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Sunday, March 17, 2013

Blog-anniversary and Contest !


March 2009. It was when the Tsunami of corporate world hit worldwide - Global Recession. People who lost their jobs, people who dint know they lost their job, people who are on the verge of losing their job were some of the main catastrophic categories that software people fell into generally. It was only two months into my wedded life, my husband was then an employee of the most controversial Indian software company of that time, and I had changed my job and location as well. It was a difficult time for me as the mind needed time and lot of pampering to come to terms with a life that had lot of first’s to offer.

One fine morning as I walked into my plush office I met a group of girls seriously in discussion right there at the reception area. Their expressions screamed panic. That was when I came to know that the guy we were reporting to had been fired. Not just him, twenty five others. It was happening. We were a group of new employees who were practically unassigned to any project of course due to lack of it. We were the ones who could be chucked out any moment of the day. The fear had actually set in.

Even though we were on ‘bench’, we still had our own workstations and computers to browse. I was mentally disturbed about the state of affairs and this led me to reading light and entertaining blogs. I loved reading and relating easily to the whole load of creativity that floated effortlessly in various blogs and increasingly grew jealous of them. I had a lot of things to write as well. Why don’t I start a blog of my own? I thought. This thought materialized itself and my first post was born on March 30, 2009. Since then there was no turning back.

It has been four years and no one ever told me to go home, people only tell me to ‘keep blogging’! Is it not an achievement in itself? In June 2011, hours after my son was born, I was chosen for a fifth prize (Rs.10,000) on the topic ‘ The Real Beauty’, a contest conducted by Dove and IndiBlogger. That was probably my first and only prize but it still gives me a high like no other! I made it a point to update my space thrice or more every month and it was always welcomed with oodles of encouragement and criticisms in the form of comments, which always gave me the push to come back and write more.

I recall the days I made every effort to feature in the school and college magazines. My vocabulary was not great, ideas were not new, creativity lower than mediocre, but to see my name in print was the only motive I had in my life (despite the other motives my parents and teachers had for me).

When the blog was kick started, it was topped with consistent support from my parents, husband and sister. Altogether I can tell you, it was a success recipe, though it was the recession which was actually the driving force behind it.

So this is the month of celebration, of four years of existence on blogger. Now it is up to hubby dear to decide whether it is going to be Damas or Joy Alukkas :D

Cheers to all my fellow bloggers and some awesome people who have made it in my facebook and gtalk as well !  I am indebted to you and also jealous of your blog! ;-)

So as a token of appreciation I am conducting a small contest right here.
Suggest a caption for the below picture, in less than 15 words, which by the way is a click by my hubby. I am giving away a prize too, which is a gift voucher worth Rs.200 for your next Flipkart purchase.


The prize is sponsored by Coupondunia, which also has discounts on Flipkart coupons, Dominos coupons, Snapdeal coupons and others. It is a boon for online shoppers. Visit their site to know more so you may save better on your next online purchase.

But first things first. Send in your captions in less than 15 words to anitajeyan@gmail.com with the subject #Caption. Or you may even put your captions on the comments section of this post. I am not going to be the judge, don’t worry, there are better and well-read people who have agreed to shortlist the winner! Send in your entries, please participate, multiple entries allowed !

Contest Closes on March 31st. 

Saturday, March 9, 2013

The Summer Crown.


Middle East summer prevailed at its peak, and the timing was painfully wrong to land on international grounds for the first time in my life.  They said it was 46 degrees, but for me it felt like boiling point. The sun rays seemed to burn the skin and the eyes.  I held her close to myself knowing that people were staring. I held her gently.  I could hardly see much ahead of me, just shadows as they came nearer and fleeting assumptions of fast approaching people.

I held on to her expecting her to elevate me from the core of the volcano I was in, literally. Cars drove past like lightning and the friction the tires made with the road was deafening. I could almost see sparks being emitted. My chiffon dupatta was at the verge of catching fire. Hot winds blew against my face giving it a steam sauna. There was steam in my hair.

 I missed home.

I continued to walk. More and more people stared at me. Some of them whispered to each other and laughed. I knew they were amused that I was holding on to her like she was the Bible. I knew I was fiercely possessive about her and it showed in my eyes. I noticed the laughter aimed at me, but I vowed never to belittle my prized possession and vowed to carry her wherever I went.

Days passed and it took me immense strength to adapt to the new place. She was my only saving grace. I became famous for carrying her around all the time. To most people, I was a complete weirdo.

I braved a lot of criticisms and still carry her around. She shadowed me when I wanted her to. I did not even ask her for it. She canopied me giving me the calm, and the exclusive darkness I longed for. She hovered around me like a guardian angel.






She is my POPY umbrella. 

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Why Talaash wasn't convincing enough ;-)


It is true that with the kind of technology we have, it has become challenging to make reasonably believable movies. Like for instance the scripts of the yesteryear in which the hero gets lost in the jungle when he goes in search of the abducted heroine. It cant happen today, as he has google maps. Also, today there are no jungles but that’s a totally different story. Again, we have movies whose climax shows the heroine waiting endlessly at the railway station for the hero but he doesn't turn up.  And then she meets her destiny on that railway track, after which the hero appears because he got delayed in traffic. But it is too late. The era before mobile phone will justify this movie. So now that almost everything is possible by that smartfone in my pocket, it has become more tedious to actually make the viewer believe the story in the first place.  

