Valentine's Day Special: A true story.

While most of you might kill to go back in time to your college days, I would rather die than go back to it. A bunch of people who were far from being anywhere near the wavelength as me were my batch mates. As a result I had no other deviation or entertainment I could turn to, just to place a blame for my declining marks, so I found studying as a way to overcome adverse effects of this pathetic species on my otherwise blooming youth.

So there was this person, let’s call him Ken. Although he was in a different department, he was famous notorious in college for more reasons than one. He also had a very famous affair with one of the girls in the hostel. This girl, let’s call her Ms.Weirdo, was weird even before she fell in love with him. 

Calling her weird would be an understatement, as ever since this guy had got into her veins, she’d been aloof from her own friends. Although she was in a different floor at hostel one could see her heartthrob’s name carved and written on her pillows, walls, ceiling fan and on every surface on which pen could make a mark on.  However, Ken made it a point that he ridicules her when she was not around, so that the general public knows that he wasn’t serious and the affair was just a prank. Even the studious and insignificant me knew this. However Ms.Weirdo was in a different world altogether and was oblivious to everything around her. No one would dare open their mouths about Ken in her presence.

One of those days Ken, who looked quite drunk on a study leave evening, even insulted me and my friend by passing a derogatory remark as we visited the college canteen for snacks. I never had any reason to hate him before, but after this incident, like every other female in the campus I hated him too. (Ms.Weirdo was not considered as a part of the female community).

Anyway, I graduated from that college and started living a life. Ms.Weirdo was a junior so she must have been there a few years more, I don’t know.

I was finally back home for good, and CV-printing, job hunting, interviews, group discussions, aptitude tests and the like started. Six months went by, and I landed a job at my own home town. The pay was small…but who cares. I was staying with my parents- so food and accommodation free. Whatever meager salary I got was used to buy clothes, shoes and to recharge my prepaid mobile. The initial six months at my new firm was a training period, during which we had to do a project too. We burnt the midnight oil for getting this project done, and I stayed at a working women’s hostel a couple miles from my office, with a friend for around a month.

Now working women’s hostel is the new definition for hell. But our super busy schedules made us stay most of the time at office itself. Arriving at midnight to the hostel and leaving early saved me the energy to kill cockroaches and rodents which were permanent unpaid tenants and added to the misery of us losers who have no other option but stay in this building. There were three girls in a dingy room which could hardly accommodate one. My friend, me, and a stranger. Lets call this stranger Ms.Despo.

 Ms. Despo was desperate for love. As soon as it is morning, all she can talk of is about her boyfriend. We figured that out anyway because this woman never slept and talked on her mobile all night in low voice under the blanket. In such a small and closed room, one could even hear the footsteps of cockroaches, when this disgusting female would whisper sweet nothings on her mobile all night. Either she wanted us to vacate the room or she thought that we were deaf.

One Friday, as I was getting ready to go home, Ms.Despo asked me:

“Anita, which college did you go to?”

“Oh its XYZ. Why?”

“My boyfriend went there too. He knows you”.

I noticed from the corner of my eye that she was blushing at the mention of the word ‘boyfriend’, but I was rather focused on wondering which guy it was.

“Whats his name?”

‘Ken Mathews”.

I was stunned initially but extremely amused within a few seconds.

“He wants to talk to you”

I took that mobile, whose keypad was hotter than KFC chickens due to overuse and placed it gently near my ear and I said,

“Hello?”

“Anita, this is Ken here. I am sorry, really very very sorry for whatever I said to you at college, please don’t tell anything about Ms.Weirdo to Ms.Despo. I am serious about Despo and “might” marry her also please”

He finished that in a fraction of a breath. I tried to pinch myself to stop the roar of laughter brewing within me. I am not sure what he meant by “might” and “also” in that sentence. I got goosebumps and it felt like a Bollywood climax when this once self assumed Don, Ken begged me to not spill the history of his wayward life to his prospective bride.

 I replied nonchalantly “ Okay..hope you’re doing good” and ended the conversation briskly.

Years later I found Ken Mathews on facebook. He’d actually got married to Ms.Despo and has put up their wedding photo as his display picture. 

Its now..or NEVER.

Long back there was this incident when I had a lot of dresses in my wardrobe which were either worn out or unfit. I gave it to my mother who donated them to people who couldn’t afford them. Later when I came across a send off party photo from my mother’s college I found a girl wearing that dress which I discarded. It was probably the day everyone dressed their best and that was her best dress. My eyes welled up as I confronted the painful reality of the financially challenged and how destiny doesn’t favor everyone.

My parents were givers and not receivers, in all the two plus decades that I lived with them. Clothes, money, food, moral support, advice, you name it , they gave it. However what they received had always been criticisms and brickbats. But I believe that blessings come from God and not from the thankless mortals we extended a helping hand to. And yes, over the years I have seen my parents blessed by the Almighty abundantly by each passing day  through all the pains and hurdles that befell them.

It had me thinking… which is right? Donating something which you don’t need, or something which you selflessly want another person to have? As per logical and practical conclusions, no deed is selfless in this world, which may be true if we perceive it that way. There are scores of people who contribute to charitable trusts and orphanages by being anonymous. And there are people who pose for photographs and get a receipt from them as a part of their personal finance management and cheap publicity. However I cannot comment or start a debate on this, because, frankly speaking, I do not know. But as per the scriptures, the one who has is expected to give the one who doesn't.

