Baby news :)

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

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

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

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

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

Choir Gags

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From rags to riches...a real story.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stork Visit :)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Undisclosed Utilities !

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

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


He: Whats this ?

Me: Envelope Holder .

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

Me: You can put other stuff too.

He: ‘Like what !!!”

Me: **cold stare**

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

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

Me: Hello?

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

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

He: Found?

Me: No ...

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

Me: !!!! Oh, I see !

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

A 'fishy' collision...

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

10:30 p.m. 

Me: Hello? Where are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being me !

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At your marriage they will laugh and pity your spouse.

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

After your marriage they will continue to make decisions.

You will be shushed in front of your spouse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A super-cool B'day gift !

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

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

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

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

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

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

Conversational Torture .. MUTED.

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

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

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

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

( Papa is surprisingly silent)

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

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

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

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

"What is a pug ?"

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

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

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

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

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

*Looks worried*

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

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

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

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

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

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

Complete silence.

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

The Real Beauty...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

GPS torture.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First Anniversary to Exit Hassles !

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

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

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

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

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

* end of enlightenment*

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

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

Hi,

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

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

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

So, my ex employer,

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

For God’s sake, Give me my PF !!

How a painting turned me pale :(

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

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

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

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

'Ask Shakuntala ! '

A portrait experiment.

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

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

 I took a deep breath.

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

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

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

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

I'm now, a happy and contended daughter.

Happy Birthday, Mummy ...

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

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

..baked my favorite chocolate cake..

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

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

..cooked me the best meal...

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

..prayed and blessed me...

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

...whose dedication has left me without words…

Mummy,

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

....

and thank you, for being YOU.

Happy Birthday, Mummy. 

...And thats how it's done.

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s  exactly what we did.

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

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

A reason to REJOICE !

A week ago, I was in Dubai, on a well deserved vacation, after a few months of dry spell in Muscat. Hubby had a few bachelor friends there, and I guess all of them silently wished that I wasn’t with him during this trip ;-). Anyway I was also welcomed gracefully and we had a great time together.

One of these guys owned a car, and another was a close friend, so the four of us hung out one night, at the movies. During the movie, these guys got frequent phone calls which sounded very critical and since then, they were at the edge of their seats waiting impatiently for the movie to end. As soon as the movie was over they sped out and were rushing to drop us at our hotel. It was half past midnight, and I silently assumed that these guys had missed out big on some midnight birthday celebration.  During the drive from the multiplex to the hotel, they kept getting calls from aggressive party animals, who were blaring out their vocal cords and music in the background was so loud that it could’ve been audible to people in other cars on the road.

A birthday party couldn’t be as violent as this one…or was it a bachelor party…my assumptions wandered.

We drove on.

In a matter of minutes, the car halted reluctantly  at our hotel (bypassing certain red lights en route) ,and the guys who now appeared like they fought a tsunami all along, were entirely oblivious of the good nights’ and thank yous’ I was sincerely saying. We both got down and hubby asked, ‘Where’s next?’

And seconds before the car could vroom out of our hotel came the reply…

 “There is a party at my friends’ apartment… as his wife just went to her native place”.

Rodent Menace ...continued.

Following my article Rodent-o-phobia, my sister (who is also my critic and an unmatched support behind this blog) was online and was giving me feedback along with a few LOLs. She enjoys my poor jokes to such an extent that she not only LOLs, but also ROFLs and ROFLMAOs at some of them, whereas the same joke would not have any effect on others. In fact, my ability to crack poor jokes is nurtured by her.

(After reading my article she says...)

She: How can there be mice in your house. It is very unhygienic!

Me: Yeah I thought it was healthy and invited it.

She: No I am serious. There was once a mouse in my kitchen…and I knew it from the smell.

Me: Deodorant?

She: Mice stink, don’t you know. I found it and drove it out with a mop. Also cleaned the kitchen…especially the area where it hid.

Me: You killed it?

She: No I drove it away.

Me: Okay check your wardrobe.**laughs**

She: I saw it going outside my apartment...