I am assuming anybody who is reading this watched Talaash already. If not, there are spoilers ahead. Oh who am I kidding? The crux of Talaash was a slogan on twitter ever since the movie was released.

So Talaash revolves around the mysterious accident of a movie star. The car loses control on a perfectly empty road and somersaults its way, breaking barricades in between, and dips into the sea nearby. This is the very first scene of Talaash. The case was investigated by Aamir Khan the cop, and finally the same accident happens to him after his vain attempts to unravel the case. Thus the maze of unending questions behind the actor’s accident unravels itself and everyone goes home.

We could not watch this movie at a theatre, because such intense, edge-of-the-seat thrillers are best watched without a baby around. So last weekend we downloaded this and hubby and me watched at home, when the toddler chose to sleep after a long day of activities.

The next day, I asked him “How did you like Talaash? Nice no?”

He: “When was this movie shot? Long back? Was it shelved?”

“No why?”

He: “First scene … that movie star’s accident…”

“What about that ?”

He: “ I cant believe an actor of today’s times driving a car which doesn't have ABS on it”

K

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Aiming for the stars !


Last weekend we sacrificed our TV time and unplanned trips to the mall to wait for the sales guy from Early Learning, to come home for the demonstration of one of their products, a kids learning collection. As parents of toddlers, waiting for a guest is not about sitting on the sofa and staring at the door. It is about making the toddler wear a neat shirt on which there is no cheese or ketchup, cleaning up the living room, picking up socks, shoes, toys, cutlery, crockery and things I'd never seen before emerging from under the sofa. Soon the doorbell rang and a gentleman in his twenties walked in with a trolley bag.

I gestured him to take a seat making sure there were no knives on the seating area. He sat down and pulled out a chart  and then IT happened. He opened his mouth.

The initial talk he made for around twenty minutes was about the pace at which a baby’s brain develops and the number of nerves connected to it. Tenth grade biology class flashback. Then about how we have to aim high at a younger age to set ourselves at par with the cut throat competition. Teenage year’s parents advice flashback. Complete nostalgia. In between his intense science sessions he kept asking us, ‘Do you agree, Ma’am?’ Well who am I to question modern science. I nodded.  

After twenty minutes of brain frying session about the infant brain, he moved on to the next. He opened a book and started shooting a few questions at me.

“Ma’am, do you have a vacuum cleaner?”

Of course. Wait… is this guy coming from the health and sanitation department. Doubtfully, I replied.. ‘Yes’.

‘Okay when you use it, and your kid asks, Mama how does this work, what will you say?’

I slipped into the famous sober expression which I hadn't used since my school days. It was a nostalgic feeling, being asked a question and the embarrassment of not knowing the answer. The guy kept staring at my face, his expression changing rapidly from seriousness to sheer amusement. That my toddler had not started saying his own name was some sort of a consolation which was keeping me calm at that moment. I replied, ‘Hmm, I am not so sure’. Well even back in school I never admitted that I dint know the answer…I just said that I was absent in that class when she taught that, which led the teachers to assume that it was my first day at school.

Then this guy went on to say, that we need to hand him a glass of juice with straw, and allow him to sip it. When he does, the concept of vacuum cleaner which sucks the dirt can be explained. Voila ! I mean the idea of my toddler asking this question and me making a juice as soon as he asks, and then he spills it everywhere which actually makes me use the vacuum cleaner and demonstrate it right away.

Note, the hubby was spared all the reassurance hums and annoying questions all this while as he was happily checking out other books which the gentleman had brought. But this happiness did not last long.

‘Sir, do you know how many teeth a fish has?’

My face lit up. Yaay its not to me. By the way, if he doesn't answer, he may pass the question to me. I better be prepared with some solution.

‘Four’ hubby said confidently. The guy smiled and looked at me. ‘And you, Ma’am?’. Oh. Did he mean how many teeth I had? Well if you actually exclude the teeth which had root canal done on it, it may be pretty much the four front teeth. I said, ‘Four’.

The gentleman then opened a page of a book which had a close up picture of a fish which appeared to be singing an opera with its mouth wide open. “There are four teeth which are visible and two hundred others which we cannot see”. He said, mocking both of us with a wicked eye.

He dint leave us any time to recover from that disaster when the next question came. ‘Sir, do you know why rabbits have long ears?’

This was a tricky one. At this point, his mobile rang and he escaped gloriously from the human trap he set himself and me into. He walked off gesturing the guy to continue the intellectual torture he inflicted on me. Actually I never even noticed rabbits before. That they have long ears is information I got only from Bugs Bunny. I said, ‘Not much idea about that’.

He then explained why they have long ears. It was something about hearing and escaping from enemies, I vaguely remember. It totally passed over my head as I was thinking how to trap the hubby back into this.

“Do you know why giraffes have long necks?’

