Handwriting Impacts.

Does a person’s handwriting say something about him?

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

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

But does handwriting really matter? It really does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

We: K

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

Impressions.

Browsing through the supermarket shelves, I came across a label and was taken aback. What ? A daal named after Shashi Tharoor? No way, man. I went back and read that once again. Sahi Masoor Dal . Okay now a brief relief that I dint say that aloud.

Have you ever thought through this, what if our thoughts were immediately broadcasted for everyone to hear? Wow that would have been terrifying. Literally terrifying. For example, last day when I fell down a kind lady gave me a helping hand, about whom I judged a few seconds back, ‘what a fashion retarded female’. If she’d heard that, she’d have stomped all over me when I fell down.

But when I rewind into the past I realized that I actually tend to say many such stuff aloud when I am around my parents. Well they brought me into this world and have a clear-cut idea about me, I cant fool them by talking intelligently or anything (as if I can do that). Once when I went to attend an interview with Papa, there was another office on the adjacent side of the same floor that we were, and I pointed to it and exclaimed ‘ See Papa? Spiderman Technologies !! How cool !”. Papa read it, looked at me pitifully, which made me read that again. ‘Speridian Technologies’. Okay genuine mistake. Contrary to Papa's beliefs, I got through that interview.

Mostly through the countless embarrassing and not-so-embarrassing situations I’ve been in, most of which had happened due to notions I created from the appearance. For example, a very good looking lady about whom everyone said had too much attitude was actually a simpleton. And the fat guy with curly hair and nerdy spectacles was not even close to being brainy or a foodie. But most of the time or all the time appearances and first impressions are deceptive.

Once at my ex employer’s we had training on an advanced technology. The hall was packed. Few minutes into the session I gathered that this trainer girl wouldn’t leave easy and she was determined to make each of us learn this. She even pin pointed people and asked questions from what she talked about an hour ago. This was slightly disturbing for me, as I had a very short attention span and verbal technical sessions in air conditioned rooms often made me go YAAWWWN. Unfortunately during one of those wide mouthed yawns the trainer caught a glimpse of me and in another minute I found myself on focus with her throwing a question and a roomful of eyes shifting their attention towards me. Of course I dint know the answer and some idiotic nerd answered it without being asked and he looked at me as if I was retarded. Further, I found the whole crowd asking doubts and writing notes, but she made it a point to give me a look and ignored me completely the whole day. The next day it was a hands-on session, where we actually implemented the lessons taught, on our laptops. The trainer showed us a simple example and gave us a different one to try out. She walked around us when the crowd seemed to look as though it was an Entrance examination or something, and gave me a sarcastic guffaw as she walked past my laptop. In another 20 minutes, I walked to her showing my output. She cross checked, and verified until she could find no mistakes though it was hard for her to believe that it was mine. I still appreciate her frankness because she said, ‘ Excellent. I thought you weren't listening. Good work’. *I wanted to say, 'ma'am, I wasn't listening after all'...but I dint, I just nodded and left quietly*

There were countless incidents through my school and college days where I was predetermined to be careless and stupid, but over the years they changed their impression, of course I waited until it happened in the long run. However I am okay with the first impression people make about me. Because, when I joined college Mummy was all praises for a senior girl she knew was in my college, and told me to contact her if I needed any help or books or inspiration or…oh forget it Mummy wanted me to be her. Later, after making some friends at the hostel, the first thing they said was that the person I had the reference of, was one of the most notorious girls, and not just in our college. Weeks after, I got a good idea about the girl Mummy wanted me to learn from. It took Mummy years to come to terms with this, but she later realized that her daughter was far better.

So, it is basically a give and take. I pass on mental judgments and you do the same about me.   And it goes on.

Easter : Appam and Beef Stew, anyone ?

I have fond Easter memories from my childhood. Honestly it’s the day the fifty-day long lent is “formally” broken and we hog relentlessly into chicken and beef. In the past fifty days, casual and secretive lent breaking might have happened which we shall not reveal and pretend that it dint happen.

So Easter begins with supersonic Spiritual songs piercing my eardrums in the early hours of the day. Back home, there were these few churches which were always at odds against each other, and they hire taxis and huge speakers and go around the neighborhood screaming ‘Christ is risen ! Hallelujah !”  This is a custom which actually is heart-warming and triggers off that Easter mood. However, over the years the churches were competing as to who played the loudest music. So the warm custom became a chaotic one, and a hot topic for verbal contempt among us Christians living in that area. I am surprised as to why the non Christians dint stage a louder protest against this custom for disturbing sleep on a Sunday morning. Anyway this counts as a fond memory because once one is married and written off the books, then the probability of being home for Easter is one out of a million.