Me: Towards your neighbor’s house?

She: No it sped towards the elevator… and squeezed inside...then someone from parking lot pressed the button and the elevator went down.

Me:  Mice these days,  I say…!

She: **ROFL**

Laptop queries , Laptop worries.

My office laptop shows its true colors regularly, three times a day to be precise. Basically this laptop is a pessimistic moron. When I am doing something official, it works fine (moron) , when some person comes on chat, it gets irritable and slow, and when the conversation reaches its interesting best it simply hangs (pessimistic).

When it hangs, the next step is to reach to the system administration team, who are seated in a highly secure glass cage. The entrance to this cage is a sliding door, which when opened, makes a noise loud enough to wake other hibernating computers and even some colleagues. But the pessimistic moron is immune to any sound, you see. I carried the pessimistic moron to the glass cage countless times that, when I open the sliding door the creatures in the glass cage almost know it is me, without even turning around ! Well that’s quite an attribute of the sixth sense category, and it explains why they are seated in a glass cage…we never know!

The weirdest people I've ever come across are mostly from the workplace (or sometimes some relatives ;)).  Some weirdos have this obsession of escalating every trivial issue and send emails marking a copy to the leads, managers, directors and CEOs.  But I am a seasoned programmer you see. They think that  they can easily climb on my head and pull my hair. Others think that every issue can boil down to pin pointing a programmer. Little do they know, that by the number of years of experience in the resume we mean : experience to encounter the above species and strike the ball back to their court…or the satisfaction we get by allowing some people to climb on our heads and then swatting them away at a crucial moment !

People, why I am blabbering so much is that the creatures in the glass cage are analyzing my laptop and I have nothing else to work with…than to take out my notebook and write. The laptop evidently has some hardware issue, it’s a new one within the warranty period, and the logical thing to do is to send it back and get it replaced. But who are we to say. The creatures in the glass cage should decide, you see. They pretend to think it is some virus, which every layman around knows it is not. But the creatures in the glass cage know best, you see.

 But today I am going to gather some guts and say that I want to get my laptop replaced. If the creatures in the glass cage revolt, then I will use the deadliest weapon ever. Sentiments. (You thought I was going to escalate? lol  :D) No one screams at a girl almost in tears. Even the creatures in the glass cage. Shh..now they are in a meeting- which would mean that they won’t be at their desk – but most of them will be seen walking the corridors looking lost. As and when they appear lost, they won’t smile at you for the fear of being assigned with any work and will continue to act intellectual (just like I act sentimental). So when they are back, I will drop the bomb.

 Wish me luck !

Finally, a non cartoon :-)

This is my first attempt at  portraits. A change from routine cartoons. 

Testimony to a childhood inspiration :-)

As a kid, I was scared to go alone to another room in the house, if no one was around. I would hear my footsteps echo like it would inside an empty auditorium…I’d turn around to check if some shadowy creature was following me…the palm of my hand would sweat incessantly.

 Mummy used to knit, read, or value answer sheets from college and be engaged all the time. Therefore she sends me to get her scissors, red ink pen, spectacles or something from her room. I always used to wonder why she can’t keep these things handy, at a place where she can pick it up herself. May be she sensed my fears and kept it at the farthest possible corner of the house, which is on her desk on the first floor. Climbing stairs alone itself was a terrifying thought for me.

One day, when me and Mummy were at home, she asked me,

 “how many people are there in the house now? 

I said “Two, you and me”. 

She said, “No, we are three”.

 May be she counts the spider in the bathroom as a separate person. 

She continued, ‘Jesus is with us na? When Jesus is an invisible presence we don’t have to fear anything. So when you have to go to next room and you feel scared to, just say, Jesus, come along with me”. 

It got etched in my head because at that age, going to another room was the biggest cause of tension. So by softly saying ‘Jesus, come along with me’ I could go fearlessly to the darkest room in the house, even if it had a spider in it.

Years later, as I walked back from office cab after night shifts, amidst hundreds of street dogs, “Jesus, come along with me” was the line which gave me strength to overlook the beasts and move on. Practicing a childhood trait like this one, never felt like something to be ashamed of.