So when I was having a late night chat with my mother, she casually mentioned about her maid, who was so poor that she and her daughters lived in a single room hut. When they went to church on Sundays, dogs and cats would break into their home – which was now closed with plastic sheets as the rain washed away the mud walls- and eat the lunch they made for that day. I fought tears as I heard this. One of these daughters was getting married and this woman was trying to make some money for the wedding. Well, affording gold was out of question, but for good clothing? Any girl, rich or poor would want to look good on her wedding day. It is the single most important day of her life, whether she gets married in a thatched chapel or at a Cathedral. 

I made a decision.

I made some phone calls, and made arrangements with the help and support of my in-laws and parents....and I gave my wedding reception saree to her. This saree, which I wore just once, is not something I would discard. Even though the chances that I will wear it again in my life are very remote, I’d save it, as it holds an emotional value. As a part of this so-called “emotional value”, I would stack it up in a wardrobe and over the years it will be eaten by insects. But today, it could change a woman’s life.

 And so it did.

Shopping fiasco !

Shopping days are back as Mummy is around, and we took her to all malls we know pretending that we are helping her shop, but in reality she din't and we ended up swiping the credit card everywhere :(

Recently it was at Lakeland. There were these egg poachers, a holder to lift the poacher, another to separate egg from the holder, and another to actually pull out the egg, and then there is an egg separator which separates the yolk from the white, and a series of totally useless kitchen stuff. ( On a totally different note, I would be delighted to meet the woman who uses these on a daily basis ).

As we were browsing around, suddenly hubby came holdng an item which looked like a tiny remote.

Me: “Whats that?”

“I’m buying this. It is a key locator.”

“WHAT?”

“The car keys, you see. If we lose it, this remote will help us locate it”

“How?”

“This one, **shows me another tiny box** is the main thing. We should keep it always in the car and carry this remote with us all the time. That’s all !!”

Me: “What if you lose this remote?”

He: “Nono I wont lose the remote na?” **stressing the 'I' which also means, ' we all know who is the careless one' :-|.**

Me: “Well then just guard the car key like you will do the remote!”

**stares angrily and keeps it back**

I walk away. Oh my God. Is he serious or what. Egg poachers and the associated junk looks useful to me now.

Soon he was back again, with another item. It was an orange peeler. “ Did you see this? I am buying it. I have a hard time peeling oranges everyday”

Me: “I will peel them for you.”

“Nono you have baby to look after na…you wont have time”…and there it flies straight into the shopping cart.

I let out a huge sigh. My mother, for whom we actually came to this store, was taking a look at muffin trays and making mental notes of their sizes and reading catalogues. She had no plans to open her wallet unless absolutely necessary.

So when I was just beginning to retire from that store, there he appeared again, with something which looked like a torch. Before it flew into the shopping cart I interrupted…”Wait!! Now what is that ?”

“Its this awesome thing which removes the seeds from apples”

“I can do that with a knife!!”

He put that also in the cart and walked straight to the cash counter completely oblivious of my comment. I was sure these things were going to run up a huge bill. I could have bought a pair of jeans with that money. 

I gasped and turned to look at the shelf I was leaning on, when I saw this lemon squeezer. I have one in my kitchen, but it is shaky due to daily use, discolored and old.

So I called him and said, “ Well then take this lemon squeezer too”.

He looked surprised and asked ‘Why?’

“Ours is worn out completely” I explained.

He: “C’mon, you can do that manually. You have to use your fingers in a rotating motion and then drain out the seeds! That’s how everyone makes lime juice! Do some work !”  

  :-|

Was awarded a new tag !

My Mom is here. She brought me one of her special homemade chocolate cake. I don’t know what you’ll think of me when I say this, but I ate the entire cake on the same day and I’m not even sorry or guilty. (We have a family friend here, and my Mom had plans to distribute a few pieces to them as well, but I got violent when she revealed this evil plan to me). So my little one is enjoying a little more attention than what is actually required .Clearly, we are spoiling him.

So as I was browsing through my blog on the weekend (heights of luxury as my Mom is here to take care of the baby), I came across this comment which Reflections had posted on my last post and the award. Wow Reflections thinks I am versatile! Yay ! I’ve been tagged to write seven random things about myself and collect the award as well. As this award is already on my blog, I’m thanking Reflections below it, and continue with the tag.

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I am very infamous for misplacing things. Back home, if anything goes missing from its usual place, my parents tend to immediately call me (in a volume and tone which doesn’t sound so good) or search my room if I’m not home(the search usually ends successfully). The same continues after my marriage. However, if someone misplaces my stuff I get confused as logically, I can’t blame anyone for it. L


Right from my childhood I hated food. When I spent vacation at my grandma’s I kept everyone on their toes. I made them run after me with spoon and food for hours. This continued into my college days, when I was underweight and immunity took a toll on me. I caught all diseases which are usually attributed to malnutrition. Even now, (I am visibly NOT underweight) although I can generously treat myself with chocolate cake or grilled chicken, eating healthy is a very difficult task for me. I have alarmingly low sugar levels and Papa is very angry with me right now for that. I have a weird feeling that my son will follow suit.

       I am into the fourth book of Sophie Kinsella’s shopaholic series and can identify totally with that character. Not like I buy Armani or Vera Wang gowns all the time, but I have this knack to make whatever clothes that catch my eye, feel like they are a total necessity. Last month I thought, that I should buy a black formal pants and my wardrobe would be perfect. But now I think I should have a few more tshirts and I just cant seem to get enough.

