Career Vs Canine.

I live in Muscat, Oman, a place where generally people are not very fond of pets. Hardly does one find a stray dog or cat walking down the streets. Unlike India, where a cow comes and settles down in the middle of the road and people touch and pray to it instead of clearing the animal so that the blaring ambulance can pass, it is very different in Muscat where even finding a camel is scarce. To be frank, the only animals you see are the ones in human form (which can be spotted at workplace).

Mom and I were fond of dogs, whereas Papa was totally against any four legged creatures. My sister still seems to have some kind of an innate aversion to non-humans and thus even lost puppies were treated like terrorists in our house. I don’t know somewhere in the course of time I got this idea that pets are okay but giving them too much importance or spending money over them is too extravagant and dog-shows were conducted for those golf playing old gentlemen and their sophisticated wives for time pass. However I was married to a home where there is a dog for security purposes and it has its place – the animal is well fed, played with outdoors and taken care, but no one ever combed its hair or took it to the vet because it had a ‘cough’. So my idea that a dog should be treated like a dog took a stronger grip.

Recently, a very close friend once said to me, that his friend is moving to Muscat as her husband got a job here. Her resume was sent to me with a request that it be forwarded to my employer on priority. I did that promptly. Next day I got a facebook friend request from this girl whose resume I forwarded. She was working in India, and now that she is moving to Muscat she also wants to continue to work. Finding a job in Muscat is not very easy due to the industry and IT in an early budding stage. There are not too many opportunities to choose from. Sometimes one may want to go out of their areas of expertise to land a well-paying job. The maid at my house who now does the cooking cleaning and babysitting for us, is a qualified nurse in India who couldn't match the standards of expertise required in hospitals at Muscat and is hence doing this job to make ends meet. Her two sons are studying in CBSE School in Kerala. Their fees, medical charges, and house loans - she could not afford to sit idle with the ever increasing liabilities that gaped wide at her. Hence she was ready to forgo her education just to support her husband financially.  Not just her, I know many qualified women who have taken to babysitting, tuition for primary and junior school kids, stitching and lots of other activities to support their families and to stand on their own.

I rarely accept friend requests on facebook from strangers. But this lady seemed to be really working on the job front, so I added her just in case she needed any information on that, since she will eventually be settling down here. The next day after I added her, she pinged me. The conversation went something like this:

She: Hi Anita!

Me: Hi. How are you?

She: All well. I wanted to talk to you, since we are moving to Muscat soon.

Me: No problem. I have forwarded your resume already. They will contact you when there is a vacancy. Meanwhile check other options and upload resume in the job portals of Oman as well.

She: Okay actually I wanted to ask you something else.

Me: Yes, please.

She: Do you have any pets at home? Actually my husband’s employer will give accommodation as well, but I am worried whether it will be a dog friendly apartment, you know. Do you know about any dog friendly apartments in your area?

Me: I don’t know even one person who owns a pet here. In fact I recently moved to a bigger apartment after a lot of exhaustive efforts, for my child who now needs more space.

She: So is your home dog friendly?

Me: I guess it is child friendly.

She: Okay. How is the climate there as of now?

Me: The summer has almost died down, now the heat is bearable and evenings are pleasant.

She: Oh so the dog will have no problems…I guess. Do you know the formality of bringing the pet in international flight?

Me: I honestly have no idea about pet rules on airlines.

**By now I am at my wits end ***

She: Oh okay. I hope I find something soon.

Me: Yeah wish you luck on the job front.

She: Yes. I meant for finding the right apartment.

Me: Okay, bye.

What do you say about this woman? I mean, on one side, my educated maid’s woes of working in my kitchen to pay off her loans, and another female who cares only about housing her canines and whose job hunt comes second. I don’t blame the latter, but I really think that at least while relocating to another country one should reset their priorities and also get themselves a reality check once in a while. 

P.S: I love dogs. I do not disrespect any dog lovers with this post.

The e-wardrobe !

Write like no one is reading, they say. 

So I am going to do just that by declaring, I have problems with my wardrobe. Many times I tried folding everything up to the smallest piece of clothing, but the very next day I find myself searching for that stuff which I haven’t worn in the last decade and thus end up wrecking the whole thing. I’ve got to see kitchens and living rooms of others, dirtier than the adjacent slip road, and patted my own back for the spotless living room I own. But rarely do we get to see another person’s wardrobe. My friend in Bangalore has one which showers clothes as she opens it, and her attitude is my inspiration ever since. I know many of you must be making designs on your foreheads with all the tweaking of eyebrows, but that’s what I am, folks. You can stare or laugh at me all you like. I am writing like no one is reading, remember?

So being a programmer myself I have a wonderful idea for an application. It’s nothing but a wardrobe, which is driven by software, so let’s call it an e-wardrobe.

Here is the blueprint:

·         It folds clothes, categorizes them and places them neatly. This is performed by default.