And few days back, I washed my pink tshirt with hubby’s favorite white kurta and the inevitable happened. Pink patches on the white kurta! How am I going to put this out to dry ? !! He is definitely going to see it !

 ‘Jesus, come along with me !’

Rodent-o-phobia !

We all develop notions in our heads, or sometimes wrong impressions about people, places or anything that come our way. Some of them change with time, maturity or an experience which proves otherwise. But some stays on until a spouse gets irritated and chooses to sleep on the couch.

A few weeks back, as I was enjoying an afternoon nap on a lazy weekend, hubby opened the main door of our apartment for some reason. And it happened. The drawback of being on the ground floor of a building – a mouse sped inside and hid behind the shoe rack. It sat there staring at him, helpless, but smartly planning the next course of action. Hubby cleverly closed the kitchen and living room doors and blocked other ways through which the rodent can get inside, and left the main door open. The mouse was check mated and kept staring at him for some more time (silently appreciating the intelligent homo sapien), and fled out. However, the incident was forgotten or purposely neglected by the better half...and I slept away to glory.

Two days later, during a usual small talk the mouse incident spilled out and this scared the guts out of me. “That means there are other mice in the house !” He knew where I was going with that and efficiently changed the topic, but the fact that I have to co-exist with mice was strongly registered in my head.

The next day onwards I started inspecting the area where the mouse hid and kept a watch on that area whenever I crossed it.

At midnight I woke up in horror saying that there is a mouse on the bed and that it touched my toes.

Any small sound, be it from the building behind ours which is under construction, or the random swaying curtains, was concluded to be the work of a gang of mice.

Another night one of the pillows fell off the bed, which was later creatively interpreted that, the pillow actually fell on a mouse, and that I heard a squeal from under the pillow. The pillow was washed and sun dried.

The better half swore to God, that any rodents/reptiles/mammals/dinosaurs, if sighted, will not be disclosed to me.

Psst..that means….there are other rodents in the house. Now that I know he wont tell me, I have to be constantly on the lookout !

An Archimedes incident :)

I had already blown my trumpet loud enough about my parents visiting me. Well, I have now safely landed as the hot air of excitement has blown off after they both left, and now I am here at my desk wondering what to write.

Papa had been around for two and Mummy for three weeks. She cooked my favorite meals and I gained appetite and loads of weight too! Why? I am allowed to. When parents are away for a few months and they come to visit, who watches calories anyway. To eat whatever comes your way becomes the order of the day and the better half also indulges happily, as the one who usually rolls eyes at him and blows undesirable signals has no time now! So it was the time to be happy and merry. Luckily they came at the best time of the year…Papa is likely to come again in May, and I can’t wait to see his reaction when he realizes that the summer which tries its best to touch a fifty degrees here will give him enough burns than a normal cigarette does.

This time around, it was total fun, and one night he put two ice cubes into his glass and poured water, which filled the entire glass, up to the rim. It was clear that he cant lift the glass without spilling. Mummy, who adjusted her glasses firmly on her upper nose, in her usual professor mode, was silently, but curiously watching the interesting turn of events. And then she said…”when the ice cubes melt, it is going to overflow, so watch it”

Suddenly, I was enlightened. By a Physics theory.  Seriously. I don’t know why, for what, and HOW it happened. But I was reminded of the Archimedes Principle. People who know me from school and are reading this will find it difficult to believe, I know. But I cant help but say this.. kindly refrain from laughing and read on.

And I said… “Mummy if you don’t mind can I correct you for something you just said?”

“Sure Anu, why not…what happened? “

“Actually, the ice cubes themselves has displaced some fluid upwards, because of its mass…so when it melts the level of water will not increase further”

Mummy, surprised by my knowledge exclaims “ Oh!”

“It is called Archimedes Principle, Mummy….. this guy Archimedes discovered it as he immersed himself in a tub of water …din't finish his bath and ran shouting eureka! You've heard about that na?”