      My husband is a total foodie, especially for beef and mutton, but I have an allergy to all red meat. Surprisingly we totally get along with fish and chicken and till date, never had differences of opinion on food matters. 

          Whenever I come across relatives who worry about their unmarried daughters and are secretly groom hunting ever since they completed high school, or those aunties who anticipate on when their newly married daughter will start a family, I let a silent sigh, mostly of relief and a feeling of liberation, as I am done with that horrifying phase.

       If I had an option I would like to relive my school days once again. But I’d like to skip the exams and result part and then directly slip into the place I am now. The worst punishment that can ever be awarded to me is to make me relive my college days.

          

           My favorite food is biscuits. I used to hog on cream biscuits all through my days at hostel. Later after graduation I was home with parents and started gaining weight due to all the normal food they forced into my food pipes and the additional packs of cream biscuits which I kept eating. So I switched from cream biscuit to normal biscuits.After that I followed a diet plan and said goodbye to biscuits altogether and whenever we are out buying grocery, I make my way to the biscuit section and stare at each of them, fighting the urge to put them all into my cart.

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Phew! Those are seven not-s0-interesting-or-useful-in-any-way facts about me. I am not sure I’ll find fifteen people to tag, but I am going on to tag a few of them.

Godyears

ShanuBlogs

BluntEdges

GayathriVishwanathan

BinuThomas

Grayquill

RedHanded

VineetaBalakrishnan

PraphulViswan V

What you need to do:

 Add the Versatile Blogger Award picture to your Blog Post
 Thank the Blogger who nominated you
 Share 7 Random things about yourself
 Nominate 15 fellow Bloggers
 Inform the Bloggers of their nomination

Good Luck !!

New Year deeds.

Two weeks already into the new year and I haven’t posted anything on my blog- which essentially means that I’ve been busy. I had to fire my maid cum babysitter for reasons that her monetary demands started increasing by the day. Then started a series of maid hunting and background checking which took a lot of my time and patience. Like one of my friends said, it’s more difficult than finding a life partner.

December is the most beautiful month of the year, accounting to the celebrations and food, but it is also the month in which time flies at the blink of an eye. May be no one realized this yet, but it is true. You buy a Christmas tree, decorate with stuff even costlier than the tree, put up serial lights – thanks to very informative electronics classes back in college, and there , Christmas mass it is, and before you know it, its new year’s eve. After that, the tree looks outdated and it literally calls out to be dismantled. There, it’s all over and before you know it, you are there in front of the mirror, sluggishly wearing that identity card on top of a dress which you can’t decide is formal or casual.

By the way during one of our cake distribution visits at a friend’s house we saw an exquisitely decorated white Christmas tree which my son set his eyes on. After coming back home he wouldn’t even look at my humble tree like it was anything special, and chances are that he might have even thought that it came with the house or was an extension of the living room furniture. Sigh for all the effort I put in to hang those little shiny things. But one should always look ahead. Two decades from now if he asks, ‘Mama how did I celebrate my first Christmas?’, I will tell him how he let me down by not being excited about the Christmas tree I set up just for him and add on a few crocodile tears. Yes in fact I am very optimistic when I say he will ask me that. No way, I know : D On a realistic note I will mostly end up pulling him by the collar and say…You have no idea how much effort and ideas I put into this tree to celebrate your first Christmas and then he will probably give me those ‘Are you leaving my collar now, or…’ look and I have to look for ways to escape.

I just realized that I have nothing worthwhile to write here. Anyway last day I got a call from the maid I fired few days back, asking me how my son was doing. I suddenly felt few pangs of regret, but I tactfully tried to hide it with words and expressions. I also told her that my Mom would fly down to Muscat soon. I also invited her over to meet my Mom so she can spend some time with my son too. (Even though I fired her I am thankful to her from my heart for taking good care of my son). She was excited and happy to hear that and gracefully accepted my invitation. Everyone is jealous for money, and so was she. So are we! Don’t we all shamelessly bargain with the HR once the interview is cleared? Yes we do. I thought, God could have created me like her, and made me clean vessels too. Instead He gave me education and a good job. So there…we are not expected to judge anyone who works for us. She might have called to know whether we hired someone else…or may be for some other reason I can’t think of…but when I invited her to my home to meet my mother I can say from her voice that she was pleased.

And yeah, I might have started the New Year on a bad note, but I managed to undo the damage too.

RED Christmas !

Its that time of the year again. Jingle Bells ! I remember writing a very home-sicky post last year as I couldn't be home for Christmas. Its not like I am not home sick this time, but its Aaron's first Christmas and we are celebrating it in every possible way. I have put up a Christmas tree, just with red and silver, and he loves it ! So I am posting a picture of my Christmas tree, which gleams in the corner of my living room, with small round white lights which shines subtly in the darkness of the night.

Merry Christmas to everyone here at blogger, the ones who read me and supported me :) I am really thankful ! Another year of blogging has passed by, and this could probably be my last post of 2011. So here is wishing all a happy, peaceful and blessed 2012 and may the movie 2012 NOT come true :D

Luck By Chance !

There always comes a hurdle or two when I try to send gifts for my sister. 

My sister who is very lovable, genuine and witty, is also notorious among us at home for being slightly pessimistic and calling herself unlucky for even trivial coincidences.

