Inappropriate Monologues.

Ten days into the month and finally I got to sit down to write a few words of how beautiful the last week of my life had been. Firstly, my parents landed on the 5^th of June, and in the next two days I was completely blinded by homemade chocolate cake. I can very proudly say that except for one piece I donated generously to my maid and another which I hesitantly gave my hubby, the rest of the cake has safely landed in my otherwise flexible tummy. However I do not feel even a bit guilty, because like my sister says, I am also sure they serve these in heaven.

Second reason I am happy about is that I completed one year of parenting, or in other words, my son turned one. My parents almost cant see me yet, as they are drowned deep in the whims and smiles of my little one. We also hosted a party for close friends, during which we cut the cake, played games, danced and ate a sumptuous dinner.

So before the birthday party, on Aaron’s actual birthday, we went to church in the morning, said thanks to the Almighty for the countless blessings, and at noon, we’d invited two of my previous housemaids to join us for lunch. I did this from a good intention, because I was sincerely thankful to them. So post lunch one of them showed no signs of leaving. As soon as she came she started talking about her diabetes problem which we showed concern and listened curiously. But her symptoms and hospitalization story went on and on until we could no longer hear her. Mummy, who actually is a good listener tried to change the topic by talking to my son in between but she paid no heed to her attempts. I tried going to another room and calling my mother on the landline which was in the living room,(so that she gets up to answer the call and the conversation would be disconnected) but my brutally innocent Mummy failed to read my intentions and asked me to answer the call K

Finally around 45 minutes of exaggerated details from her fasting and post brandial sugar count -to her doctor -his experience and family- to his mother tongue and expertise-to her hospitalization charges and treatment- to her daughter starving in sorrow, to the sandals which was stolen at the hospital. She left no stone unturned and then changed the topic.

 To suicide. About a girl she knows who apparently looked like me, and her husband who (obviously) looked like my husband

 ( **when people lie, they say some details which goes too far and makes the most tragical stories funny**** )who had a shaky marriage and then my looakalike committed suicide leaving behind a two year old. Remember, she is talking to my mother. I watched Mummy’s face going pale and at this point, I stood up and left the room and started planning an evening walk so that we could get rid of this calamity in human form which had settled down in my living room. I talked to Papa who was in another room checking emails and told him that we could go and check out a new residential building which had come up in our area. I convinced my husband also into this, and got dressed all of which took about 20 minutes and went to the living room again to hear her still describing about how my lookalike was found breathless after hanging from the ceiling fan in such great detail as if she was an eye witness. If I asked her where the lookalike got the rope to hang from, she’d detail that also, with route maps.  

Trying my best to cover the sheer desperation and anger I said, ‘Arent you guys done with this topic yet..? Remember it is Aaron’s birthday? ’…with a fake smile, winking at Mummy in between sounding as sweet as possible. That’s when she snapped back..’Anita if you don’t want to listen , you just don’t listen…I am talking to your mother’. If she weren’t that old lady who once cooked food for me while I was pregnant, I would have thrown the furniture at her.

Some people just don’t know what to talk, when and where. Leave housemaids, we can forgive her thinking she is not educated.

 On one auspicious day of my sister in law’s wedding we left to the parlor early morning with the wedding saree and jewels. Giving away a bride is a sentimental ceremony, more than just a celebration. Our home was crowded with relatives who had come from near and far, and the atmosphere seemed to be heavy with anticipation and prayers . In thirty minutes and atleast fifteen phone calls, we reached the parlour where the beautician who looked a bit sophisticated waited. 

It took around two hours, to be done with the saree, hairdo and jewels, during which she subjected us to details of all the road accidents she had experienced so far, first hand or otherwise. She also described that the corpses she saw in the accident the week before dint have heads and also the pool of blood on the road, in millilitres. I wondered, if she spoke like this on a wedding day, what would she speak about at a funeral?

Can it get any more weird?

I am sure everyone had their shares of experiences with people who are educated or illiterate, who just cant decide what to say and when. People whose tongues are faster than their heads. I can but boldly say, that education has nothing to do with knowing what to talk. What do you say?

Bad, bad teacher!

This post is dedicated to the weirdest creepiest female I was a student of, around half a decade ago.