·         If I try to put a used dress into it, it beeps and shines a red bulb with a message that the dress in question is to be put in laundry.

·         The application should have a dress sense. I mean early morning when I put on black pants with a black shirt, the application should tell me diplomatically, I repeat, diplomatically, that the brown trouser goes better with that shirt. The app should, by no means, use the words ‘suck’ or ‘ugly’ while saying these things which may make the user want to trash it immediately.

·         When clothes are back from the laundry and kept randomly inside the wardrobe, it should fold them neatly and categorize them and the most recently used should go to the bottom.

·         When a dress is picked on Friday which was worn on Monday of the same week, the app should diplomatically, I repeat, diplomatically, remind the user that it was worn few days back and gently ask ‘Are you sure’?

·         The app should be user friendly. In the sense, if a combination of kurti with leggings or a trouser and top is well matched, it can pass a compliment or two which sounds moderate, something like , ‘ Omg you look so pretty!’ or, ‘Noone can make a better combination’, or,  ‘That girl at your office is not even competition to you’. Of course, the compliments should be very gentle and precise, like the above.

·         If a combination made by the user is not apt, the app should either keep quiet or make subtle suggestions but NEVER comment on what is already worn.

·         Again there is a twist. The app should check the time first. If the user has ample time to choose and wear the above suggestions and compliments are welcome. If not, and the user has just a few minutes left, e-wardrobe should shut the hell up and close the wardrobe promptly when the user is done.

·         The wardrobe cleans, disinfects itself.

·         The wardrobe should detect the mood of the user. For example, early morning if I am in a bad mood, the wardrobe should just open and close and should not do any of the talking, even if there is ample time. The mood detection can be done by measuring the force applied to open the wardrobe or closing it.

·         If the user enters the e-wardrobe room humming a tune, the wardrobe greets her by the time of the day, and when she is done, says ‘Bubye Gorgeous!’ or few lines from a good poem, or something which is as subtle as that.

·         Additional functions: The wardrobe can have an add-on, which is a dry cleaner which occupies negligible space. This also irons the clothes based on fabric and thus adjusting the temperature.

I personally think if such a wardrobe, once implemented, will be the best seller gadget of all times and solve half of the world’s problems. This also reduces the pressure some women put on their husbands by asking about their look or dress about which the latter has absolutely no idea. I mean in some ways the e-wardrobe provides excellent emotional companionship and boosts one’s self confidence to supremely high levels.

P.S: My billion dollar idea is copyright protected.

Disclaimer: If any woman buys an e-wardrobe and then decides to ditch her husband, then it is her personal choice and e-wardrobe has nothing to do with it.

A hate chronicle.

Ten years ago. It was the last session for the day at college, and time seemed to stagnate. My yawns got heavier and longer, cheek muscles stretched out. Neither did the repeated glaring at the watch prove useless, vigorously shaking it to make it go faster invited attention from the teacher as well. The rest of the pupils who were at their acting best were bored too, but they controlled the yawns that kept coming. The teacher pretentiously went on with the lecture, totally aware of the plight of students who were at the verge of falling into a slumber. Finally the bell rang, which came like music to our ears.

As usual, the boys who had to board trains and college buses pushed their way out sooner than us, while we had all the time in the world to stroll peacefully to the hostel which thankfully or not was in the same campus as the college. I closed my book, opened my purse and put the unused pen in it, and got up just to see a gang of boys coming towards me. The one who led the group had a stack of cards, which by appearance looked like invitation cards. I stood at the edge of my bench, facing them, and the rest of my bench mates farther away from the fast approaching bunch of guys. The gang leader announced that it was his sister’s marriage, and that he wanted to hand over personalized invitation cards. He started with the last girl in my bench, called her by name, leaned forward in front of me and extended the card to her. This continued until it was my turn. I waited, with expecting eyes, and to this day I curse that moment. To my surprise, he acted like he was completely oblivious of my presence, overlooked me purposely and kept distributing to the next row of girls and to everyone but me. I noticed the smirk on his lips and the evil in his eyes. The other boys in the gang, who were just behind their leader, booed and howled at me, when one guy, Sai, pointed at me and laughed humiliatingly. I realized the intention, and walked out of the classroom burning with anger and disgust of the highest degree.

When I went back to the hostel the girls were already talking about the royal wedding. Many of them were aware of how I was ruthlessly uninvited, but I guess girls in college get some sadistic pleasure from such incidents and only pretend to be sympathetic. If you ask me, yes I was genuinely shattered for a moment or two especially the laughter of Sai which kept ringing in my ears a little longer than it should have.

Thankfully, I had a couple of genuine friends who blasted me for even feeling bad, as the guy who did this was a pest of sorts. He dint even deserve our time, I was told and was not allowed to talk about this incident. However I secretly nurtured hatred towards Sai.