 Last I remember, it was this cute little woolen jacket which I found at a store. I bought one for myself, as I was unsure whether my sister would want a similar one or not. So I displayed it to her on webcam, she loved it, and off I went again to the same store to pick up another one for her. The store had like tens of it in different colors, and I picked up the black one which she wanted, and waited at the cash counter in a queue which seemed to move at a snail’s pace. Finally after around forty odd minutes, when my turn came, the cashier guy nonchalantly threw the jacket into the basket nearby and heartlessly mumbled that it does not have a price tag, and printed out a bill for the other items I bought. My rage took the better of me and I argued with him, only to invite cold stares from people waiting behind me in the same queue and some were close to pointing a knife to my head. I left the store, weeping all the way home. I decided to give my jacket to her which she pleasantly denied.

It’s Christmas, and this time I was way too determined for any ill fate or anything to come my way. I bought a dress for her. The next day, my colleague was going to India, to the same place as my sister and I decided to send the dress through him. So everything was well planned and I ensured that nothing could go wrong this time. The previous night (yes I am Miss. Procrastinator who waits until the eleventh hour to buy the gift)  I went to a neighborhood mall, and chose a dress which I thought she would love. We hurried home and I started packing when I noticed that there were no buttons on it. It was a damaged dress.

I was supposed to send it the next day. I couldn’t believe that all situations were only helping to prove my sister right. I hated myself for not checking the dress as I chose it, but made a mental note to get it exchanged the next day and give that lady at the store an earful.

Morning came, my reminder ticked off, telling me that its vaccination day for my son. Now this is a dreaded day not just for him, but for us as well. We left to the clinic in the morning, gave him the vaccine shot and returned home with the little one crying in pain. Now consoling a crying baby is no cakewalk. I carried him around, sang to him, showed him some moving objects, and finally lulled him to sleep. I gave instructions to my maid and fled back to office when my lead told me about a technical document pending from my end which was almost like a showstopper for a process. I sat down at my desk, trying to focus, but my head was spinning. I was mentally at my home, where the baby slept and I couldn’t imagine the hell that will break loose if he wakes up to his pain. At a corner, I am unable to accept that this time around too, a gift exchange with my sister will be a total failure. (Not that I cant send by courier or cargo, but it would take longer and I wanted this to be reach her sooner for various reasons). But I typed away, completed, and sent the document across to the people concerned.

Me and hubby work in the same office, so I decided to put the dress issue across to him, but when I walked out of my cabin, I caught a glance of him striding across the corridor with a few people carrying laptops, as if they were on their way to stop a major bomb blast. So I called a friend who offered to drive me to the mall and help me get it exchanged. She came at around 3:30 pm, and I waited for her at my home. She called me as she reached my building and as soon as I closed my apartment door, a shrill cry from the cradle startled me. My little one was in total pain. I apologized to my friend and hurried back home, fed and consoled the him, rocked him patiently and soon he fell back into a little slumber, and I put him down in his cradle. I made my maid watch over him. My friend waited, and we left soon after. It was almost 4:00 pm, and I was rushing through the store when my friend said, that the guy who was supposed to carry my parcel already left for home. . I felt shattered. She continued to say that he leaves for the airport only at 6:00 pm.

When I reached back to office, I found a guy there who offered to give the parcel to the colleague who was travelling that day. And my mission was finally accomplished.

The day after, I got a call from my sister and as I answered it, there were no words, just flying kisses! It was totally worth the adventurous day I had, the day before.

 See?  I told you no? Do you think she is “just plain unlucky” as she always says ?

An underrated picture.

This is a snap taken by my hubby on one of his "bachelor trips" to Salalah, a place near Muscat. It was the time he assumed bachelor status, as I had gone to India with my new born for the customary functions with subsequent pampering and eating spree( also known as maternity leave )  in which he had absolutely no role, so he stayed back and enjoyed his short term freedom to the maximum !

He has a passion - or should I say a growing passion for photography and had spent an astronomic amount for a camera, which supersedes my six month old in size and weight. Anyway, I should mention that he is not much into portraits yet, but some landscapes and nature photography which he had done is brilliant and I fished some of them out of the 'My Pictures' folder of his laptop.I think these are stuff which are to be shared, and not be archived under folders.

This picture, of two camels, one behind another is a momentary capture, and I guess that is the essence of photography . A minute later one wouldn't have got the same picture. So I am posting it over here as I am very proud of him for this picture. I also think it is the most underrated one, from his collection.

Motherhood Makeover !

When I was single, I thought my life couldn’t be better. And then, I got married. Then I thought oh it’s not that bad…its good atleast until a kid comes into picture. And then the kid came. And I am still the same with a few teeny tiny details changed.

• I hear myself telling the beautician that I’m unable to book a prior appointment, and my arrival depends on the mood of the baby and availability of my husband.

• I find myself in a rocking motion even when I am not holding the baby.

• Soaps and shampoos do not form lather on my hair or skin as they are washed off before that. I wonder what I did during my forty minute bath before. And what a lather looks like.

• Hormonal imbalances took half of my hair, and the rest were uprooted by my baby.

• At malls I make mental guesses of the age in months of any babies I see around and compare them with my own.

• I browse through babycenter as much as facebook and twitter.

• My mobile reminders consist of vaccination dates.