To begin with, she had this odd fashion sense. Her pencil thin frame was usually clad in saree- draped in sheer carelessness sans any effort to look neat. She was also supremely short for an average Indian adult, and this made her look comical- but mind you if you smile around her she will scare the daylight out of you using ultrasonic expletives. She complemented the bandage of a saree with pointed high heels which she obviously considered very funky to be wearing in a college where one has to walk in kilometers to go from one classroom to another. The annoying noise that her heels made could be heard from the nearest railway station.

When she entered the classroom, the sound of her heels automatically transformed the normal working of our brain to a state of numbness wherein we were reduced to vegetables which can read and write. As soon as she left we reverted to our normal state. Whenever she gave us a problem to solve, she walked amidst us creating an air of fear and sometimes casually banged her wrist on the desk- which caused a minor myocardial infarction to the student whose desk that was. 

Again, her vocabulary in English consisted mainly of the word ‘man’. ‘Come here, man’ ‘Get lost, man’ ‘What the hell is this man’ ‘Get out man’. And mind you, ‘man’ was not used for men alone. Once she told me, ‘ You Anita ! Get me a chalk, man’ K

The primary reason why she was weird was the explosive temper which could give any Shaji Kailas protagonist a run for his money. The subject she taught was associated with a lab – and hence this semester was a painful slow death for any student aspiring to attain a degree.  To get her signature on one chapter of the record book was mission impossible; imagine getting it for all 21 chapters and appearing for the lab exam where she will be there with her devilish grin and eagle eyes to get any prey she can lay her hands on. If at all you complete an experiment at the lab, document it and go to her for signature, she glances through the pages and if there is a micron of a correction she hurls the record book outside the staff room. The wailing students were supposed to pick them up and run to grab their anti depressants. The area outside her staff room was appropriately nicknamed ‘runway’ because the flying record books always crash landed there. The students actually formed a queue and stuck themselves to the wall so that there was enough space for the flying saucers.

Once she was joking to another teacher in the staff room and smiling..yes I caught her smiling! I continued to wait happily in line for my first experiment, when the boy standing ahead of me handed over his pen to her for signature, and to his fate the pen did not produce enough ink for her to carve her much anticipated signature and it went flying out of the window. The guy cried ‘My Pierre Cardin!’ out of an instant gut and he has not been allowed in her class or lab ever since. Well, when the pen went flying, so did I, straight to my hostel holding my record book tight to myself. That day I called home and cried to my parents blaming them for sending me to a place where there are villains for teachers. However I made it a point to never be a victim to her outrage and learnt my experiments in depth and wrote them accurately.

Another very appreciable quality which she possessed was her relentless ability to curse. Once a guy talked in her class and she cursed him, his parents and ancestors and even subjected him to further humiliation when she expressed her desire to see him around writing arrears for the next seven years. And on her last class before the exams all the other teachers wished us good luck...whereas she expressed her sincere wish that all of us fail her subject and wait at her desk again the next year.

Finally the day came when I went with shivering hands and feet to the University Lab exam. I got an experiment which I was not an expert on and started with a doubtful mind. The external was a man in his 40s and was a kind person. Madam Cruella De Ville sat next to him, looking at me as if to find some fault as she learnt from my expression and body language that I was doubtful. Unfortunately the tiny screen did not show any output when I heard the creaking of a chair being pulled back. I turned to look at her coming towards me. My fingers were literally shaking. She said, ‘Okay Anita, so see you again next year, same lab’ accompanied by devilish laugh. Other students looked at me pitifully, when tears started gushing out of my eyes. I dint say anything and continued to work on my experiment. However it did not give any positive signs, and I proceeded to my second experiment for which I got the desired result. But Madam Adamant was stern on her decision, and gave a smirk as I proceeded out of the lab. Needless to say I was torn apart.

However the graceful Almighty not only passed but also gave me good marks for her theory paper and lab. The 40 something normal external professor gave me marks for the experiment I did correctly and also reduced for the one I dint, but adding up record book marks and internal marks I got a decent score. I do not know how long she continued in that institution after I graduated seven years ago, but wherever she is, I remember her and feel pitiful for the students who get suicidal under her guidance.

Wherever you are, I dedicate this song to you, Ma’am, and I really mean it!

Happy Mother's Day.. :-)

Pondering over topics to write and repeated threatening the sibling for a guest post dint work out quite well in my favor. So here I am, yet again to scribble some flash back just to update the blog and of course, to bore you.