Let me explain why they did this to me. These guys were like an isolated entity by themselves in our class. They never interacted with anyone but themselves. They scored negligible or no marks at all, and boycotted University exams with ease. They were a pain to any teacher. To top this, they dressed like goons. The month before this catastrophic incident, it was my sister’s marriage and I invited only a few of my friends from hostel and college to it. This supposedly triggered a revenge plan among them against me, and I don’t understand why on earth they could expect to be invited, given that none of them have ever talked to me or acknowledged my existence. So the marriage of the gang leader guy’s sister came like a blessing to them and they utilized the opportunity to perfection.

Days passed and it was exam time. One fine exam eve, around noon, I was walking in the corridor, daydreaming with a book held just for formality, when a friend came running towards me with panic in her eyes. She halted near me, and said…’ Your classmate…’ and gasped to take breaths….I asked.. ‘Who?’  She continued, suppressing breathlessness that ate into her words..  ‘your classmate, Sai, had been in a serious bike accident’. She continued to puff and pant, and I heedlessly exclaimed ‘Where!’..She continued, ‘He was going to another guy’s house for combined study... He wore a helmet as well, but he was hit by a lorry and the helmet dint help... he has a head injury and is in a coma now’. With that I almost dropped my book. I couldn't believe my ears. The news of the accident spread like wildfire and I was totally blank to think anything. 
I was surprised with my own mindset- I hated this guy to my very core but I never wished or cursed that anything bad should befall him. We sat together at my room in hostel, each of us silent and in our world of memories about him. None of us had anything good to say, but we just couldn't let go of a batch mate like that. No, nothing would happen, we wished.

The hostel did not look like an exam eve anymore. Usually the place would bustle with activity, group discussions and combined study, students looking very modest and intelligent all the way. However the news had fallen hard on us and we had stopped thinking about the examination. Nobody talked to each other.

Suddenly a phone call at the warden’s room stifled its way into our thoughts. It rang louder than usual as it echoed its way into the unusually silent corridors. The warden answered it, and talked for like 30 seconds and placed the receiver down. She looked at the corridor blankly and in a few seconds gestured to my friend to go to her room. They talked for at least five minutes and she walked back to us to say, ‘Sai passed away’.

Days passed.

I wondered about the lost time which could have been spent being friends, but was misused to hate each other. That sometimes an untimely demise of someone we know is what it takes to make us realize that the present is actually precious and the future, completely clueless.   

To mock a helpless bird..

I’d been the youngest in my maternal family for at least half a decade until another made his entry and those were the years I treasure; not just for the happy moments. The part wherein  a gross mischief committed exclusively by me was pardoned in a blink was definitely good. Those memories in which the older kids and sibling were blamed based on the degree of mischief and the fact that I always got away unscathed still makes me so happy! However it wasn’t a cakewalk, because I had to deal with the misery of never being taken seriously. A tooth pain, a random complaint, a blunder – instead of people consoling me, everybody considered those as jokes. I was laughed upon in those years I desperately needed moral support.

Unfortunately those were also the years I tried to speak in English, as insisted by my school management and I tried to combine words to make broken sentences. The relatives found my futile attempts so funny that I dreaded to speak in English at home. Just for your information I would like to mention that the so called relatives in question were not Oxford alumni themselves.

Once upon a time when I was approximately five years old, on a cold unfortunate Christmas Eve, the maternal house was jam packed with every other relative one can possibly think of - except one who was abroad and couldn’t join the festivities. An ISD call was made and each one was waiting in queue to wish him a merry Christmas. The fact that once the telephone bill for that month arrives none of these people waiting patiently for their turns in the queue would be available in the vicinity- and that is the key to all the extended wishes, small talk and local gossip that went on endlessly across continents. I was the last one in the queue and everyone was sitting around the black telephone like wolves on the prowl when my turn came. Then started the conversation, which was so faked that I responded with ‘mmm’ and ‘ok’ to whatever was said to me. I should admit that this was child abuse of the worse kind. The relatives were not pleased with my monosyllables. Finally the person at the other end wished me a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. To this, I exclaimed ‘Same!’ as the proficiency to say ‘wish you the same’ had not occurred to me and the fiercely anticipating relatives broke into a chorus of uncontrollable laughter. Quoting this incident became the prime hobby of certain morons that every time I visited, I was made a laughing stock citing this incident. I am not exaggerating this part, but it came as a surprise that once when I was doing my engineering and I visited my grandma, this same set of people repeated the ‘Same’ incident much to my horror and disbelief. Well was it so much of a joke that it should be remembered after fifteen years? Fifteen years ?!

Don’t get me wrong here; I am a light hearted person, who forgets the past quickly. I understand jokes and never take them seriously. However after all these years I cannot come to a logical reason as to why the ‘same’ episode needs to be revived every time I visit my grandma’s place. Not just revived it was remixed as well.