• I've given strict instructions to everyone in the house to talk in hushed tones when the baby is asleep.

• That guy who honks in front of our house exactly when the baby is sleeping is going to hell .

• My maid is trained to treat vessels like flowers so that no noise comes out of the kitchen.

• Packets with plastic covers which need to be opened while the baby is asleep either has to wait or will be opened outside the apartment.

• If the shoe polish is not found around in the last minute, baby wipes will be used. 

• If I meet anyone who has a baby the first thing I check with them would be about the pediatrician they consult, or about the reputation of ours.

• I started folding our clothes to form small squared lumps so that they fit in the corner allotted to me and hubby. The rest of the wardrobe belongs to the baby.

• I have stopped wearing watch, bangles or bracelets for the fear of hurting my baby as I hold him.

• I have also stopped wearing long earrings as when I wear them my baby thinks they are hoops to which he can hang on.

• I sleep at the edge of the bed. In fact I am almost hanging from the edge of my bed.

• I make international calls to my friends I've known since primary school and end up discussing about feeding bottles and baby utensils.

• I call my parents only to narrate what my baby did that day, as no one wants to know about me.

• In photographs people seem to see only the baby. To my parents I am invisible ever since he was born.

• I cant remember what the hell I used to talk with my close friends before.

• I have a baby poop stain in all my tops and tees in the washing machine.

• I sigh aloud seeing prices of bibs.

• I shop more at mothercare  than lifestyle.

• There isn’t any furniture in the house on which there is no hand sanitizer.

• If someone advices me about infant food or medicine, I reply quoting from WHO guidelines to infant feeding and supplements.

Oh now coming to think of it, these are not teeny tiny details. It’s a huge makeover ! I deserve a relaxing holiday. I need to get a  break. I should remember to discuss a vacation with my friends next time I call them. Wait. Don’t I have to check with them about baby walker? Wonder whether they bought it. Or is it time to get my baby one. Where is the phone. I will ask her right away. Ohh what was the other thing I wanted to discuss?

The Super Drama Family !

My parents were the top favorites of the strictest nuns and teachers at my school.

Some teachers acted like their main concern was to see whether I wore the uniform  tie around my neck or not. I hated the tie . Just like I hate seat belts. So, my tie rested peacefully cuddled within the comfort of my skirt pocket. Unable to stand it any longer, one day I went  home with a note in my school diary saying,

 ‘Dear parents, 

Your ward, Anita Jeyan, does not comply with the rules and discipline of the school. As you can find in Page 9 , Column I, paragraph 3, point two of the school diary, all students are expected to wear the uniform tie while they are within the school premises . However your ward has repeatedly violated the rules despite warnings. I request you to either sign this note or come to the school to have a word with her class teacher’.

Signing the diary hardly took five seconds. But Noo…Papa took the longest route – he came to school promptly the very next day. He doesn’t believe in signing diaries or letting me go. He had to ride the ancient, creaky scooter all the way to the school, drag me along, almost pin me on the wall, gang around me with the teachers and throw dart arrows at me. Then he rode atleast 30km to his office in the hot morning sun. And when he arrived, they came running to him with complaints ranging from socks not pulled up – not wearing the right pair – wore nail polish – turned around and talked to a friend during the national anthem type of silly, unreasonable complaints with an expression as grave as if I took drugs or something. And I stand there, inspecting my nails, or the lizard on the ceiling, with a sheepish expression. Mostly I’d be tediously gulping down laughter wondering how jobless must be these people to be discussing intently about my socks on the prime working hours of a productive day. The note in the diary was not worth it you see. Papa could’ve just signed the page and saved the day.

That’s not all, buddies. There was an open house day at school, which was the most dreaded, and the most awaited day for me and my parents respectively. It was the day the parents were allowed to see the term exam answer sheets. My parents came equipped with all the question papers, pinned and sorted by date and sat down with the corresponding answer sheets in classroom.  What followed was at least an hour of brickbats and I skillfully wore three dresses to shield my thighs from the occasional pinching that most pages of my answer sheet triggered. Most parents of all my friends were more or less the same – they were on the teacher’s side – but very few pinched their wards on the venue of open house - for them the pinching waited until they got home.

But there was this girl, Ms.K,  whose parents came to school to sing praises about her- Who’d  yell at the teachers for reducing her marks for spelling mistakes - Who wouldn’t let her travel in school buses or vans - Who waited outside the school chanting prayers as she wrote exams.

Our school had this policy that the students were allowed to wear color dress on one day of every academic year, and that was for Christmas party. On that day, we ate, drank (frooti of course) , danced, sang, commented on each others dresses, talked, screamed and did everything which we were usually yelled at for doing inside the classroom. Then we had make-believe fashion shows, mostly comical, and based on popular interest we chose a class beauty. Every year. So when I was in my seventh grade, one of my friends was chosen as the class beauty, and we all lauded and celebrated that by making a lot of noise. However, K was of the impression that she would be the class beauty that year and started crying while the other girl was chosen. Noone could console K. She cried so much that her eyes became red, cheeks swollen, much to the amusement of my friends and myself. Oh how she took this class beauty thing seriously! We slowly came out of the classroom and laughed our lungs out, went inside as if nothing happened and enjoyed every moment she cried. Sorry if I sound like a sadist but this girl was unbelievably silly.

