ‘Sorry aunty, this is chocolate flavored ice cream. My flavor is butterscotch. Anyway, thank you’. God will ask me justification on the judgment day if wasted ice cream. (Even before God asks, my ice cream crazy sister surely will). And so I had to consume that also. ( No, I am not going to conclude this article stating how and why I gained weight).

Another friend of mine, who owns a laptop which signs in with his fingerprint says, that his two year old takes his laptop while he sleeps, brings it to him, takes his finger and swipes it across. Now that the laptop is logged on, the kiddo has signed in to his world of games :D

Well, I am saying all this to conclude, that kids can be fun, tough to handle, a challenge to raise, and a huge responsibility to bear …but we were kind of ready to welcome one and see how we excel in it. God has blessed us with a baby boy on June 7^th this year, and all posts after that were typed hurriedly when he was sleeping, and so they were not really spell checked. We christened him as Aaron. So that is the reason why posts these days are not as frequent as before, but you readers out there…don’t be happy that I am gone…I will continue like I always did…there is always time to type a few paragraphs!

Undisclosed Utilities !

On a particularly boring weekend, I was alone at home wondering what to do. Time seemed to stagnate every passing second. Suddenly I noticed this wall in the living room which looked all plain and blank (ready to be spoilt by me) and I decided to give it a new look. I opened my cupboard and took the envelope holder which my Mom gifted me…It is a beautiful jute piece which had pockets that can hold envelopes and post cards (exactly like the one in the picture ). When we were younger, my Mom used to put the day’s mail and post cards in it.
 I hung the envelope holder on the wall, which now looked full and aesthetic, and lay back in the bliss of having done something productive.

        However, my tech savvy husband has an aversion to wall hangings or any home décor, like I have to his endless cables and wires which runs haywire on the floor and ceiling. After reaching home, he switched on his denial mode when he saw it.


He: Whats this ?

Me: Envelope Holder .

He: “Envelope!!” he exclaims, as if I told a new word. “Soldiers at Kargil have 3G phones!”

Me: You can put other stuff too.

He: ‘Like what !!!”

Me: **cold stare**

Conversation ends, and the outcome is settled. The husband dislikes, but the envelope holder stays. (Cold stares bring screeching halts to any conversation, good or bad. It is very handy in such situations.)

Few weeks later, on a similar boring day, I was at home lazing, and hubby was out to settle bills. ( " bill payment " reminds me of Papa, as he used to say, that it had actually  turned out to be the purpose of his existence over the years :D )

Me: Hello?

He: Hey I am at Airtel office…Can you check this month’s copy of landline bill and call me back..?

I searched every nook and corner of the house, but in vain. The mobile rings again.

He: Found?

Me: No ...

He: Check that envelope holder of yours…I keep airtel bills there…

Me: !!!! Oh, I see !

The shy grin at the other end would've made an excellent Kodak moment :)

A 'fishy' collision...

It was the last working day of the week. Mom and I were waiting for hubby to come home, after the grocery purchase for the weekend. Papa had already left to India.

10:30 p.m. 

Me: Hello? Where are you?

Hubby: At the parking lot… will be there in five minutes.

So Mom and I arranged plates and got ready for dinner… Meanwhile she also diplomatically made space in the fridge for the items that were on the way. We switched on the TV, but my mind was programmed for the five minute wait, the noise the entrance door makes when someone enters the building, followed by the ring of the bell at our apartment.

5..10…15 minutes passed, and the bell did not ring.

I optimistically expected a traffic block, which could scarcely happen at this part of the town especially at this hour of the day. I took my mobile and dialed him on the speed dial. The call opened initially to the noise of a crowd, followed by his voice.

“Hello..Actually there is a small problem…I met with an accident here…a guy on a two wheeler was hit by our car and he is being taken to the hospital…I am surrounded by his people here…I will call you back”.

The statement sent chill waves down my spine. I ran to my Mom and broke the news to her.

We’re just two ladies at home. We do not know what exactly happened. It is a country where punishments are quick and extreme for even trivial faults. We are expats here. We do not have lawyers or support of any kind. I broke down emotionally, as pessimistic thoughts clouded my head..which also froze my ability to think. I took my mobile and rang up a colleague. He did not answer the call…it was 11 pm already. I rang up another colleague who said that he was already at the accident site, but also added that he couldn’t make out anything.