Yes I did retaliate in the best known way to make my point that I am not a fan of these jokes, especially the ‘same’ recitals. The illogical reasoning that followed was more appalling than that. It was said that I was a ‘small’ child, and my voice was ‘funny’ and that they ‘adored’ me, and hence the torture. I read that as 'We have no one else to humiliate, but you'.

 I went on to love English, read whatever Papa or my sister gave me, wrote articles in school and college magazines, started a blog, won prizes at my workplace and online competitions, and here I am. Whether the prolonged mockery helped me is not the point. The point is the importance of moral support and encouragement to a child. The levels of self confidence lost by a child once we mock them. I vowed never to laugh at a mistake or blunder made by my niece or my son, not only in English – but in whatever they come across in their academics or the world around them.

P.S: I did not borrow the above theme from Rudolph the red nosed reindeer. However I wonder whether someone stole my thoughts to make 'English Vinglish' :-|

'Spot-fixing' curtains.

Plumbers, carpenters and technicians help us recalculate the number of days that constitute a week. Like for example, the washing machine breaks down and laundry basket is looking more like a garbage dump. Suddenly the realization that some important clothes are in them dawns and then calls to the retail guy ends up either to the voicemail or the line is forever busy. After calling like n(n+1) times the retail guy lousily answers the call, in a tone which makes you think that you are begging to be cast in his next movie. Then he says he will send his men to fix the machine in two days. Another two days and the wardrobe seems to look empty, the laundry basket is not visible anymore- it remains buried under a heap of clothes. One begins to wonder about the scarcity of clothes in the wardrobe. Then you call again and he says, Madam you don’t work on a weekend, do you? Call on Monday! There, and before you know it, another week and soon, one month and a thousand phone calls are wasted.

No fortunately that did not happen with me, something worse did. So two weeks ago we moved into this new apartment, and have set up everything except the curtains. We took window measurements ourselves and bought rod and curtains and ever since had been waiting for someone to fix it. So firstly we were given the number of one Joseph, who wasted one week by postponing unprofessionally saying ‘In another two days’ and after which he refused to answer our calls. I intelligently tried to call from my mobile, thinking he would pick up but he was cleverer than both of us. This guy did not have the courtesy to call back, and so we started looking for someone else.

 We gathered details of another guy who fixed the curtains for a neighbor. This guy promised to come the next day and yes he came today by noon. One hungry looking guy to fix curtains, rods and holders for three rooms and four double-curtains. Usually a helper comes with such people to help with the tools but there were none in sight-no tools either. Not to mention that he looked frail and undernourished to even hold the curtains properly using both hands. However we noticed that he wore frameless spectacles, Casio watch and carried a very modern phone. The first impression he made was to borrow some basic tools from us. For all the phone calls and the number of days wasted, a weird kind of patience had come to us and we decided not to underestimate. So he started one side of the window where he took measurement and made a mark on the wall to fix the holder.

Then he set up the holder, tilted shoddily almost at a 45 degree angle from the floor.

I should mention here that my husband is not a quick tempered person. Unless and until provoked to his core he doesn’t bother about anything or anyone other than family or his electronic possessions (not necessarily in that order) and lives perpetually undisturbed in his own world of wires, cables and gadgets.

Hubby: ‘What is this?’

Stupid malnourished guy (SMG): ‘What sir?”

Hubby: ‘ Cant you even see for yourself what you have done! If the holder is tilted the entire curtain will be tilted…do I have to tell you that?’

SMG: ‘Oh come on sir this holder and all will not be seen outside once the curtain comes!’

Hubby: ‘Okay then!  You can leave! We dint get this curtain for free, we paid for it and we expect you to do a good job of it’. 

**I think this is a total decent response, because if it was Papa in this situation he would have made SMG pee in his pants or cry like a baby. If it were my grandfather he would’ve said enough for this guy to abandon everything worldly and go to the Himalayas to meditate**

But SMG had conveniently ignored the conversation as his stupidity took over him and he climbed on the other side of the window to fix the next holder. He placed the holder somewhere at the edge and turned to ask, ‘This angle okay, sir?’

Hubby: ‘What ! Don’t you even have the basic scale to measure the angle?’

SMG: ‘Oh we don’t carry that for such things Sir’

Hubby then took his phone and called the neighbor who recommended him and talked about how the wall was damaged. Neighbor of course was not helpful and finally SMG packed and left. Seriously if it were me I’d just shake the ladder he was standing on. Well considering his approximate weight to be around 30 kilos I could have done that easily mind you.

And so he left, leaving the hall in a total mess with screws and curtains (newly and carefully bought) strewn around. Sob. Screws can easily excite my toddler who at present can’t tell a tool from a biscuit so he may as well swallow them, so I need to clean up the place and make sure there is nothing lying around. That’s how to invite a calamity to the house you see. Sigh.