I mean, you’ve got to answer atleast one, right. You don’t have to, but that the courteous way to behave to a guest. I said, ‘To be able to reach the leaves on trees’. He said, ‘Right’. And he continued,’ there is another reason Ma’am, that giraffes have long necks to view a wider ground and save themselves from wild animals.

Oh come on. For the one answer I knew, he says another befitting one. The unsuccessful interviews I gave when I graduated weren't as embarrassing as this.

Thankfully the guy realized that if he kept asking questions to me, he will never finish this assignment, as each question took me time to look at the ceiling and wish if there was a google search engine up there to save me from this cumbersome trial. 

He went on to display all the books and their astronomical prices too!  The books were actually good. Well if he hadn't humiliated me by asking those questions I might actually have considered buying at least one of those on a trial basis.

I need to grow up a little bit, you know.


P.S My previous post below was the 150th post on this blog. Thank you, everyone who read me J

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Valentine's Day dinner date.


Even before the dawn broke on Valentine’s Day, I was already up on my bed watching over an ailing toddler, who, for the past few days had been suffering from stomach upset accompanied with fever and nose block. Of all the above illnesses, all mothers would agree that even if nose block sounded trivial, it is one of the worst diseases babies suffer. It is also the worst because once it infects, it ensures sleepless nights for a couple of days and disturbed sleep the days after. So on this day, I spent the night sleepless, because the nose block tortured the child in such ways that he was unable to sleep, despite his earnest efforts.

That morning, as I walked to the kitchen, eyes half closed, I heard my mobile subtly playing notification tone. Completely oblivious about the date and time, I picked up my phone only to find facebook flooded with Valentine’s Day wishes shared by random people to everyone on their friend list. Others posted pictures of the expensive surprises their spouses gifted them. Whatsapp also had its fair share of broadcasts, an option which thankfully or not, helps a lot of people convey shallow wishes on every other occasion to countless people on their lists. I went back to my routine, stuck in hangover and drowsiness.

It was a long day, and not a moment did the child move away from my arms. By evening, a call came from office asking hubby to report for a meeting to discuss a critical issue. Soon after he left with his laptop, I sat helplessly on the couch, the baby on my lap, who was finally trying to sleep after a long day of crankiness and low appetite; I switched on the TV and flipped channels, all of them playing mushy movies and songs, all of which had the Valentine theme plastered on them. I still did not miss anything, as none of my Valentines days in all my life was anything movie like. However I was a bit disappointed ,as hubby was at office, and he would have his dinner along with the other guys in the team who will probably burn the midnight oil with him.

 At around 10 pm, I slowly picked up the baby and lay him on the bed and sat next to him. There was nothing to eat. A few cupcakes were in the fridge but they dint excite me. An hour later, as I slowly drifted off to sleep, I heard the door bell, and opened the door to find hubby back, as his work was done for the day.

 That’s when he asked THE question… ‘So what is there for dinner?’

 I was taken aback. ‘I thought you guys were eating out’.

“Today? No.”

“Okay then I will make something for you, come” I said gesturing him to the kitchen.

“Whats there to eat?’ he asked, opening the fridge to find absolutely nothing in it.

“I will prepare ghee roasts for you, there is batter enough for three’ I said.

“What will we eat WITH the dosas?’

As the toddler is a light sleeper, there was no question of using the mixer to prepare the chutney.

“There is a leftover fried fish from lunch” I replied gloomily.

He sat on the kitchen chair. The tawa was greased and the dosas were prepared one by one, and he sat on the kitchen chair munching them while the fish was reheated in the microwave. In between, I also took my share of the dosas from his plate. Soon the batter was over, and the plate of three dosas and one fried fish was wiped clean.
 “Happy Valentines Day” I said.
‘Same to you” he mumbled, smiling at the same time.

“The guys at office went out for dinner. I dint go with them”. He added. 

It was indeed, a special day.  

Sunday, February 10, 2013

Score !


Last Sunday, as I sat on the couch post dinner, the mobile phone rang. I sluggishly walked to the table where my mobile was placed – (away from the reach of certain tiny claws), and noticed that it was the boss calling. ‘Hello?’ I answered. ‘ Hey Anita. Our Director’s mother, 87, passed away, so the Head Office will not be working for the next two days’. ‘Ohh, okay Ma’am.’ I said, rather plainly. After I cut the call, my husband’s phone rang almost immediately, which was a call from his boss to say the same thing ( We both work in the same firm). As soon as he disconnected his call, ‘Yaayyy’ I squealed.

‘What?’  he exclaimed.

‘What, what ? Dint you just hear what they said? Holidays ! yaay!’

‘Are you not ashamed to behave like this? Somebody lost their mother and what can possibly be so funny about that? And its not a somebody! He pays us ! He is our employer! It’s his mother, who is probably one of the founders of the organization’.

For once, I wished I could go to office at that very moment.

There goes a yaaayyy that will never come back.  I just thought about the two whole days I could spend with my toddler and never did I spare a thought about the bereaving family. Oh whatever it is, saying yaayy should always be taken in the right spirit, no?  I am not the kind of person who laughs when someone dies and he knows that. I mean, before giving me a lecture on when to be happy the spouse should understand what I actually meant. This is NOT fair.