I was convinced that someone died and that we were going to face a criminal lawsuit. Tears started gushing out of my eyes... followed by persistent whining and melodrama. My Mom, who couldn’t stand me crying, took great effort to hide her own and consoled me despite the mountain of anxiety burning within her. Soon I got calls from various friends of his, who pacified me with updates every now and then. The latest one being, that the victim had come from the wrong direction, on a one-way road and the mistake was all his. He was not injured and was discharged from hospital after dressing up minor wounds. Hubby was in the police station now, where the police tried to document an FIR.  Although this much information was enough to stop the tears, I couldn’t get back to my normal self unless and until I could see and talk to him. The FIR could take some time, I was told.

 Mom and I thanked the Almighty for being there when the world was miles away.

Soon, there was a knock at our door. I rushed to open it... it was a friend, and he held out a small plastic bag to me, and said : “ Hi Anita…I just came from the police station…saw him …he is fine… by the way this is some fresh fish…he said , if he has to stay longer at the police station, it will become stale, and you might be pissed”

What do I say to that?    "Thank you" ????!!!!!!
His friends must now have built an excellent image about me... the wife who would be worried about the fish going stale when husband is at the police station. Sigh..!.

Anyway, hubby was back home in another hour, by God’s grace, and I quietly explained to him that come what may, I just can’t do without fresh fish :-D

Being me !

I was the youngest in my family for several years, until my cousin was born. Its not a cakewalk, my friend. Yes, I was pampered to bits…but it all came at a cost !!!. Here are a few prices I pay to this day, for the unintentional fault of being the youngest and these might be true for you if you’ve been there too.

You may be a he or a she, but your family refers to you as ‘It’.

They will take you for movies and picnic, but never will the choice of movie/picnic spot be yours.

You are shushed if you try to speak when they are discussing something.

If at all you speak, they will find grammatical mistakes in your sentence, or simply laugh for reasons only known to them.

If you make the mistake of: singing a song by the wrong lyrics/writing poetry/speak English in your younger years, it will be remembered by them all your life and will be recited even in front of your spouse.

As you grow older, you grow younger in their heads.

When you complete high school / degree / graduation, they will wonder how it even happened! (Your grades wouldn’t matter)

To you they increasingly appear to be silly people who do not understand the concept that once toddlers will not be toddlers forever.

At your marriage they will laugh and pity your spouse.

They will ensure that the spouse also doesn’t take you seriously.

After your marriage they will continue to make decisions.

You will be shushed in front of your spouse.

They will make long distance calls to your hostel/workplace and wind up asking you to check whether the front door is properly locked, and not to play with power plugs.

You will not be entrusted with money, gold, keys to home/car, umbrella, purse …in short, any valuables.

Whenever they get a chance to book tickets for you, they think aloud that it seemed like yesterday they booked a half ticket for you. Every time.

If at all you make a serious statement at any point in your life, they will annoy you further by a melodramatic reminiscence of the frock and shoes you wore at age 3, which sits in the in the Godrej wardrobe of your ancestral home.

They will make you feel that you did a terrible crime by growing up.

 ;-) Here is to all my folks for whom I am still the little girl in a pink frock!  Yes, you are welcome.

A super-cool B'day gift !

It was my birthday on June 15, and Indiblogger decided to give me a birthday gift !

Its true, I won Rs.10,000  in their contest to write on 'Real Beauty' , and the prize was announced on my birthday ! I couldn't ask for more !

Thanks to everyone who read that post on my blog, and to those who promoted, supported 

and selected my post on Indiblogger! I am so motivated ( and also scared now that I have to keep up a standard ) ! Thanks again !

You can scroll down to see my prize winning entry, or just click HERE.

You can find the Indiblogger prize winners on this page -  and navigate to see the prize winning entries.

Conversational Torture .. MUTED.

*Papa, Mummy , Hubby and me are on a road trip*

Me: You know what? There is one MNC in which if an employee completes 25 years of service, they acknowledge the tenure with a certificate and a pug !

Mummy: A pug ! Why would they give a pug ! 25 years of service… all for a pug? What if that guy doesn’t want the pug?