Well we need such people around to realize the value of professionals.

An open letter to Moms-to-be...

Dear Mom-to-be,

Congratulations! I am a working mother of a one year old, with my husband by me and all my folks back in a different country. Needless to say, I am pretty much pulling it off on my slender shoulders.

When I announced my pregnancy, I got three types of responses from my loved ones. The first, were the ones who said ‘Yipee my baby is a Mommy!’ and blew kisses and wishes to express their joy. The second, were the ones back at my hometown who expected me to be pregnant the next day of my marriage, but are nevertheless relieved in some way. The third was a weird kind who exclaimed…’what the hell! Are u mad?’ making me feel like a teenager.You may get more responses which don’t fall under these categories, but the idea is to stay normal and smile, which is very difficult to do, with all the hormones playing havoc in your system. Nevertheless do not judge me as a person born to be a mother, because I was the one who never touched or held a baby before. I was that kind who stayed away from them due to possible risks of mishandling, as babies are soft and unstable and I believed it took professional training to hold them properly without hurting them. But let me tell you, once you have one of your own, it just comes to you.

The next stage after the announcement of pregnancy was to tackle free advices flowing in plenty from friends and relatives across continents. For me this was a tricky part, as a few people who already have kids’ resorted to scare me about how life will be a total mess once the child is born. Then they went on to say how they couldn’t go to the toilet because the toddler is uncontrollable even for a second, and about the infant who cried all night. They also talked about cancelled vacations, flight charges that kept increasing, expenses, deteriorating health and figure, and whatever it takes to make me regret it. These are basically sadistic people who aren’t happy how their lives turned out to be after their baby arrived. The idea is to ignore these comments, it’s not bad after all, there will be sleepless nights, but you can always sleep when the baby sleeps and bring her to a routine in six months. Babies fall sick, like we do, and it is a passing phase as they recover faster than us. All the more babies are fun, and in a strange way we wish that they slept when they are running around hyperactively, and when they are asleep we wait for them to wake up because it just gets plain boring.

Then came a time when I was overfed by random people. This comes with respect to a traditional belief that a pregnant woman should eat for two. Any vulnerable woman believes this, as she doesn’t want to take any risks when it comes to the health of the baby. But here is the jinx – a tiny little baby is not going to eat a plate full of rice and curry. Eat a bit more than what you normally eat, avoid eating out, include more vegetables, oats and milk, and you are done. Try to include spicy food as well during this phase, so the baby will be tolerant to it. Avoid the ghee roasted stuff which is lovingly brought by your Indian relatives, because you will not see them around when you are crying on the weighing machine, looking longingly at the wardrobe of beautiful clothes you will never fit into. These ghee roasted goodies are a brutal attempt to make you fat, you know:-P

I had this rare blessing to be pregnant almost at the same time when some of my closest friends were in their family way as well, so our skype discussions, emails and long chats helped us immensely. In fact we had similar ‘situations’ and even had solutions for each other. This camaraderie was a boon to us when we almost turned mini gynecologists ourselves. Sometimes people who are at the same phase as you can help you more than your mother who was last pregnant almost three decades ago. The labor remains the same, they may say, but everything else is different, I can guarantee. However there is no one but your mother who will understand your deepest feelings.

Later, you will see people showing fake interest about your due date, diet etc which till date has no explanation, and there will be no shortage of free advice. Pick a person – friend, doctor or your mother and go by their opinions whenever you have a query. Like they say, too many cooks spoil the broth, so gracefully ignore the rest.

You will always have an intuition as to how to deal with a situation in motherhood. It will be unique to you and your baby and should shake up the courage to follow it. It will always be the right thing to do. Because when a baby is born, a mother is born as well.

Have a safe delivery and a healthy baby J

With love.

Semiya Payasam for Dummies - Happy Onam!

It is Onam. The time of the year when my friends at Kerala wear traditional attires and pose away to glory and hog on Onasadya. As if it wasn't enough they take pictures and upload on facebook, turning their NRI counterparts go green with envy. Well I should say that Onam is as huge over here, thanks to the malayalee population. Yesterday we were at the supermarket and they were even selling stuff we think will be available only in Kerala! I was surprised.

More importantly I was on a mission. To make a payasam. Semiya payasam, For the dummy that I am in cooking this one was a very appreciable task I tell you. Usually I never leave any stone unturned to praise myself(blogging is one of the ways I achieve that).

So if there are any dumbos in cooking who is reading this, here goes a Semiya Payasam recipe, just for you!

(I followed the recipe from Mariasmenu. You can get the actual recipe here.)