Soon after, my friends and I walked to the shop just outside the school with permission and fund from the teacher to buy sip-up for the whole class where we met K’s parents eagerly waiting for her. I really wonder what their source of income was. May be someone paid them for waiting there all day. Seeing us, her mother asked, ‘How is the party…whats K doing?’ Then we all replied in unison that K cried because she wasn’t crowned the class beauty and few of us smirked sarcastically. Her mother looked like she was going to pass out. Then we went our way back to school.

As soon as the bell rang, K snatched her pink bag, which by the way no one is allowed to touch or even look, and ran outside after banging the classroom door in total disgust. Few minutes later, regaining our composure after laughing our heads off, my friend and me walked to the school gate where K waited with the pink bag, her parents by her side. K looked like she was using her pink bag as a weapon for a war against the bulls that were running at her. Her mother rolled eyes at us. We almost walked past them, when K said ‘ Wait’ , in a filmy bass and tone. The drama family looked at us fuming with anger. And her father spoke. “ Who told you girls that K cried  ? “ We looked at each other and at K, who was now all composed and confident. We mumbled..’Err…uncle… actually’… and he roared ‘Don’t you dare talk nonsense about K !’ We mumble again…’But….the….’ But K and the drama King and Queen already strode off into their luxurious Maruti 800 car and vroomed past us leaving a cloud of smoke and confusion.

We weren’t able to speak for the next few seconds. We then looked at each other in sheer disbelief and then burst into peals of laughter.

This incident, which then did rounds at school in various versions created a brilliant sucker image for K , which she rightly deserved.

 Her self-assumed super-model display picture on gtalk makes my day :D

Dubai Chronicles.

I’m back to my space after a five day trip to Dubai. Of course after much convincing and making a zillion promises to parents. 

Our five month old kiddo was not interested in outdoor trips, which we learnt the hard way. So all other outdoor ideas were cancelled and we stuck on to what I like the most. The malls. 

The magnificent malls of Dubai which makes one go wide mouthed. The malls which would make you run to edit your location preference in the resume at naukri. The malls which are huge and run in kilometers but never makes you tired. The malls which are the houses of worship for every shopaholic. The malls which raises the spirits of every child. The malls which are the nightmares of every husband.

About Dubai – It’s the land of the decent Malayali. The majority of arrogant, perverse, excessive spitters of Kerala are all gentlemen in Dubai. They undergo a makeover in the three hour flight, I guess. But at malls and other tourist attractions they sometimes go overboard so much that the actual Malayali pops out of the thin layers of fake decorum. Some of them got fashionable overnight, ripped off their shiny, sequence stuck salwars, crawled into tee shirt and jeans and walked straight into the malls. However they forgot to undo the oil plait, the dot on the forehead and jewellery. Now that’s why Dubai calls them -  Typical Mallus ! It is such a pleasure to watch them search for dustbins to dispose the empty package of cheese chips, because back in Kerala, it usually lands on the road, or floats in the air only to land on your face, that is, if you are very lucky.

Anyway, there was this one incident which came as a huge surprise to us. As we walked on, our kiddo showed signs of a diaper change and we stopped for one. I walked into the baby room, when hubby temporarily sat on a wooden bench where few others were also resting their butts. As I came out, I saw a middle aged couple sitting next to where our bags were, with a baby that looked like a doll. Size wise. Not exaggerating here, but considering the texture of the skin of this baby, it could have been hardly five to ten days old. And it was not more than 1 kg heavy. Looked more like a premature baby. I’m sorry I had addressed the baby as ‘it’, but its hard to say ‘he’ or ‘she’ considering the size. The baby was all red and the usual Dubai trend of not staring or poking into others business stopped to take a look and pity this one. The baby was fast asleep (well what else can it do at a mall) and the parents trying their best to avoid  the ‘why the bloody hell cant you stay at home’ looks that came daggering into their fake conversation like arrows. 

Its their baby, their business. Who am I to discuss about it, right ? But I still cant stop wondering, why did they bring a baby as tiny as that, whose immunity wouldn’t have even formed, into a mall which in a baby world would rather be a pool of viruses ? Why, oh, why ? To check out fall/winter collection at mothercare?

People are different, so are cultures and customs. I am young, haven’t seen the world and am barely the one to comment, but I seriously doubt whether there will be any community in the world which will support them.

Baby, I feel so sorry for your ridiculously ignorant parents, and I hope you don’t catch any germs from here. Stay safe. Take care.

Mobile Appointments.

My first mobile phone was a Nokia 1100. It had a white moonlight display and was gifted by Papa in my final semester of engineering, as he was overwhelmed by my marks in the seventh semester. Haha I wish !  The truth is, there were only two theory papers and a project in the final semester. The project demanded frequent shuttling between hostel, printing press and computer center, and the gadget helped him trace me.

After six tiresome and frustrating months of job hunting after graduation, I landed at a software firm as a trainee and started earning on my own. My first investment was a mobile phone (which is hardly an investment ) worth twice my trainee pay. I spent my entire salary of that month and a monetary donation from Mummy to buy it and flaunted it around for almost three years. That’s when I got married and ever since I’d been using my husband's discarded phones.

Okay I am not trying to be the super modest wife here because the very infamous nagging also happened in parallel. Whenever I shop for clothes or shoes, my excuse would be…’See this? I don’t even have a mobile..This is your old one. Poor me .’ and it always worked. Last month he bought me a new mobile, the most happening Android. ( Ya I know what an Android is, he explained it to me.)

