Playgroup Files..

Few days ago we played the songs from ‘Kites’ at home. Just like that.

 The next day I spotted my two year old on the sofa, laid back and legs crossed, singing ‘Zindagi…’ ! The only thing missing was a bottle of beer for that Devdas effect.

 

Zindagi....Do pal ki...

The transition from daycare to play group has been obvious in the verbal front. Like potty time and bath time are infused with enchanting nursery rhymes( not very apt to the situation, though). But we are not complaining. That however doesn't mean that everything is fuss-free. Taking off the pajamas before bath is the toughest part which usually the hubby handles. Mostly Kolaveri Di takes care of it. (More power to Kolaveri Di. I don’t know what I’d do without it).But there are days even Dhanush fails to entertain. That is when the bunnies at Bunny party arrive. We have different songs for the varying degrees of fussiness, which in turn proves that we are masters of the art, in raising tough babies whose main motive is to make life difficult. No offense to any babies whatsoever by why do they fuss!

Dropping him at school on mornings is a strength test between my clothes and his fist. Letting his fist win is turning up at office in torn clothes. That wouldn't have any effect on my appraisal though. There are no cries or screams accompanied with this pulling of clothes and clinging on, but it is only a ritual he practiced since his first day there.  In the evenings, the hesitation is to go home. By this behavior his nanny might have thought that we are subjecting him to child labor or something.

When he was in daycare, he had a cute female play mate. Her cute face was only a guise- she was in fact a female baby goon and my son was scared of her. The very sight of this girl made him go WAAAAAAAAHHHH which burst the eardrums of a few sleeping babies. He thought of her like a ferocious Rottweiler. But one day I sneaked in at snack time and found him eating French fries from her tiffin. Obviously there seems to be no fear while stealing junk food. End of the day I look like the bad, bad mother who packs scrambled eggs and steamed bananas in his tiffin. Damn good eating habits. I was told by his nanny that the little female goon was very fond of my son's lunch which generally consists of rice. End of the month the goon gains height, weight and intelligence like the kids in bright orange t shirts in those Horlicks ads. My son is that kid in grey t shirt who never grows because he generously distributes his lunch to junk food eaters.

Waking up at 5:00 am and packing a wholesome lunch to – God knows who. That must be some destiny I am living.  Anyway I pack a bit extra food so that no one is hungry after lunch time. Sigh. Babies are thankless. Really. They take everything for granted. Wait till I send him to hostel when he is 20. I will NOT be answering any PHONE calls either.   

So today morning as I dropped him at school, the teachers were warming up the kids by singing action songs. It was a song that my son knew too.. soon he joined them, but later walked to the side of the room and started hanging out with few other toddlers and laughing. That is an early sign of a backbencher syndrome. Oh well, considering the fact that both his parents were notorious backbenchers I don’t expect an Einstein of him.

The goodbyes that are painful...

If I refer to all the females in my family (including me) as ‘drama queens’, it would be an understatement. We strongly believe that if a daughter to goes on a picnic she may never come back, or buying a two wheeler to a son is like gifting him death. So you get an idea. Every single thing is blown out of proportion and every event like marriage, birthday, and graduation is laced with tears and filmy dialogues and thus dampened. I grew up in such a fiercely loving yet slightly dramatic home, and even though I am way better in terms of drama, I seem to carry traces of what was generously bestowed upon me.

However I was married into a family where people are not as dramatic as us. Goodbyes here are more matter-of-fact and met with more smiles than tears. So my belief that my family had the most complex DNAs which made them brutally sensitive and that they were the first of its kind to have ever walked the earth only got stronger. I reach for the tissue during any movie that has got anything remotely to do with emotions. I fought tears and lost when my son got vaccination shots. The first two weeks of my son’s first daycare was when I ran short of words and tears or even breath. However I was strong enough to hold my own and not broadcast it to the rest of the family for obvious reasons.