Me: May be they will give cash equivalent to the cost of the pug…Pugs are costly…atleast 30k for an old and dying one.

( Papa is surprisingly silent)

Mummy: Anyway I still don’t understand why they would do that.

Hubby: “Basically, pugs are useless. It has wrinkles on its face which needs to be brushed and cleaned on a regular basis, has to be fed special food and in return...it just lazes inside the house and poses for photographs. What a waste”

Me: “Who wouldn’t want to brush a pug…it is so cute ….” **unwarranted high pitch noises to justify the degree of cuteness**

Papa couldn’t stand it any longer and breaks the silence…

"What is a pug ?"

We all break into a roar of laughter…Few minutes later, after dramatically regaining my breath, I explain to him saying that it is a breed of dog commonly seen in the Vodafone ad. Well, we all know he hasn't seen that ad either unless it was aired in the news break.

 His expression changed from a question mark to complete regret on the time wasted discussing about this creature.

But sadly for him, the discussion goes on…as I explain animatedly about a guy whose family in India hesitates to come to stay with him, as they have a dog back home and cant part with it at any cost.

Mummy: This reminds me... Do u remember my ex colleague ABCD? Her daughter and family went to the US... Initially they decided to sell their puppy…later they thought of leaving it at their relative’s place where it will be taken care of…but emotional attachment to the pup took the better of them and finally the it got to go to US too !

Me: Oh my.. ! That could be costly right? What if after spending so much on its travel expense it dies after reaching there, succumbing to climate differences or something like that?

*Looks worried*

Mummy: You don’t worry about it too much…they will take care :D

Me: You know what…there is another guy from India who got the offer letter from our office, and accepted the offer … then he and his dog came first…his family came three months later!

Hubby: Oh ..! That is nothing... There is one animal saloon here…where they bathe puppies using dog shampoo…then they blow dry and brush its fur, and even pedicure and manicure them !!

(Papa is still in the car despite his exponentially increasing urge to escape, just because it was scorching heat outside)

But little did we know that he was cooking up a brilliant idea to silence all of us.

Papa : “ Do you know what Karl Marx said about pets” ?

Complete silence.

Epilogue: Thus ended the conversation about dogs, or even animals in general. Thanks to our collective knowledge about Karl Marx.

The Real Beauty...

She is not a celebrity. Nor does she belong to the entertainment or beauty business. She was the fruitful branch of a once illustrious family tree…which was eventually chopped off.

Two decades ago. I might have been six or seven then, when a grand wedding took place in our family. I was one of the flower girls. It took place with much pomp and show…the bride as usual, was the subject of speculations for multiple reasons, one of them being, that she hailed from an aristocratic family- hence significantly more refined than the family she was married into.  Her charm and humility won hearts and spread cheer around.

Soon, she flew with her husband to Sydney, to pursue her career and family life. A couple of years passed by, and the marriage started losing its rhythm, and gave way to noise. By then, she had two kids, and life got thorny and harsh. Harmony and peace gave way to domestic abuse. Back home, people started poking their noses into the issue and sadistically gossiped their hearts content on the painful series of events. She and her family were demoralized and wounded by verbal abuses by her husband and parents in law.

And no, they weren’t done yet. She had to be hospitalized when her husband’s arguments took the physical form. Violent living room and hospital scenes started taking place in court rooms. After months of struggle through false allegations and downright brutality, she was set free from the chains of the wild misfortune which blew her life like a storm. She was still a young mother, her parents crushed beyond words and kids deprived of a family.

Giving up was not an option. Turbulent waters had passed, and the sailing should continue. She raised the kids, excelled in career, and moved on. Her life was dedicated to the normal upbringing of her children, in the absence of the father figure and this was no cakewalk for a working mother. In the hearts of her parents and few others who knew and cared for her, the wound remains…and the series of events made them doubt whether God really existed…and even if He does, why does such injustice happen to good people. Such were the neglect and harassment she faced, at an age when any woman would long for love, affection, and more importantly, a secure family life. 

Zillions of women might have undergone situations like these. Some are known to us, many go unnoticed and others just give up. But what makes this woman different is, once at a court room she was legally separated from an abusive man…but to this day, when she comes down to her hometown, she visits her mother in law, who once played the evil supporting actress to her downfall,  but is bedridden now with old age and related ailments.  