Displeasure colored my face.

The spouse noticed that and came upto me. ‘Its not very appropriate, you know?’, said he, in a seemingly remorseful tone.

‘Okay. But still you dint have to… you know?. The lecture was unwarranted. Still its okay’. I said. He agreed.

Soon, it was forgotten. ( Of course after I whatsapped  a few friends and enacted that scene to few others who found his reaction incredibly funny- I totally don't get some of my friends ;-) ).

Holidays came and it was all about home theater and home cooked delicacies. We had a good time. On the second and final day, we were on our way home after an outing with friends, and one of them asked my hubby about why exactly we had two days off. He replied ‘The mother of our founder directors passed away. She was 87’, he said. And after a brief pause he added , “And I am glad she dint choose the weekend for that”.

‘What are you saying? She is the mother of the employer who pays us! Do not talk disrespectfully of the dead! Shame on you!',  I scored. :D :D 

Relief. ;-)

Sunday, January 27, 2013

The Doctor's word.



Practice of medicine is the most respected of all professions. For all I know, they worked so hard, really very hard to get that degree to their name and it is not a joke. Well, they are also placed on the top of the status tier ,and most deservedly so, as no one can do without them. A doctor’s learning phase doesn't end with the last day of their final year examination. They need to keep themselves updated each and every single day of their existence because that is the pace at which medical science grows. A good doctor is one who is passionate about what he does,  and not one who was sent to medical school because it was his grandpa’s last wish.


There are however, few morons who spoil it for the entire medical fraternity. Fake and unqualified ‘doctors’. Yesterday as I was watching TV, I came across this appalling piece of news, which reported that there are thousands of unqualified people practicing medicine across the state. That too, in full public view with placards outside their fake clinics. Amusingly enough, they even have an association for themselves, something called the All Kerala Unqualified Doctors. Unqualified-Doctor is a laughable oxymoron. A so-called ‘physician’ prescribed an unsuitable medicine for a child, was caught red-handed and thus was unraveled the shocking story of an entire community of medical frauds in the underbelly of the state, earning status and money to their credit since decades. Steroids, and expired medicines which were regularly prescribed, were caught from their pharmacies.

We are all laymen when it comes to medicine. When we get a headache we pop a paracetamol and get temporary relief. When there is a stomach upset we have something else ready. In short we have a whole medicine box to ourselves. Don’t we? Any self-respecting doctor may tell you not to prescribe medicines to yourself. If that headache persists even after you slept for 12 hours and ate enough food, then it is ideal to get a doctor’s opinion. Instead we eat paracetamol three times a day for a week to get rid of it. It may disappear for some time, but the suppressed symptom may be back with a bang later. Its better to be safe than sorry isn't it? But no, we do not get an appointment with a doctor, because, they are expensive, it takes an entire day to get a token, wait, buy medicines and come back home. Moreover, fake doctors are in town. Who knows their background and what if we end up eating steroids? I am a nobody as far as medicine is concerned, and I will go to a hospital only when something strikes real hard and a sick leave certificate is required from a doctor. Now with the fake doctor news, we are most likely to think twice and the value of qualified and lifesaving medical professionals go down. 


It doesn't stop there. There are another category of qualified doctors who are determined to slander reputed and sincere ones.  We had a a family friend-doctor, to whom my parents went flocking to when they sneezed or had hair fall. This person, who dint have many patients to his credit was proficient to prescribe antibiotics for the smallest ailment. But who are we to judge? 'He is an MBBS!' defended Papa ever since I could remember. A month ago, my mother had this incessant tiredness, sore arms and fever and high body temperature that wouldn't come down. The doctor prescribed antibiotics, repeatedly, which further worsened the condition of my mother, whose arms got red and had rashes after ten days of treatment. When the doctor understood that things were going beyond his expectations, he said that this was a confirmed case of measles and that she had to shift to a different hospital. When my parents met with an experienced doctor from a reputed hospital in the city, he admitted her immediately in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU) as this was a severe case of Dengue fever and shouted at Papa for not bringing her earlier. The platelet count in her blood had gone way down from normal and in the next two weeks, she had to be infused with six bottles of blood. My mother, who later recovered, battled with fatigue and body pain for more than a month. Now tell me, everyone makes mistakes, but can doctors wait so long until they come to a conclusion in the diagnosis of a person? Shouldn't he have checked the blood when fever persisted so long, given that dengue is like a plague nowadays?


I have another example for you. Once when my husband was about to leave after his appointment at a hospital, the doctor casually asked how our son was. My husband replied that he was fine, but had a slight cold which was manageable. Immediately the doctor tore a paper from his pad, wrote the names of three syrups and handed it over to him, saying that these would ease the cold. My son was four months old at that time. All three syrups had in their leaflets, dosages and warnings which said that it is not for kids under the age of two. I am not judging anyone, but I am educated enough to know, that without seeing, touching or knowing about any allergies or medical history, is it not okay to prescribe medicines for an infant, or anyone for that matter. My son was not there with my husband then, and so it sounds really wrong to me. Nevertheless we did not give those medicines to our son. We met a qualified pediatrician who suggested that no medicines are required and to consult him again if it does not subside in a week.