This morning I dropped my son at the playschool when I heard loud wails from outside. A boy, around four, had been enrolled and it was his first day there. Two people had to stop him from running to his mother, who walked away hesitantly with her two younger kids. The child refused to pay heed to any act of consolation, and got too wild and loud to handle. Other children including my own stood perplexed and helpless.  We slowly left, even though my heart went out to the boy, who was evidently kept home till that day. As I stepped outside, the mother waited with a miserable look on her face. 

She asked me,’ Is he still crying?’. 

I said ‘Yes’.

She went up to her car, placed the youngest baby carefully on a car seat, fastened the seat belts for the other child and got on to the driver’s seat. 'Wow', I said. 'She must be the iron lady or something'. As we started the car to go to office I took one last look of the mother who was still in her car. She held a ball of tissues and was crying profusely. She kept wiping her eyes and slowly rested her head on the steering wheel. 

My heart melted.

The mother. Her undying love. Care.  Tears.  Worries. 

 You do not call that sensitive. It is what mothers are all about. 

I think I misunderstood my family.  

Oprah Winfrey : The costly refusal.

Last time Oprah Winfrey made news, was when she visited India and met the most accomplished people here who are none other than the ones in Bollywood. As she sat across the table for dinner, she famously asked ‘I hear that some people in India STILL eat with their hands?’ Then, it was a terrible shame that Madam Winfrey dint know that a majority of us Indians STILL cannot afford food.

Today as I glanced through the news, I came across this racism controversy of Ms.Winfrey. A shamefully ignorant clerk at an upscale store in Switzerland refused to show a purse worth $38000, (named after Jennifer Aniston), to her because he felt she may not be able to afford it.

This is 'that' bag!

This is completely believable. I have always told my friends this, when you go to buy clothes, that is when you should be dressed your best. Because wood headed sales guys often assess you with what you are wearing and your chances of finding an attire of your taste depends on that.  This was during a time before malls came into our lives and allowed us to choose what we wanted. When I was younger there were shops in which clothes were neatly stacked in cupboards and sales guys across a counter would pick them and display based on their mood.  If you are not very attractive in their eyes, you will end up buying a reject. This is a painful truth. Storekeepers measure you by what you wear and how presentable you look.

So Ms. Winfrey was not talking on her show and therefore might have turned up at this unfortunate Swiss store dressed for comfort. This is not about the ignorance of that guy who was unable to recognize her. Whether she can afford it or not is not the point either. It is the question of the basic right of a person at any store that has stuff on display. Anything should be accessible to the person who has walked into the store - without having to meet any prerequisites. The customer needn't arrive in a limousine walking like it was a red carpet event.

I have met rude and highly self-esteemed teenagers and young adults who literally have grown head phones from their ear lobes working as sales persons and delivery boys at various brand outlets. They are veterans in belittling customers and treating them like dirt. I have also seen sales persons at showrooms passing their comments and giggling at potentially vulnerable customers who try on the clothes displayed. I am a programmer by profession, and my codes do not expect me to smile at them, but I know the basic code of conduct expected of a person who is in the sales business. Do you or do you not feel like stepping into that store once again, where you were treated like a King with faces around that smiled gracefully and talked politely? Is it so difficult to show minimum civility to any person for that matter? You may not sell a Chanel or a Louboutin, but people are drawn to you by the way you treat them. And they will come again by how much you care about their purchase.

I am sure that poor guy at the Swiss store might have been fired and made to go through a list of Celebrities alive as on August 2013. It is not about being a celebrity. I may not be Oprah Winfrey or Jennifer Aniston, but today if I walk in to a Hummer showroom and ask to be shown a H1, I should be granted the opportunity.

 So this time, I guess Oprah was right when she said that she was snubbed.

Alternatively, she could have asked,’ Do people in Switzerland STILL find this bag expensive?’

A night in the jungle !