Who is this old lady to her now? How do we define the empathy she exhibits to this old woman?

Compassion… un-fabricated, unmatched, pure and scarce.

Her visits triggers tears in the eyes of this lady who was once her mother in law. ..in the same living room where years back her tears pooled up but was overlooked and walked upon.

 Today, do we realize how each of us holds on to grudges on trivial issues? Let alone an encounter, can we even think about any individual who abused us or our parents without a frown? How effortlessly do we carry a mountain of ego within us and consider it indispensable? Have forgiveness and selfless love become endangered emotions?

Waistlines widen, hairlines give way to scalp, skin sag, teeth fall out, and bones weaken. Physical beauty fades away with each passing day… but real beauty does not.  

'Real beauty' is the beauty of character, the compassion which knows no reasons, the love which forgives, and the perseverance which stays on forever… and needless to say, she is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.


Also check out: http://realbeauty.yahoo.com/

GPS torture.

She is the guardian angel who guides us through main and off roads..she leads us not into wrong routes , and delivers us from radars… she shows us through green pastures of the shortest road…she is none other than our lady gadget, the GPS.

When we have absolutely no idea or even a sense of direction about the place we want to go, she comes to our rescue.

‘After 400 meters, keep right’..’Follow the course of the road for 8 kilometers’ ..’Observe speed limit’…’At the roundabout take the third exit’..says she, and when we err, she forgives us by saying , ‘Route recalculation’ and routes us back on track.

After having gracefully rendered so much service, and helping us reach home after every weekend, my hubby heartlessly replaced her voice to that of another female, who sounded very stylish with a fake accent. Poor Lady gadget. She silenced herself and gave way to the new quirky female, who was more concerned of her accent than in route calculation. After much argument from my side to get rid of her, hubby updated the GPS altogether, and now it’s a guy, and his dialogues are different too.

Instead of ‘Observe speed limit’, the new guy says …’Observe speed limit…we will always stick to it, wont we?’ (sounds gay, doesn’t he) and instead of ‘Follow the course of the road’, he says ‘Follow the course of the road and everything will be just fine’.

This guy is unbelievably annoying and more often sounds like a priest talking to his lost sheep. The more I am irritated by his comments, the more amused is my better half.

So one fine day, we were helplessly lost and had to turn on the priest for his righteous sermon, which presumably leads us from darkness to light . Halfway through the lost world, the road looked familiar to us and I told hubby…’Now that we know the rest of the road … can we switch off this navigation torture’…hubby nodded but dint show any signs of switching it off. I repeatedly urged him to switch off the damn thing, each time my decibel levels rising, and then came his reply.

“Please keep quiet, and everything will be just fine”.

First Anniversary to Exit Hassles !

Hello Friends, I'm celebrating the first year of exit from my previous firm, from where the exit hassles are not completed yet !

I left my previous firm a year ago, and ever since I’d been hopefully checking my bank account to see whether my PF amount is credited.  As my salary account is with a foreign bank which liberally allows people like me to maintain zero balance without any penalty (well, if I had the money to pay penalty would my account be empty) I make the maximum use of this provision. So if my PF is debited I can easily make out without using the calculator ( some losers has six and 7 digit balance on their account so they have to see the account summary to see how much PF has been credited …thank God I do not have any such troubles).

 Some of my friends actually said that they badly wanted to quit from their firms but when they think of these exit formalities it makes them think twice. Now I understand the painful truth behind it.

*A few words of enlightenment to anyone who plans to quit*

Once a resignation letter is submitted, then you are prone to extremely harsh and ruthless behavior from your managers and leads. (As if it wasn’t like that before).Okay, lets say it gets worse. (Can it get any worse? Yes it can, try sending a resignation letter). Then you will be called by your manager and he will brainwash you to make you realize that working with him is next to achieving salvation. Of course, you won’t fall into that trap. So his next step is to extend your notice period, making you do donkey work like documentation, etc, asking you to share knowledge  (ya , right !) in multiple sessions, assigning your workstation to someone else so you have to beg,  borrow or steal computers to check emails and the like. Then the HR calls up and says that she had been your personal HR representative (you’ll be forced to exclaim ‘Really!’ but DONT). She would ask you to specify the reason for taking such an extremely drastic decision, in a tone which sounds like you won a million dollar lottery and decided to donate it for charity) and also ask you whether you would think about joining back in future. You’d have vowed never to let even your enemies join there, but never say it, if you want a smooth relieving.