Both the examples above are my bad experiences with doctors in general. The doctor we meet with now is a qualified person, who listens, educates us about what is wrong and prescribes medicines only if it is necessary. He doesn't write down big names in illegible letters just because we visited him. And we trust him blindly because he is right all the time. I wish all doctors were like him. Most of them are, I know, but I hope the unqualified ones and others who lack experience, does not meddle with the lives of people. I hope as many people wake up to realize that there are fake doctors out there, waiting to make money out of our misery. 

Good doctors are found not only in plush multi-specialty hospitals alone; they are everywhere. You just need to identify them. The minute you stop placing your trust on that fancy placard outside, and go that extra mile to do adequate search and gather opinions, it is worth each day you take out for an appointment. Because healing comes from God; real doctors are His messengers.  And his, is the final word, the answer to your question of health, of life.

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

In my defense...


In my childhood I dreaded to say ‘I forgot’ to anyone.
 For one, I was enrolled into a Convent school where the nuns considered wearing nail polish as a severe crime. Forgetting to bring a book or an assignment was blown up into an act worthy to be reported at the nearest Police Station. When they distributed books for the academic year, they gave us two notebooks just for composition writing. One for English, and the other for second language, Malayalam in my case. So composition notebooks looked alike for everyone from first grade to the twelfth. Which also means that if you dint bring it, you cannot take another notebook and pretend like it is the composition book and save yourself a visit to the Principal’s room. Composition books were specially made to punish annoyingly forgetful students like me. However in a classroom of around 50 students there always were a couple of other miserable souls who were also brave enough to admit the same and followed me as the teacher escorted us to the Principal’s room.

Principal: ‘Hello Anita Jeyan. And others’.

(I am special you see)

Me: Good Morning Ma’am. *bowed head and held the ends of my skirt wide*

Principal, obviously not impressed by the show with the skirt, puts on a grim tone.

‘What did you do now?’

The teacher who escorted us to her room explained that according to the timetable one hour was assigned for composition writing and still we had not brought the composition book, with an expression as if she caught guns from our school bags. Principal started further interrogation.

 ‘How could you do this?’

‘I forgot, Ma’am’. I explained meekly.

‘How can you forget? Did you forget to comb your hair today? DID YOU?  DID YOU?

I touched my head to check if my hair is okay, because she seemed to have thought I dint comb it.

‘Anita!” she screamed. ‘I am trying to tell you, that if you dint forget to comb your hair, but forgot your book, then you should reset your priorities’

Ohh. That’s what she meant. Hair is okay only. For a second she scared me.Why cant people convey properly what they want to say and stop acting like Shakespeare? I can expect some sort of straight-forwardness from a Principal, no? Anyway. The frustrated Principal sent us back to class with instructions that composition for that day could be written in the rough note (which I had forgotten, but who cares) and copied in the composition from home. The next day she wanted to see these composition books first thing when she comes to her office. She had way too much free time .

Thats my past. I continue to dwell in amnesia. When hubby drives back from the mall, I remember the most important item which was the reason I sent him to the grocery in the first place. From his animosity to any explanation of forgetfulness, I usually keep mum. Or if he finds out, I am tempted to lie in highly animated tones like, ‘ Dint you buy that? Omg what were you thinking?’

My Mom writes a Things-to-buy list and sticks them on the refrigerator with a magnet. Papa notes them down in a tiny yellow pad, in a much smaller and illegible handwriting, so that even if someone pickpockets him, they don’t crack the code of what secret vegetables he is going to buy:-/

By the way, the Principal is nothing compared to how my parents react if I told them I forgot something.

What I am trying to say is, when I forget, I want to say that I forgot. If it is not taken gently, I will be tempted to lie. If you tempt me to lie, then you are answerable to God. ;-)

Saturday, January 12, 2013

Writing my way in 2013...


Hello dear folks who noticed that I was not here over a month! Others who dint, miss me next time, okay? ;-)

2012 December was one incredible vacation. Details later, but I can tell you it was nothing less than pure bliss. Except the part that I suffered a splitting headache on Christmas eve, that I spent more time lying down on the back seat of the car , parked in the church premises with a toddler dancing on my head, when the choir happily sang, ‘Joy to the world!’. Sarcastic singers, I say.

Later December 16th happened. The wretched night of Delhi gang rape. The aftermath of riots, chaos, tears and ultimately her passing in glory to the land where rape is unknown. Been following all news and articles written on the same. However some people who blame women to have done the heinous crime of “provoking” men seems to be determined to show off the deepest low of stupidity they can stoop to. Honestly.

December 28th. It was our wedding anniversary. I celebrated it in Trivandrum, and hubby at Cochin. Well as per our schedule it was preplanned according to the layout of a larger plan. Well we live together and work at the same office all 365 days- being geographically separated on anniversary is not a big deal. All the other days are.

So recently I was filling out a few forms, and realized that with time, I am losing my ability to write. Writing my full name using a pen on a piece of paper has become so tedious that I am sure in a few years I will not be able to do it anymore. My son will grow up to call me illiterate. Or he will think I passed Engineering through online multiple choice exams. Did I answer those five essays, four pages each and 20 short answer questions all in three hours? I mean ideally I’d take a week to do that.