Ever since, our appointments and reminders happen as follows.

Our son has to be taken to the Clinic for his third dose of vaccination on December 7^th. I create a reminder in my calendar and add  hubby’s name as the participant. As soon as I create, it sends an email to my hubby with the attached calendar , which looks somewhat like this:

Event: Aaron vaccination.

Date: 7^th December 2011.

Location: Muscat Clinic

Participants: Anita Jeyan

Going? Options: Yes  No  May Be

Then he clicks ‘Yes’.

Immediately this is added to his calendar as well, and I get an email saying ‘Accepted’.

Aren’t we the super hifi Gizmo freak couple or what ?  So the calendar became our Godfather reminding us for Sunday Mass, Grocery purchase, Car servicing, ATM, etc.

Later one day I reported a dearth of clothes in my wardrobe and wanted to go shopping.

 As usual I created the event on my calendar.

Event: Shopping.

Date: 3rd November 2011.

Location: City Center.

Participants: Anita Jeyan

An email pops up in his inbox.

He notes the undesirable event.

The mail continues.

Going? Options: Yes  No  May Be

May Be.

My email reads: ‘Tentatively Accepted”. L

The Banana Sequel.

Its 4:00 pm, and here I am, at office, drinking milk. Not the warm milk from the vending machine (which does not exist), but the milk I brought from home in a vacuum flask. Yes people, I am a child in an adult’s body. If my Papa sees me drinking milk at office, he will jump with joy. Anyone else seeing this might think that I am retarded. Well, I don’t care as long as there is a calcium blast happening in my stomach.

My life was very eventful during my high school days.  I’d get up at 5 am, get ready and travel many miles to attend the tuition class, then go to school, after which I’d race to my entrance coaching center ( which proved to  be unfruitful when the results came) , and would reach home by 9 pm. Pretty hectic. 

So my parents derived a round the clock, all-round nutrition plan for me which goes something like this. A full mug of Horlicks at 5 a.m…. in which the horlicks would be just a negligible percentage and rest would be whole milk. Anyway the color made me believe that it was hot chocolate or something and we had a win-win situation there. My breakfast was carefully packed in aluminum foil, which was usually toast and omlette. How many eggs went into the making of the omlette is not known till date, but a diet conscious me was made to believe that it was just one egg and nothing more. ( After marriage when I stepped into the kitchen and started making omlettes myself, I realized that one egg cant make an omlette as big as the one I used to have.  Later,I forgave them for that ). Then came lunch, which was usually a combination of rice, vegetables and fish.

However, the evening snack was my personal choice. Before going to entrance coaching I was expected to eat a banana. But I ate hot chicken puffs. Papa said it was junk food, and that bananas were healthy and some nutrition facts about bananas and blah blah….  

But bananas? In front of people ?

So years and years of chicken puffs, hot dogs, burgers and pizzas  later,  here I am, at my desk, drinking milk and wondering which fruit to crush for my baby.

 How about bananas ?

Fraud Fraaands !

I grew up watching my parents help a lot of people who were either in need or in trouble. Back in the 90’s, when we bought a second hand car, whenever we went to the city they slowed down at the bus stop to check for familiar faces. And if there were any, my parents would drop them first. However I used to get pissed at that, as I’d have to share the seat with some random aunty who would eventually ask me my grade and how I was doing at school. That’s the last topic I want to discuss about, you see.

My sister and brother in law are sponsors for the education expenses of a child at an orphanage and are doing their bit. My mother, ever since she started earning, saved a portion of her income for the poor. I am not proud to say that I’m not doing any of these, but I never turned down any genuine opportunity that came my way.

Recently I got an email from an acquaintance. Not a school friend, or a college mate or an ex colleague. Just a random face I met once or twice in my journey. In the email, she said: Hey Anita, hope you’re doing good. How is your family? I need a small help from you. I want to do a course in a XXX university here which would cost me 15000 euros.  I can’t ask my father as he is in a financial crunch from a recent huge expense. My husband doesn’t want me to do this course. Can you please send some money to my account? I will return it once I get a job. Thanks, Ms. ABCD.

Now my reaction to this is WHAT THE HELL !? or even worse.

The mail talks volumes about the immaturity of the person and her perception of others that they are fools. Her husband doesn’t want her to do this course. So she is going around begging and how the hell is she going to collect money as much as that? And she says she will return the money if at all she gets a job ! What if she doesn’t and decides to stay at home? Would that mean that as per the deal the money doesn’t have to be returned? When the husband is around, and the wife collects fund from her friends for her expenses what does that say about the husband? Anyway, I replied to the email in the most decent way possible, that I had a baby now and we are currently unable to meet our own expenses and closed the chapter.

A month later, Ms.ABCD posted on facebook: “ Browsing through my new iphone”.

The same month a bunch of pics were posted in facebook. The album was named ‘ Weekend at the London tower’. Ms. ABCD and her husband, dressed luxuriously looked all classy in the pics.

Do you think this person actually needed the money?

P.S: This was one of the very few instances in all my life that I felt proud of myself. If I had sent the money however small it may be, the above updates on facebook would have made me suicidal.

Random family amusements ..:)

The dentist finally gave me the verdict. Root Canal it is. I hurried home and the first thing I did, was to call my sister, reason being, if something is painful she plainly says it. For her, sympathy and consolation comes later. It was helpful to me many times before, as I could mentally prepare to face such situations. (The other instances I asked her this, was about threading eyebrows and recently about delivery - and for the latter any mental preparation doesn’t help)

Me: Does it pain?