Stuff you might need:

Semiya/Vermicelli -  200gm 

Milk – 2 litres. ( I used low fat milk- full fat milk is usually used in making payasams, but I used low fat so that something goes wrong L)

Sugar/Condensed Milk

Initially, I brought the milk to a boil and kept it aside. In another pan, I roasted the vermicelli until it turned golden brown. After some time my son who was sitting in the kitchen chair playing with some spoons wanted me to pick him up, so the rest of the cooking was done with one hand and him on the other- no it doesn't make any difference to the payasam.  Then I took a non stick small pan, added some ghee, and roasted the cashews and raisins. The raisins bloated up, and cashews turned golden brown and the I let it cool and ran to do some errands. The kiddo wasn’t happy with me concentrating on the stove when he actually wanted me to play with his blue helicopter.

Later I was back, and added the milk to the semiya , and kept stirring. I guess if the stirring is skipped, the semiya gets stuck or may even form lumps at the bottom which might provoke my husband to say ‘See? I told you to stay away from the kitchen’ and me wanting to pull my hair out. I checked the recipe and it said, “cook till the semiya is fully done”. Okay so when is that gonna happen? Will anyone specify when to know that the semiya is done? You are a programmer, get logical, my head said. I took a look at the picture in the recipe. It showed a payasam, all creamy, with semiya floating on top. Okay that means, when the semiya is done the milk will get thick and semiya will float. So the stirring was continuously done till that was achieved. My son wanted to stir too, but I advised him to wait until he gets a wife who is as good at cooking as I am. After that I added condensed milk and kept checking it for taste and thus consumed atleast a quarter of the payasam myself in the process.

Later thankfully the semiya floated and milk got creamy and I added the raisins on top. It looked beautiful and I immediately took a few pictures on my mobile and sent them to few contacts on whatsapp who ‘Oooh’ed and ‘Aah’ed at them..I  have amazing friends you see.

So that’s how I celebrated Onam. Today we have booked Onam meal at a very elegant Kerala restaurant. We are getting a parcel for my maid as well. My one year old’s lunch is not decided yet. The sad thing is, it’s a working day today and I will miss all those movies. Its okay…to be in a different country and being able to celebrate Onam itself is a blessing. I am content. *burp*

Happy Onam to one and all!

Weekend Dejunking!

Lately, I’d been basking in the success of my previous post, as it had become a runaway hit. Thanks to my sister who wrote it, and to Roshan Radhakrishnan the premium blogger at Blogadda who chose it as the Saturday pick of the week . My blog was thus bestowed with a much needed rejuvenation and attention. That is the benefit of having siblings who write well, and are kind enough to contribute (succumbing to torture).

Well, two weeks down the line I was still refreshing my page for any comments that might be waiting in the pipeline when realization dawned on me that it is time to update it.

So the update from my side is that, we are on the lookout for a bigger apartment here in Muscat and ALMOST landed one. We are in queue and may or may not get the flat. But if at all we get it, the thought of shifting from here had my head spinning. Two years it is, since we moved in here, and I cannot remember the last time I cleared junk out of this house. Well in all the two years I was pregnant for nine months, and now my son is one so you can’t expect me to clear the junk. My husband is totally unaware of any junk in the house, obviously because he is unable to identify junk from everything else, including me. I usually do not let my housemaid do any clearing, as she may clear out our degree certificates saying they were invalid pieces of paper.

A well deserved long weekend came my way and the super enthusiastic me kicked off the cleaning ritual starting from my husband’s cupboard where he stored some papers and boxes. Holy Cow. How many keyboards are a person expected to buy in his lifetime? No prizes for guessing, as I am unsure too. I got countless boxes in which these wireless keyboards came from. Not to mention other boxes of hard disks, USB, tie, trimmer, router, mobile phone, camera , dishtv set top  box, and only God knows what. It looked like a warehouse of Jumbo Electronics. When I cleared the boxes, there was enough space in the cupboard for him and his friends to sit and have a beer. I proceeded to the next. There I found old magazines, at least 20 newspapers, dvd covers with no dvd in them, blank paper to name a few. Those were cleared too. 

It took me a whole day, but the outcome was fulfilling. The house felt lighter, the room looked bigger, the ac seemed to be working better and the overall feeling of tidiness was unexplainable. I haven’t started with the wardrobe yet, but once I do I am sure to find a lot of junk there as well. I hope to carry only the useful stuff if we are lucky enough to get the flat! 

On a different note - An incident happened last week when on a public forum a NRI woman insulted our country and its culture. I couldn’t control myself and wrote a graceful yet strong reply to it, and this woman started throwing brickbats at me using foul language. After reading that, my palm was sweating and forehead burning in anger and the feeling of revenge started engulfing me. I composed imaginary replies to it in my head. Later I asked myself… well foul language is a mirror to the upbringing and culture of a person. My parents wouldn’t be proud of me, if I replied to it on the same note, right? So I left it at that and did not respond. That person tried to email me repeatedly saying that she left me a message on the forum, thus provoking me in every way possible. I refused to respond. I even stopped thinking about it, except now ;-) By the way, Happy Independence Day, you guys!