 My papa saves some handwritten letters of his father and his uncle. These are some of his invaluable possessions. Those words in custom handwriting speak a lot more than what Microsoft word does. Handwritten letters have that quality of intense personal communication, achieved by the handwriting, aroma and an invisible attribute which actually makes the reader feel that the sender is actually speaking just to him. These letters are also physically saved and read over the years, just for that aroma, handwriting and a personal touch, unlike the emails we archive and never read a second time. Also, a handwritten letter is usually unique. There are no copies, and it has a single receiver, unlike the Cc’s and worse, the BCc’s of standard email.  This makes it priceless. Letters written on paper with fountain pens are really memoirs, or little personal tokens of eternal worth.  I do not know how authors of today write. I know that JK Rowling writes in her Macbook Air. So the authors of the yesteryears must have taken so much effort to write those timeless classics. Imagine the passion which went into those books, when there was no google and availability for reference was scarce.

Every year, my employer gives me a diary and calendar in the first week of January, and I routinely donate it to my parents who have the habit of writing down expenses, recipes or important dates. This year, I am keeping it to myself, and will try to note down something on it. I will not write a summary of my day to day activities, but when I go to meetings I will carry this diary and a pen instead of my laptop. I will draw those instant pictures, or reinvent my signature or do something with it, but I will see to it that I use my fingers to write, and not just to type. My idea is to draft blog posts or write ideas for a short story in it, which may not be possible, but I am determined to use it. Well that is my resolution for 2013.

During my days with my parents last month, I spent some time in my room, which is still decorated with stickers and greeting cards from my teenage years. The handwritten Archies cards of the 90’s. One of them had a black and white picture of five little girls sitting on a wall, and the caption says ‘Friends like us paint the town red!’.  I lay on my bed and looked at the innumerable cards stuck on the walls. Those were the days. Even today I can identify the handwriting of each one of my friends. The personal letters written on the cards are still fresh and real. When was the last time I received or sent a card through post? I think it was a long time ago. My son will never know what birthday and Christmas cards were… or what it was worth. He is likely to think of it as a waste of time and paper. Oh I feel sorry for him; he will never experience the joy of a greeting card.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Secret Christmas deals !


Christmas is basically the time of the year my Mom gives Santa a tough competition, in terms of hyper activeness. Baking cakes, making cutlets, distributing wine, setting up the Christmas tree and managing guests. But this time around, God decided to give her some rest and let the others run. My Mom was diagnosed with Dengue and is in the hospital now, but she is better and almost ready to be discharged. You know the hangover of a viral fever, or a flu attack, when all you want to do is just sleep. Like a log. She will go through that phase next, that is mostly around Christmas time. To know that my mother is in hospital and be an ocean apart from her is no simple deal either. Sometimes all one can do is to hold on to positivism and top that up with prayers. It works, I know it. So her daughters, my sister and I will visit and brighten Christmas day for her, yay!

Other news around here is that my son turned one and a half – and it was time for his vaccination. It happened yesterday, and by evening he became very warm with fever and it continues. Whatever happened to my plea to the scientists worldwide to make this damn thing oral?

 In other news, all my footwear are either broken or looks historic so need to pile up on that. Now that’s got to be frustrating for someone at home. Guess who ;-)

We are taking off to India (Kerala, to be precise) coming Thursday, and yes I will be going dutifully to Cochin, his place first. The silver lining is, it is also the best place for shoe and accessories shopping! Talk about perfect timing for rear and tear: D

Now here is a secret. I got this email today. I am sure, going by the subject line, my husband is not going to be too happy. 




 I opened the mail secretly, when he was not around, and found this:



No, but thanks !

Merry Christmas, everyone !


Tuesday, November 20, 2012

My best friend's delusions!


The fact that I am unable to hide the excitement of going home in December on a month long vacation is no news to my neighbors or the housemaid. I discussed this over and over again whenever they innocently asked me ‘What’s up?’ that now they want to get rid of me and wishes that I never came back. But who cares?  I am celebrating New Year at home..yoohoo!

I remember the days at my college hostel when I used to be slightly superstitious. Slightly. I mean not so bad enough to believe what they say about the black cat. For one, it was something about vacation planning and getting excited. My best friend always told me never to plan a vacation or a function way ahead and get too excited about it. If I did, it was most likely to end in disappointment. Initially I thought it was a joke, but she threatened me with it by her soft voice and big eyes that I believed it instantly. 
Atleast when she was around ;-)

Almost a year after graduation, I remember her verbal marriage invitation as soon as the dates were known to her. During the same call, she also banned any further discussions about it. Because the last thing she wanted was to miss me on her big day. Many times I started conversations with…’hey that hopeless tailor may mess up my blouse for your wedding…’ or sometimes ‘ my damn sandals broke…what will I wear on…”and she stopped me at that point and told me to shut the hell up. In anger, she also added that she dint care what I wore. Well I was pretty sure about that, you know.