She: No, not at all…They give you an anesthesia before doing it. You wont even know it.

Me: Really ?  You sure?

She: And yes, I had a small jaw ache initially, but that’s nothing to do with root canal…its because  I had to keep my mouth opened for a long time.

Me: Ohh !

She: But for you, that shouldn’t be a problem. :|

*********************************************************************************

Now that our baby is here and we do most of the talking to him (which I think is better at this stage as he isn’t old enough to respond) , the only time we get to talk to each other is during the long walk from the parking lot to the grocery shop.

Me: You know, Mummy said I have lots of patience when I give oil massage and bathe Aaron…my sister also said the same. Why don’t you ever appreciate anything about me..?

Few seconds later. (Ya that’s all he takes to find a convincing answer to death questions)

He: “There are too many good things about you that I don’t know where to start from”.\

**********************************************************************************

When Aaron was a couple days old, and we were still at the hospital, he started crying at night and my Mom picked him up. I’d been flamboyantly living like a bachelorette post marriage and now post delivery, and so wasn’t used to baby cries or waking up in the middle of the night. I slowly opened my eyes and saw my Mom pacifying the new born and he soon drifted off to sleep in her arms. I dint get up from my bed, instead peeped into his cradle through the two round holes of the arm rest of the hospital bed.

As my Mom turned, with an expression which clearly said ‘will she ever learn!’ , all she saw were my eyes, through those holes. As she walked back to the bystander bed, she murmured, ‘Reminds me of the dinosaur’.

**********************************************************************************

Although my Papa advices everyone to drive safe, one needs to be life insured and iron hearted to be in the car while he drives. He uses neither of the rear view mirrors -  I was told that it wasn’t in the syllabus during his time. That our car rests unscratched in the garage is the simple testimony to the existence of God and that he listens to our prayers. Once as we were speeding on a particularly busy road, I noticed a small cat which was about to cross. I yelled ‘Papa, don’t !’ and closed my eyes tight…In a split second I turned around and saw that the cat had escaped unscathed. Papa continued the drive totally oblivious of me, or the cat. 

Then I asked, ‘Papa, have you ever run across a cat and killed it?’ ..

Papa: ‘No, but I badly wanted to’.

Scrappy Oxymorons .

Dear Internet ad/app programmers, 

Please have some sense. Or atleast humanitarian traits.

By the way, have you ever seen a baby?

Yours sincerely,

Human Beings.

P.S: Screenshot from a random site I was browsing through.

Car Scars !

I have seen a lot of passionate people, their passion varying from bikes to earrings to interior decoration, but I should genuinely admit that none were as intense as my hubby’s passion to drive cars. Any aspect of a car is known to him, may be as much as a mechanic. He works in software but I believe he was born to be a mechanical engineer.

 We owned a Maruti Swift VDi ( high end Diesel version) at Bangalore and traveled by car from Bangalore to Cochin and back, almost 550km one way, and not a second was boring with him.

The story goes like this...Long long ago, I introduced my best-boy-friend ( presently my hubby) to my parents. Years later he turned out to be such a darling with them that I (still) feel like a daughter in law in my own house. One of those days, Mummy was talking to him on phone and she mentioned casually that I rejected one other proposal of a guy who was very rich, owned several cars and that one of his cars was a Skoda . Of all the things why Mummy had to specify that, and how the Skoda part alone struck deep with him, is still a mystery.
 Since then, no skoda would be spared on the road without him overtaking it. :D Sometimes in the jam packed roads of Bangalore city, if he spots a Skoda, he goes out of his way to overtake it.! Are we mad or what :D

Coming back to the point, all other cars on the road are rated based on its technical  specifications.  For example, if a swift Ldi honks hard from behind he still won’t give way for it to overtake us, whereas he will not only give way but also make the car bow down to a Honda Accord !!. Are we weird or what:D 

Our car not only had a soap but a shampoo and conditioner as well ! So now you’d know that this car rests in the car shed only because we dint have enough space to bring it to our bedroom.

One unfortunate day, while I was parking in the basement of the closely packed parking lot of my office, I happened to glance into the rear view mirror and found that the Maruti Zen parked next to where I was trying to park was shaking. The rear end of my car had accidentally ‘touched’ it (due to poor visibility *cough cough*)…I then took a reverse and parked right, but a teeny weeny scar had appeared there. (I din't check what happened to the Zen... of course :D ). On reaching home when I told him this, he jumped out of his chair, grabbed the keys and ran to the car shed. After ten to fifteen minutes of close examination, during which a lot of undesirable ‘hoo’s and hmph’s and ‘grrrr’s were hurled at me, he said that I was careless and still unfit to drive on the main road on a non-hartal day. I sheepishly went back to my room.

The next day, my aunt invited us to her apartment and we both went very enthusiastically (as she was a great cook ). At the parking area for visitors, hubby could not find a decent place to park and was struggling amidst lots of other cars which were parked in total disarray. I requested him that I will get out of the car and tell him how much more to go on reverse but my request was dismissed with a grin and a hmph.

BANG !  

The noise alerted a sleepy security guy who came running as I hurried to the backside. A pillar had hit into the rear end of the car. The damage was awful. I turned and looked at him.

“The pillar settings are not right in this building” he said.