As soon as the rumors started floating about an upcoming holiday, I immediately opened my otherwise boring work mailbox. There it was! The holiday-memo email.. yoohoo! I unlocked my mobile and dialed the hubby. The phone rang. “Hello?” I breathed an air of tension into that word. It met with an excited “We have an off day Monday! Let’s call them and plan” response from him. And yayyy went all the happy hormones in my system. Long weekend! The heavens had finally opened up to shower the holiday starved working class with some extra beer.

I rang up my partner-in-crime since my school days, Santa and her husband Banta (names changed to save my ass) who live in Bangalore as well. I could almost hear Santa’s couch breaking under her weight as she was jumping on it because she had just received the news about the weekend plus one. We talked to Santa and later to Banta and zeroed in on Wayanad for the weekend getaway. Why Wayanad- the drive through the jungles appealed to Banta and the hubby, whereas Santa and I were focused on finding cool jungle resorts. Logically the only jungle resort that can be available at the eleventh hour was that one which had free accommodation and additional facilities like sleeping with wild elephants and boars under the star lit sky. Trip with Santa and Banta meant death by laughter. As we were couples who were just couples without babies at that point in time, we were even ready to sleep in the car in the worst case. Sigh! Those were the times!

So my early bird husband woke up even before the ghosts did – at 3:00 am. He shook me awake and rang up Banta and woke them up as well. We started from home around 4:00 am and headed to Santa’s apartment and waited outside. Soon two policemen came in a white jeep and stopped next to us. The police gestured hubby to walk to him. Soon the hubby was seen talking and pointing towards me. The potbellied man got out of the vehicle and walked towards me. “What’s your name?” He asked. ‘Anita’ I replied. “Whom are you waiting for at this hour and what is your relationship with this man? “He demanded. Seriously these Sherlock Holmes wannabes are really ambitious. I opened the dashboard and produced a copy of our marriage certificate. Suddenly his expression changed from a high profile detective to that of a scared rabbit. I also produced copies of our identity cards, which he was not interested to check. He then said, “You cannot park the car here. This is a main road”. Oh, that is why he wanted to know my relationship status. If we were not a couple we could park the car on the main road?  Soon enough, we spotted Banta and Santa sleepwalking towards our car. The spicy narration of the policemen incident woke them to hearty laughs and active conversations thereafter.

The drive took us through the spectacular woods along the Bangalore-Mysore-Wayanad route. The picturesque locations and thick jungles with occasional sightings of wild elephants, boars, peacocks and deer were serene and peaceful to our senses which were otherwise abused by the polluted city lives we led. Even the animals, as we spotted them seemed to be extremely at ease and it was the reflection of freedom they enjoyed in the environment where it actually belonged. It was a striking contrast in comparison to the misery and helplessness we often see in the eyes of zoo animals. We slowed down and clicked many pictures, even though there were certain restrictions about doing that. Finally we reached ‘Jungle Hut’ where Banta and hubby had made a reservation (without our knowledge) and checked in. The resort lived up to its name with lush greenery all around.

Jungle Hut consisted of various tiny cottages set in the real forests of Wayanad. The staff said that most guests are greeted by herds of deer in the mornings as they opened their doors, but we really did not believe that. This came as a joke to people like me who've not seen even a dog in like, ages. The jungles which were close by are said to have a remarkable tiger population too, and the national animal had marked its presence a few times to the lucky few who happened to be driving at that time. The staff therefore warned us to not hang around outside the cottage at night. They stressed this point several times to Banta and hubby, as they pretended not to hear that and kept clicking pictures when the dos and don’ts were explained. They also reminded us that once we were settled in cottage and needed anything we should dial the reception and not answer the door even if it is being knocked at night. That line was a bit spooky for Santa and me who were already scared listening to tiger tales. We received our keys and walked to Cottage no:29, which had two bedrooms separated by a door.