I was a fresher who landed my first job and was at least eight months into it when her marriage was announced. A week after she announced her wedding dates, my boss called me and certain others to his cabin and discussed about an onsite assignment, which was to be at the client office in Mumbai. He said he will let us know the dates later. I went back to my seat only to churn out intelligent excuses to get out of this project. Then a brilliant idea struck me, one which most male bosses are known to comply. I made mental notes, prepared further believable lies and scripted an entire drama to perform at the boss’s cabin the next time he calls me to discuss the project.

Two days later, he called four of us again. In these two days, I was so thorough and confident about the excuse I was about to say, that I almost started believing my own lie. So we marched into the cabin, got seated and listened through the blue print and other technical stuff. Well to be honest I wasn’t listening because I am not going, no? I smirked at the three other excuse-retarded poor fellows who were going to Mumbai and toil at the client site. Then the boss stood up and gave us a verbal itinerary which had the earth shattering dates- we were to fly on the 16th of May at 6:00 am, and it was the day of my best friend’s wedding.

Well my excuse could not be expressed when the other three project mates were present because of reasons pertaining to my ego and self-respect. I waited for them to leave the cabin. When the door closed behind me, the boss looked up and asked, ‘Yes?’

I continued. “Sir.. I have few problems back home due to which I am afraid I won’t be able to travel on the specified project dates”

The boss who was expected to be surprised and taken aback (according to my imaginary script), leaned back on his plush chair and asked, ‘May I know if it is not personal?’

I continued my robotic well-tailored speech. “Sir, actually my parents are growing old and they are searching a suitable alliance for me. In fact a guy is coming from Pune to meet me on the same day”

Boss was amused at this. He asked, "oh so is he coming on the 16th?"

"No Sir, on the 18th"

Long pause.

It was the time for me to use all my grey cells. I had prepared only so much, because as per the script, the boss then chose another candidate and excused me from the project and wished me a blissful wedded life.

The boss continued in a deeper voice, “Okay may be I can convince your parents to call that guy and tell him to come 4 weeks later. What is your landline number?” and picked up the receiver. 
I sweated down my shirt. My hands shivered like that of a chronic alcoholic. I stammered a lot to finally come up with, “Sir, my parents are at work now, I will ask them this, Thank you very much sir”

I got the hell out of the cabin before he asked their work numbers. When I closed the door behind me, I couldn’t feel my legs anymore and almost heard the boss banging his head in laughter.

However that was when the actual problem began to unravel itself.  I couldn’t possibly show up at the wedding which mattered more than anything else. The blouse was also being stitched for no apparent reason. I did not dare to call my bestie and break this news. I spent the next few days in a pensive mood. I am now guessing that could be when my parents actually realized that they should start the groom hunting for me, because I appeared heartbroken most of the time. Well little did they know that I had second thoughts about the design of the blouse I gave the tailor.

 Days passed and the wedding came closer. I had still not broken the news to her that I will not be there. It was just a week to go and I had my project documents and other stuff in place. I dint call her, even though she called me several times in the day and disclosed some stuff her fiancée said and we giggled.

The countdown came closer and there were just three days to go. I was at office, attending meetings back to back. I couldn’t bring myself to reality. Suddenly the boss walked in, and announced:

“Guys, slight change of plans. You will be travelling on the 20th and not on 16th. Tickets will be issued shortly”

I was numb by happiness for some time. However I stayed nonchalant, as expressing happiness will give the boss a different picture considering the excuse I said.

Finally I attended THE marriage, and we had the time of our lives. I flew to Mumbai three days later. The colleagues on the adjacent seats briefed me about the project during the flight, since I wasn’t mentally present over the week.


Coming to think of it, everything was co incidental. What difference would it have made if I , as opposed to the superstition, got too excited and made plans about the wedding? I may have called her every single day to discuss that. Oh and a disastrous phone bill. May be that’s what she meant by disappointment.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Men will be men will be men !


Recently hubby and I received a gift voucher each as a token of appreciation on the success of an endeavor at office. It was quite a reasonable amount, and since the firm we work for is a leading retailer, the voucher could be used at any of our own outlets, which included department stores as well as sophisticated lifestyle stores. The Lifestyle outlet featured brands like Swarovski, Chanel, Nikon, Fizzler, Samsonite, Moulinex, and the like. On receipt of the voucher, I started weaving dreams.


Do I want Chanel eye liner or a handbag? Handbag –no. I don’t carry them to office, as I use a laptop  backpack. Over the weekend I have a toddler to carry or run around so the handbag will not be of much use. Most importantly the handbag will stay in the car and I will not get a chance to show it off. However the eye liner can be used on all the above scenarios as well. Okay so Chanel eye liner it is. It would be great if I could carry the eyeliner in a Chanel handbag…...but let’s get real. Oh my God, I cant wait to go to my friends in India and start the cheap show offs.

 Hubby interrupted my day dreams, held his voucher and said ‘Wow so the company is paying for Aaron’s pampers this month! hahaha’.

I jumped up in horror. ‘What?! Pampers ?’

‘Then what’? Asked he.