* end of enlightenment*

I had the additional privilege during my notice period, that I talked to the HR for like forty minutes from the balcony of the 8^th floor of my office and one guy from the admin asked me to get inside and he promptly shut the door behind me. He’d received  confidential information from an anonymous resource that ‘one girl is standing at the edge’ and had come to save me from committing suicide. As I got inside I got pitiful stares from an entire floor of people. Thanks, you guys. Ironically I was about to tell the HR that working there had always been a suicidal experience for me.

Anyway a year passed and I received an email from them. Here goes :

Hi,

We have received your PF withdrawal forms. While processing we have noticed the following error in the documents submitted by you.

•       You have not submitted form 10C.
•       So you have to submit Form 10C.
•       Please find the attached Form 10C.

Did you notice the rhythm of that email. You could make a nursery rhyme out of it. Anyway I will do whatever it takes to get my PF back.

So, my ex employer,

• I was not aware of Form 10C.
• But now I have duly filled Form 10 C.
• Please see the attached Form 10C.
• Kindly accept the Form 10C.

For God’s sake, Give me my PF !!

How a painting turned me pale :(

The college where my Mom taught looked stereotypical of an old university. Large hectares of land, buildings which looked haunted , cobwebs which signified home to generations of spiders, and the names of students starting from the 60’s engraved on every wall.  In between if one spots a room with a potted plant or a creeper, it is probably my Mom’s. She has a penchant for interior designing, decorative furniture, indoor plants, wall hangings and these attract her more than sarees or gold (Or so, I think ;-) ). Our home in Trivandrum and her room in college are living examples to her vast experiments. She has a creative eye to see aesthetic beauty even in the weirdest piece of wood.  Over the years I too started loving wall hangings and hung a few of them in my room.

Soon after my marriage I realized that my better half doesn’t appreciate wall hangings. However I got a few oil paintings as gifts on my wedding and carried them enthusiastically to Bangalore where we rented a home. Soon our home was garnished with new furniture, carpets  - well the carpets were to cover the innumerable wires of the home theatre that went helter skelter on the floor. A clock was nailed on the wall of the living room.

One Saturday when he had to be at office, I took out the oil painting which featured Shakuntala . It was a very common Ravi Varma duplicate piece, but looked quite awesome. I replaced the clock in the living room, with the painting.  The painting was quite large to go unnoticed… and when he was back, he gave me a gyaan on how functional the clock was to the living room, compared to the 'useless' painting I hung in its place. I continued to hold a deaf ear to it as it wasn't  a big deal anyway.

Few days later, we were informed about guests who were to arrive on a short notice and I had to rush to the kitchen to cook a meal. Planning and execution of a last minute meal wasn’t easy for an expert cook like me, who relies on cook books and long distance calls to boil eggs right…still efforts continued until every cutlery crockery and utensil was smeared with bits and parts of the ultimate lunch which was being cooked. Hubby continued to dictate the route on phone to the guests who were already on their way. ( If it was me I would have told them longest route to reach here…) but I couldn’t afford to handle more disasters than the ones which were already cooking in a pressure cooker, frying pan, microwave oven and rice cooker simultaneously. Lunch time was fast approaching, the guests had almost reached and I called out to him to know what time it was. Pat came a roar from the living room.

'Ask Shakuntala ! '

A portrait experiment.

It was my Mom’s b’day last week, and I thought… a pencil sketch of one of her prized possessions – a black and white photo taken from a studio soon after her marriage would be a creative gift.

I discussed this with my hubby  and he gave me an encouraging and hyper excited ‘thumbs up’ – Of course he is thinking of the hours of peace there would be in the house once I start the venture.  Anyway I took my art drawing book, eraser and all the graphite and charcoal pencils and sat on my bed. I held the photo on one hand. Here I go…Papa stood on the left side and looked less complicated; so I decided to start with him.

 I took a deep breath.