It was almost half past ten when we found certain brochures on the coffee table by the window. The last page of the brochure said, that many people have had unfortunate encounters with wild animals, especially tigers in that area, and therefore one should not venture outside at night. Thoroughly city bred kids like us could not digest the fact that there were real tigers outside. That’s when it started raining. It started with a drizzle and strong breeze but soon evolved into a heavy downpour. The noise it made against the cottage roof was so deafening that we couldn't hear each other anymore. The lights in the porch went off, and those inside the room flickered. We just stared at each other wondering what could be the next plan of action in case the lights were to go off. The only weapon for last minute planning to a jungle trip power outage was mobile torches. And we knew how long that was going to last. I hurriedly took the land phone to dial the reception, but it also had succumbed to nature’s fury. The mobile phones struggled and failed in its attempts to find a network so we could call the reception. Altogether, we were trapped in a cottage in the middle of a jungle, weaponless. Our lives hung around the strength of the door knob that locked us in the cottage. Even though we were snacking and talking, the fact that it had started to rain and that we lost any contact with the hotel authorities sank in on us. Our conversations started losing color, and in some time, we were just snacking and plainly looking at each other.

Soon, headlights from a distant vehicle pierced into our room. We tried to peep through the window, but the downpour allowed us only to see the two headlights that blinded our eyes. We came back to our motionless existence.

In a few minutes, there was a knock on our door. To open the door was foolish. It was almost midnight. There were groups of drunk bachelors in other cottages. The knock sent horrific chills down our spines.  

After a few moments of discussion we asked, ‘Who is it?”.

No answer. We kept our ears against the door, as we weren't sure if we were audible to whoever was knocking. After five minutes of knocking and intense trials to make ourselves heard, the knock stopped. And soon enough the headlights were switched off too. We gathered our heartbeats and tried to sleep.

The next morning, we headed to the reception and gave a peppery account of the knock-knock episode from the previous day. The staff was as clueless as we were, because they were not the same guys we saw last night. They obviously worked in shifts. We continued to breakfast and proceeded to Soochippara Waterfalls, adhering to our instant itinerary. 

This was a place which was untouched by commercialization. It was at least a fifteen minute walk through a narrow stone paved path with lush greenery alongside, to reach the falls. As we walked through, a very familiar face turned to look directly at me. “Lanta!” I exclaimed. Santa knew her too, as we were all batch mates of the same school. It is such a stark coincidence to meet someone you know, that too a batch mate, at a random tourist spot! The encounter progressed with loud shrieks and excitement. Lanta was on a weekend getaway too. As we walked we talked about everyone in our batch who were married, engaged, divorced or making babies. The time we spent at the falls with our new company was priceless. We walked back with lots of memories and were exhausted from all the laughter and exhilaration. By the time we reached the car it was time to bid goodbye to Lanta and the wonderful time we had with her.

“So, where did you stay? I asked in curiosity.

 “Oh. This resort…”.she said carelessly. “We were supposed to check out yesterday. We tried to move our car out of the parking area, but because of the rain one of the tires got stuck in the mud. We tried every possible way to get it out. There was another car parked adjacent to ours. If that one could be moved a little bit, there were chances we could get ours out”

“Then?” Santa and I asked in unison.

“Then what! In an attempt to not disturb the tourists we tried to get the tires out of the mud hole in the incessant rain. Finally drenched and tired we went to reception and they accompanied us to the cottage of the tourists whose car it was”

 “Those cowards did not respond despite us knocking for at least ten odd minutes. The staff tried to contact them on their mobile phones but after the rain started, the network was screwed as well. So we went back to the reception and extended our stay. As we were supposed to be back home yesterday and couldn't be contacted on mobile, our parents were terrified and had a sleepless night” Lanta turned to her husband ..’Honey, which cottage was it?’ 

“Cottage Number 29. Jungle Hut’.

Lanta drove her way back to Kerala.

Back in the confines of our car, we felt amused and terrible at the same time. We were too surprised to express our confused emotions.

Our extended weekend was over and we drove into our respective busy lives. That same night I took my mobile, and messaged Lanta.

“We were the ones in Cottage 29, Jungle Hut. You're welcome. No mention”.