My dreams about the Chanel eyeliner shook vigorously but refused to shatter. It still stood a chance. I shook my head hiding the horror of buying diapers with that voucher and dint spill my ideas immediately -Four years of marriage and seven years of knowing him gave me an idea about what to say and when ;-). So we forgot about the vouchers until we were reminded again by some colleagues that it came with an expiry date. We ditched the Lifestyle store which had the Swarovski and Chanel, and headed straight to the department store, from where we got gifts for family and friends for Christmas and also the pampers. We spent much more than what the voucher was worth, but the vouchers covered up a major portion of the disaster of Christmas expenditure.

 At the cash counter, I told him how I had planned to buy Chanel eyeliner earlier but it felt a lot better this way.

On our way back, hubby was amused at my Chanel idea and said…

 ‘This time we can be extra lavish about pampers …hahaha..If I had not intervened you’d have gone to lifestyle and got that…  ‘

Pause.

‘Got that….Chanel…. ‘

‘Umm…’

‘Chanel…’

‘Eye… whats that… eye-opener?’

:-\

Monday, November 5, 2012

We, the Laptop Generation.


To be perfectly honest, I have a problem with the  previous generation who claim that with technology which advanced in leaps and bounds over the last two decades, everything has suddenly become easy for the new age woman. They may have rolled the rocks manually for grinding and blending, or washed those heap of clothes bare handed, but do they remember the members of the extended family who tended to their kids while they were doing the above? Parents of today and their efforts to make ends meet and at the same time bringing up children are overlooked and underestimated under the pretext of owning mixers and grinders at home.

If you take into consideration our grandparents, the minimum number of offspring they had was four. That is the minimum, I mean, bare minimum. The rule was you should have enough children that when someone asks, you have a decent number to quote.Double digits were considered to be an excellent feat. And, they enjoyed the fruits of grudging and gossiping in a joint family because the cooking, child rearing and household chores were shared. And yes, only the single breadwinner went out of the house, the rest stayed at home, with only a radio for entertainment. The other forms of entertainment were cold wars, unpleasant judgments, sleazy potshots, pretensions, boasting, saas-bahu sagas and other epical showdowns. Gone are the days.



Next came my Mummy’s generation, wherein the general trend of their parents coming down to take care of the kids (mostly two and sometimes three, but not more) was followed extensively. Maternal or paternal grandparents of the baby came down and cared for them, when our Moms went to work with the peaceful assurance that their children were taken care of by blood relatives and that no harm can come to them. This service was a wholesome package with FREE finger pointing, saas bahu confrontations, accusations about working women and the like.

Things changed suddenly. Now the families are nuclear. The term ‘nuclear’ can also hold true considering the state of affairs at home or the mood of the couple. A husband and wife set up home continents apart from their parents, and have children of their own. Without parents or kind relatives around, the wife either has to let go of her career or be stretched between home and work consistently under anxiety about the baby who is being looked after by a stranger at a daycare or at home. Not to mention the cooking and cleaning that awaits us at the end of the day, with a child weeping at our feet and a hot pot in our hands. It definitely helps if the husband understands, and even if the chores are shared, it doesn't seem to get any lesser. A friend says that her husband prepares bed coffee for her, and as we sighed in admiration of that guy, she continued to reveal that he uses at least 20 vessels for the same and the sink is full after two cups of coffee are made.

The tricky part is when there is a baby, or a toddler. In today’s world where one rarely gets any good feedback about nanny’s or daycare  and horrific news of child abuse fills the news channels, a parent simply cannot be at ease at any point of time. Come vacation, we fly to our hometowns and all we get to hear are questions about when the ‘next baby’ will come, yes, shamelessly, or about how the existing one is unhealthy as per their standards (which are usually mental images of those bloated kids from cerelac ads) and unfriendly statements that we are starving them. The hours we spend at the child’s high chair at meal times, staring relentlessly at his mouth and sighing after every handful is swallowed are just myths for them. All they know and choose to believe is that we, the laptop generation spend our days happily in air conditioned rooms and evenings at malls or bowling alleys. No, that’s not how it works.


Parenthood has become the most difficult one in today’s times. Children are being exposed to what they should not, at a very tender age through TV and internet, so handling them emotionally is not an unassuming task. From my own experience where my 17 month old is being taken care at home by a housemaid, it breaks my heart every time I wave him goodbye, and the elevator closes its doors dutifully as he looks on, teary eyed, and both hands calling out to me to come back. I wave him back, and cried during the initial days, but the tears dried up with time. I understood that I should not spoil him. Soon he will join a nursery, and it is painful to think that he is not at home anymore. But I have only myself to console and reassure. I get the wildest thoughts about him missing me and crying, or being bullied by other kids. Then I go through the nursery’s website and read the positive feedback they got from various insecure parents like me. Then the fire of anguish extinguishes partly, but remains dormant only to be ignited again in the next vulnerable moment. As a mother, I can tell you that it takes a lot of guts, patience and strength from within to endure the pain of leaving the child at someone’s care.

It is going to be a passing phase. It passes, but the phase doesn't get any easier with that line. But life is all about these little moments. The moments we realize how a child can be a part of ourselves and how they control our hearts and eventually our lives. That a child is God’s gift and parenting them is a divine task we are entrusted with, and that we need to endure the highs and lows that comes with it.


Spread the word!