So to sum it up, this weekend I cleared the junk off my cupboards ...and from my head. 

What did you do?

Anecdotes from my encounter with Life. - A guest post.

After three years of relentlessly torturing my readers, I decided to give you guys a break and requested my sister, Anjana Jaison for a guest post. She is basically an Electronics and Instrumentation Engineer, residing at Chennai, India. She is one person who will laugh at all your jokes - even the PJs. This hysterical laughter is her trademark, and she is solely responsible to have encouraged many people who started their efforts to be funny with poor jokes, and are now human versions of sheer boredom. Ironically, she has a good sense of humor herself :-| 

She also has a good vocabulary, a good command over the language but will not admit to any of it. She is also very good at Maths and English - the basics are right in place. She cannot make a drawing or a simple sketch, no not even a straight line. She has directly inherited the culinary skills from my Mom, and some of the most unforgettable treats for my taste buds were prepared and served by her. 

So here goes her first guest post on my blog, after months of requests, threats and torture. 

                                                                    That's us! 

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So I finally give in to the sibling’s torture and decide to write a guest post for her blog. No, I have not written before apart from the 140 character limit tweets. So please bear with me!

Here are some of the biggest lessons from my life…

1.       It never rains, but pours.

Have you had a bad hair day? I’ve had lots of it. Some days I feel I might even have a no-hair day. These are days when you seem to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed and others when everyone around you seems to have woken up on the wrong side of their beds. The ones when the other queue seems to move faster and as soon as you move to that one, the counter closes for an hour long lunch break. Everything seems to go downhill from there… You might even wonder why all the bad stuff seem to come together. But that’s the law of nature. When it decides to screw you, it does a total good job of it. Murphy, the world’s greatest philosopher said: “If anything can go wrong, it will…and at the worst possible time”.

2.      Necessity is the mother of invention.

No truer words have ever been said. You think you can’t jump over a wall? Maybe. But if you are chased by a dog, it just comes to you!

I used to be a very quiet person. Then one particularly difficult day, I realised that no one will talk for me, and if I have to save myself, I have to open my mouth and talk for myself. Although the disappointment at suddenly being alone was great, it taught me an important lesson. It all seems hard till you really need to do it and you have no other go. The worst of times actually makes you strong. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

3.      Food is the biggest healer. Ever.

Do you console yourself by thinking that time heals all wounds? I don’t. Cos I know that time doesn’t heal all wounds. For me, food does it. I overeat when I am sad. I overeat when I am happy too, but, that’s another story! So, I have been going through a rough phase for the past one year. Yeah, you guessed it right. I ate my way through it. And now I am 10 kg heavier but I don’t worry about my troubles anymore. Cos now, I don’t fit into any of my clothes and have to worry about what to wear the next day!

4.      Move on.

I am notorious for dwelling in the past. I just can’t let it go. Regrets are my favourite past-time. I think about what should have been, could have been, shouldn’t have been and what ought to have been and anything else from what is to be done right now.

Living in the past, robs today’s happiness. By worrying, you are letting the past cripple your progress, when you actually just need to move on and do what is to be done next.

Moral of the story? No one cares if you are miserable. So you might as well be happy!!! Simble! :P

5.      “By the time a man realizes that his father was right, he has a son who thinks he's wrong.”

I am sure you don’t like to admit this. I don’t too. But then, this is one of the things you get to learn the hard way. Yesterday, I was screaming at my 7 yo during the morning rush (that’s when she eats my head for breakfast), and realized with horror that the words that were coming out of my mouth, were my mom’s! Verbatim. I bet at least some of you have experienced this. After the initial horror has passed, you realize that your mom/dad was right. And then on, you are desperately waiting for the kid to grown up and have kids, and realise that you were right!

6.      One man’s food is another man’s poison

I am sure all of us have experienced this in our lives, in various degrees.

An example: Papa: “Sardines? They stink up the whole place!”

Me: *GASP* *hurt* “How can you say that? They smell/taste heavenly.”

You get an idea!

Apart from the very literal translation, there are other examples too:

Friends: “You like Azharuddin?? :O What are you? Blind?”

Me: “What do you mean by like? I LOVE him!!”

Get the idea?!

Apart from the jokes, yes, I adored the man. I even wanted to marry him! Stupid desires of teenage! An uncle consoled me thus when he got married to his second wife, “Don’t worry mole… He is a Muslim. He can marry thrice. You still have hope.” That stopped the tears for a very long time! :D

7.      Never judge a book by its cover.

My first impression of people always changes and most often for the better. But unfortunately, by the time you realize that most people are like white-washed graves, it is always too late.

I have also learnt to have my own opinion of people/things, no matter what my friends thought of him/her.