Sketching him looked easy. The long and pointed collar of the 70’s which almost dipped into his shirt pocket, and the bell bottomed pants were not as complicated as the silk saree my mother wore.  Thankfully for me, he sported a normal moustache and not the Veerappan one which was a rage of those times. However, he had thick hair and eyebrows, and I got confused on which pencil to use. If I use the charcoal pencil it would look like a wig. I’ll go with the graphite one. HB looked fine. Few strokes on paper.  And the inevitable eraser brushed out the little that I made. Not to worry…I said to myself,  no artist ever worked without making flaws. Yes, I call myself an ‘artist’ . 

I continued to console myself, arrogantly dismissing the fact that my confidence is down by a level now . I’ll draw the faces at the last…I procrastinated, and decided to start with the shoulder. So here comes Papa’s shoulder! Oh man, he is wearing a white shirt. Or is he?  These Black and White photographs…! How complicated they are compared to the colored ones! This portrait would have been completed and framed by now if the original was taken in a SLR camera. ahem :D

Or is he wearing his wedding shirt which is actually white ? But the creases and folds are not visible. And the collar…where does it start from ? Looks like it grew from his neck. Make an outline, Anita, make an outline ! So an outline was made up to the belt. And eureka…I drew the belt too. But he is not standing straight like I just drew…he is slightly slanting towards Mom’s side. And the belt I drew was oversized and looked like hat of Santa’s. Its eraser time!!

If I complete this picture Papa would look like Shrek and Mom would get the most abusive gift of her life. I painfully realized that I can’t make portraits and went back to do what I do best better… the birthday post for Mom on my blog. I got a ‘like’ for it on facebook and a few comments.

I'm now, a happy and contended daughter.

Happy Birthday, Mummy ...

She is the one, who on my birthday ...every year ...

..gave me a tight hug and lots of kisses when I woke up..

..baked my favorite chocolate cake..

.. insisted that I  wear a new dress and bought me one of my choice..

..managed a gift, invited friends and made me feel special..

..cooked me the best meal...

..clapped and sang aloud the birthday song...

..prayed and blessed me...

..Called and wished me when I was away from home...each word seemed to say that she missed me...

...whose dedication has left me without words…

Mummy,

As you are miles away from me, I could not do one hundredth of what you did on my birthdays...I humbly wish you lots of happy and healthy years ahead... 

....

and thank you, for being YOU.

Happy Birthday, Mummy. 

...And thats how it's done.

During my Bangalore days, we used to hang out with friends at The Leela. Well…we are not the dining-at-The-Leela types. We go there for bowling. A glass of lemonade costs a hundred bucks at the bowling area, we'd painfully realized (after drinking it of course). Anyways, this place was a top favorite among us three couples.

One night, after bowling and subsequent roaming around the Leela, we dragged ourselves to the parking area. Thirty minutes to midnight…and thoughts of going to office the next day had nearly wiped out the weekend smiles from our faces. The parking area of Leela was somewhat the size of a football ground, but not a single spot was vacant. We reached our car…and were alarmed to find a highly modified and accessory laden sports car parked diagonally behind ours, rudely blocking any attempt to move our car. Beer bottles were also found strewn around that car.

We called the security, he called his supervisor, and they assumed dutiful expressions by reaching out to their wireless handsets. We went up to the reception and made a complaint to the heavily decorated female receptionists who could hardly move their faces, possibly due to fear of damaging the carefully applied makeup, and they in turn reported this to other blazer wearing-good-for- nothing- English speaking volunteers. An announcement was made (they claimed) with the number of the car at the pub and other places. Nothing really happened.

We were hungry. And its not like Leela was a place we could dine from. Home was miles away.

We then saw another couple driving their way at a snail's pace into the parking area, trying to find an empty space. As they saw us three angry ladies, with hands on our hips – eyes wide- lip movements which possibly suggested swearing, they politely enquired what the problem was.  We pointed at the sports car parked across ours and all three of us voiced our minds in an absolutely engaging chorus.  And the lady said, "If it was me, I would have released the air from the tires of this moron’s car".

And that’s  exactly what we did.

 For all the four tires.  And, a note to remember, right across the moron's windshield.

                                                                                                                                
And the feeling after that was done....PRICELESS.  :D