I had a pet cat when I was in tenth grade. That is, just a couple of years ago ;-) No I dint fail in my other grades, I am just trying to say that I’m in my sweet sixteen :-D 

The cat’s name was..err…let that be a family secret. Anyway it roamed around my house, inside and outside, much to the dislike of both my parents. We fed and played with him (it was our maid who confirmed that it was a  ‘him’, and not a ‘her’). One fine morning, my pet went absconding, leaving a trail of broken hearts – oh wait just a heart that’s mine. We searched everywhere in the neighborhood but in vain. For a year or two after that, we mourned his death anniversary sometime in August. I always loved cats despite it being a totally useless creature. The cats in my Mom’s time, in early 60s and 70s used to catch mice and do its bit. But these days all they do is to watch TV.

My cat’s biological mother also used to be in our compound, but that one was egoistic. It dint accept any food we gave as it hurt its pride or something. It saved that food for its other kittens. Commonly seen walking on the wall, this mother cat barely meowed or showed any signs of hunger. However she had some stalkers-I will talk about her moral side in a separate post, dont worry :D I am sure this poised creature was a  celebrity of its kind. However it seemed to be impressed by the fact that its son, our pet was fed well and taken good care of.

Yesterday, I took my baby out for a stroll and found a cat with its two kittens having brunch in a garbage can. I kept looking at them- a family of cats having snacks in total harmony. That was when two dogs also decided to have brunch at the same place. As the dogs approached the kittens, the mother cat pounced on the dogs like a tiger and the dogs fled bawling. The super Mom returned and continued to purr by her kittens .

Yesterday was Mother’s day. The mother instinct is obviously not a human trait. Its a known fact that Moms actually possess super powers when it comes to the security of her offsprings. Imagine the sea of pain undergone by the mothers in our country whose babies were taken away just because they were females. Or the plight of expecting mothers who are threatened to be burnt alive with the child if they deliver a girl. 
Well we are human beings- so called superior species with brains, religions, laws and rules-that’s exactly why we are like this. I’m sure the cat I saw yesterday dint care about the gender of her kittens. She’d protect them anyway.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Handwriting Impacts.

Does a person’s handwriting say something about him?

Yes and No. For example, Mummy’s handwriting is beautiful and exceptionally neat. Her grocery list looks better than my University Record book. Like her handwriting, she is also systematic, aesthetic and creative. So this handwriting speaks a lot about her I would say. But then take my Papa’s or husband’s handwriting and going by the pace and illegible letters, one might think they are terrorists. But they aren’t – because you should not compare them with terrorists and insult terrorism ;-)

I have inherited just one good thing from all of my predecessors, which is Mummy’s handwriting.** and extending the story of inheritance -  a rare genetic combination of  low attention span, carelessness, short temper and a plethora of genetically transmitted diseases from every other unhygienic ancestor**.  :-) Anyway my handwriting came in handy to my friends who wanted me to write their names on their new notebooks, to write the date and day on the blackboard at school, or the project statistics on the white board at my previous office. Moreover one teacher at my college said that evaluating my answer sheet was a pleasure as it looked neat with outlined diagrams and neat elaborate answers *though she dint mention whether the elaborate answers had any connection to the questions asked*.

But does handwriting really matter? It really does.

So recently, my little one had a fever accompanied with cough and nose block. We took him to the pediatrician, who was well qualified, well behaved and doesn’t prescribe medicines just for the heck of it. He was our favorite until recently he prescribed a cough syrup for our son, and also said ‘This is a seasonal cough. Not severe, so better refrain from antibiotics. I will give you this one, it is for infants’. So we took the prescription to the pharmacy where the pharmacists are usually seasoned readers of doctor’s handwriting.

 And the pharmacist said,’ Amoclan? Its an antibiotic!”

We: But its for our ten month old and doctor specifically said its not an antibiotic!

He: This is Amoclan, it’s a powder to be mixed in water, its taste is not baby friendly, and it is an antibiotic.

We did not buy the medicine and decided to check with the doctor again. Two days passed by and meanwhile the cough got severe. We got an appointment with the doctor again and checked the prescription.

Doctor:’ It is Ambolar Syrup, not Amoclan. ‘

We: K

Okay so Ambolar syrup it was, the label itself had the dosage instructions for babies of every age. May be because we are educated people, and because God was gracious enough we saved ourselves from a wrong medication. What about others? The illiterate, the poor or those in emergency? Couldn’t this have caused more serious issues?