And about judging people, I am careful now. The Universe has made sure that I go begging for help to every person I had underestimated/biased against, for no particular reason.

Corollary: A mule dressed in a tuxedo is still a mule! :P

8.     Assumption is the mother of all fuck ups!

I assume a lot. A LOT. Almost 80% of the things that happen in my world, happens in my mind! If someone doesn’t answer my call, I assume that they are mad at me. In my mind, I make up possible reasons for them to be mad at me. Then I go ahead and have a conversation with them in my mind which consists of mostly heated arguments. By the time, this person wakes up from sleep, sees my call and calls back, I am mad at them for being mad at me and for calling me names in my imagined conversation!!! Of course, they have no idea why I am cranky!

The typical story of “Borrowing a jack”!!! Those of you who have not read the story can read it here: http://www.skywriting.net/inspirational/stories/wanna_borrow_a_jack.html

If assumption is the mother, comparison must be the father. Comparison is the root cause of all agony. I have looked at my problems closely. I had to. When my assumptions were getting out of hand!

I realised that every mental agony is, in one way or the other, caused by a comparison I made. This must be the best realization that I had in my entire life. This however, did not stop me from making comparisons from time to time. Nothing good comes of it though. After all, life is all about accepting yourself the way you are, and being happy with it.

9.      Laughter is the best medicine.

Someone in office said that I have the weirdest laughter she has ever heard. Once upon a time, I would have been offended by that. But now, I have seen enough in life to take it as a compliment. Because, if you take the time to look around at the kind of problems people face, you will realize that being able to laugh itself is a blessing. Yeah, I do have a weird n loud laugh. But it never fails to make me feel better. It is not a laugh if you don’t do it heartily.

10.  The best trait that can ever be inherited is the habit of reading.

Enough said!!! Keh diya na, bas keh diya! :P

The non existent culinary gene.

You know there is something called a culinary gene.  It is transmitted from the mother to the 'receptive' child in her womb. Unfortunately in my case, I’d been on indefinite strike when my Mother was trying to bestow those good genes and hence I was born (there was no other choice), and grew up to be a disgrace to every female in the family- in terms of cooking of course ;-).

Everyone takes food for granted. Because as far as the Indian male expectation goes, in every house, behind the relentless smoke and the stove there should be a female figure whose efforts will always be overseen. Everyone comes to the dining table expecting food, and never was it broken - everyone gulped down whatever was there, sometimes found absurd reasons to complain, washed their hands, burped and left. Noone cared about the number of onions that had to be peeled, washed and diced which were to be added in the right proportion and sauted for the right amount of time which was an important ingredient of the curry they ate. 

Later when I swapped roles to become this female figure who was expected to feed her family, I realized the actual pain behind the smoke and the stove. The effort from peeling an onion to making a curry, or rather the basic rules of cooking that one is expected to be born with. Being a south Indian, Idly is our staple food. Hot steamy idlis are a typical breakfast, which is also a convenient option when there are guests in the house, primarily because idly doesn’t need a lot of recipes or basic cooking knowledge to make. You have to pour the idly batter in the idly mould, close lid, and wait until the whistle comes or 15 minutes whichever happens first. 

When we were at Bangalore, all I knew was to make Dosas, which surprisingly came well for me - thanks to the days I sat at the kitchen holding my plate, eyes set on the tawa, mouth open and watery ,watching my Mom make paper thin Dosas with a touch of ghee. Droool..

Later I heard that Idlis were even easier than Dosas. Here is how one can easily mess up a day’s breakfast. So the idly mould was there, I smeared oil on it, and poured the right amount of batter and closed the lid. After fifteen minutes, I switched off the stove and opened the idli maker only to find the top row idlis to be in an edible form. The middle row was watery and the entire bottom row of idlis drowned ….and died.  Which means, there is something else to it - knowing how much water to pour inside the idli maker, that is what. Well, no one told me that did they?  (I am that female who missed the gene, remember?). Post this unfortunate incident, my mother and sister were so devastated … that they started feeling good about themselves. Knowing that there are people who can mess up something like idly which people like them can prepare in their sleep, boosted their self confidence at my cost.

But there is a determination factor to many things I did so far. So I went ahead and kept trying. Idlis soon became something I could make without errors. Even the bottom row, mind you!  Pepper chicken, channa, daal and even fish curry (after so many failed attempts, and no my husband hadn’t left me still) . Yes I have come a long way, but I am far from being an expert. Very far, that is. With work on one side and a toddler on the other, it is rather difficult to find time, but most weekends, I try something or the other to brush up my non existent skills. Isn’t that good enough? I even posted a cutlet recipe couple of months ago! I hope no one tried that out:-P

Anyway now I am determined. I am never going to be competition to my mother, grandmother or my sister in terms of culinary skills, but I will score a ‘not bad’ rating with hubby. Just wait and see, all of you jokers who are laughing at the screen now!