The surprise and curiosity increased on Mummy’s face. She looked at me with a deep feeling, that I knew something, after all. (Meanwhile Papa and the better half have their jaws dropped and are in a state of temporary shock for which I cannot blame them)

Then I continued “ Mummy…when you said about the ice cubes, I just got reminded of this, and told you.. don’t think I am trying to be smart”

Mummy hugged me and said…” I am feeling so proud of you and so excited to learn this “ and a few kisses.

 I have no words to express how it felt when my mother said she was proud of me..

Mummy is a post graduate in Botany and is working at a renowned college. So her stream of thought goes with Plant species, Classes and Subclasses, which people like us would take ages to learn, but  she was so keen to know a new concept, which she actually doesn't have to bother about !

I am reminded of similar situations when Papa or Mummy talks about something I don’t know, and they ask me whether I’ve heard about it...I am often insulted and pretend to know it!

Well, there are things which Physics doesn't teach..you see.

An undue apology...unacknowledged.

2010 had been an eventful year, as I was uprooted from the comforts of Bangalore and replanted in the scorching Muscat. Bangalore was always my second home…warmth and fun of friends around, and parents reachable in a matter of hours. But many factors of a detailed plan did not allow us to succumb to the warmth of familiarity any longer. It was a milestone, or a significant turn in my journey, but this did not count as the most surprising or should I say, the most remarkable event of 2010.

Rewinding ten years back in time... and I was in Grade 11. I’d been in the company of girls until grade ten, and suddenly we were introduced to students of an acclaimed boy’s school, at a tuition center, in the eleventh grade. Soon we were good friends with them. 

I was in the company of eight other girls at school; one of us soon had an affair with a guy at the tuition class. This guy, hereafter referred to as P, was very friendly with all of us girls, even when he was pulling a string with her (hereafter referred to as N). N was away from her parents and staying with a strict relative. P and N had our support, but we never interfered in their affairs. However, many of our parents had seen them on the roads holding hands, which was considered extremely sinful during those times. Papa had also seen them together and asked me what was going on…to which an awfully excuse-retarded me said that P and N were cousins.

Time passed and our tuition teacher once spotted them together. Whether she warned them or did she directly inform their parents is still not known. Anyways, their relationship became known to N’s relative. N was not allowed to answer any calls, or attend tuition classes anymore. However, God knows on what grounds, but P blamed me for it. I had absolutely no role in this, except that I helped them contact each other on phone many times.

 So what happened next was devastating. 

It was a time of yahoo mail, and each of us had yahoo ids and dial up internet connections at home. P misused it by sending me an email, in which he insulted, brutally humiliated, and hurt me to my very core, thus shaking my very conscience. P even went on to hack my email, and sent forwards from my email id to guys of his school and others.Soon I noticed unknown guys whispering to each other and pointing at me at various occasions. But this did not even bother me in any way.But the mail he sent me ...really , badly, did. I still remember words from that email, even after these ten years, and my eyes well up. It hurts like hell. The following year in school, and later in college, I was an insecure, incompetent person bound by complexes triggered from that email.

By the second year in college, I had little or no time to nurture these complexes, and I was back to myself once again, active and bubbly and made and lot of friends. I buried the dark phase, but never did I forget it. I never had any contact with P or N since.

Some friends I discussed this to, heard me casually... often visibly wondering how seriously an email can hit a person this hard. It’s happened to me and I know how words can hit harder than a punch.

Ten years after the incident, in year 2010, I got an email from P. He is getting married.

This is the email:

hi,
hope u remember me!, i know it is a long long time.....
just wanted to say sorry for all the stupid things i have said n done....

i know it is little too late...but really felt i should say this.... 'I M SORRY'

im now into our family business...n things r quite ok....get to hear of u once in a while...

my greeting to ur sister and family!

tc...regards.

I never replied to this email. By typing a breezy mail like this, he must have steered clear of a pending apology and must be feeling better. And as per the Holy Scriptures, I am supposed to forgive and forget. May be I can take a little longer… or can I?