The next thing to do is to go to church for the mass. This includes wearing new dress and then comparing it with that of others at the church. The Easter songs, sermon and message will happen in the background. After the mass none of the aunties gathers in circles to discuss the embroidery on the organza saree, because after fifty days of eating leaves and herbs, people are seen rushing home and hog on Appam and Beef stew as if it is an emergency. 

Post breakfast its time to watch movies on TV. The channel guys usually air a “new” movie (released two years back) which would be eagerly awaited by us cinema deprived kids.  After that comes the heavenly Chicken Biryani lunch and an afternoon nap. Later it’s a matter of a small outing and then off to school the next day.

This was our agenda for Easter, each and every year.

Years later in a different country, married and away from parents, I can only say that I remember those days very fondly. And in this part of the world Easter is not as relevant as it used to be and above all, it is a working day! Moreover, I cannot sit at the dining table expecting food to arrive; I have to cook. And clean as well. Gone are the days! But mind you it is not so terrible. I am making a special sweet this time and with the help of my maid we will make it special the way we can.

Oh I just remembered that Christ died very painfully for us on the cross and He resurrected from the dead on the third day. We are celebrating this third day as Easter - the victory of life over death. Amidst the hustle and bustle of making that special Easter lunch, did you also forget Him, like I did?

Why I'm Daddy's girl.

“I am not coming home unless you pick me” I screamed and rushed out with my school bag, leaving my parents pretending to be least bothered, with contrasting streaks of concern in their eyes.

I used to have special tuition classes for Chemistry, because this was one subject I had no clue about. And my chemistry class was after my regular school hours after which I had to board two buses to reach home, thanks to the choice of location of Papa to build our house.

So that day, I asked Papa to pick me up- because I dint want to board those stupid buses, you see. Papa, whose office was a good 25km away from home, reaches by 6 pm every evening. By then he would be exhausted, and riding that primitive scooter which has to be kick started around twenty five times and riding it in peak hour traffic for another few miles to pick me  was nothing less than trying to balance chemical equations. So he requested me to come by bus. And when I left saying that I wouldn’t and instead wait at the tuition campus, Mummy said….”She doesn’t mean any of it, will come home herself as usual, you know it”.

Evening came, and as I stepped out of my tuition class I could see Papa from a distance. I was so overwhelmed that I ran towards him and climbed onto the back of the scooter and we sped off home. On the way, I narrated to Papa about the endless chemical equations and that one equation in particular which would never get balanced and the teacher found that the formula itself was wrong. Papa nodded all the way along and laughed at my not-so-funny teen jokes keeping both eyes on the road all the way.

Next I can remember is a staggering pain in my tummy as I lay on the roadside on a  stack of gravel and I lifted my eyes to see Papa’s shoes on the center of the road. I turned around and saw Papa walking towards me barefooted. The scooter lay on the road, and so were my school bag and Papa’s shoes. By then a mighty population had already crowded us as if to catch a glimpse of the item dance I was performing. Anyway we both were okay, Papa and me suffered minor bruises ( but to all my friends I somehow managed to sound like I survived a shark attack). The wound  on my leg was slightly big and it bled a lot as we took an autorickshaw to the hospital. 

We called Mummy from the hospital and tactfully lied to her, that we are getting late as we dropped in at Margin free market midway. If not for that call, the least she usually does is to inform the police and say that her husband and daughter are missing and create chaos of a kind in the neighborhood. But we cant blame her, as it runs in her family.
By the way, let me explain how we were thrown from that scooter.As we were "speeding" at around 40km/hr, suddenly a puppy appeared as if from nowhere and it crossed the road just in front of us. You know when something is that cute, it mostly doesn't have enough brains. I do not remember what happened to that puppy or my school bag. 

As we reached home, Mummy almost broke into a temporary coma seeing Papa with bandages on his arms and me limping in a bandage clad leg. Mummy regained her senses a few minutes later and shot a long array of questions without leaving breathing space. So we explained the incident in dramatized tones, nursing our bruises for added effect. That’s when Mummy, wiped her tears and turned to Papa. “I told you there is no need to pick her up; she may say many things, but will come home”

Papa asked, ‘How can you be so sure?”

Mummy got up briskly, and said ‘Its so obvious! 99.99 chances are that she will!”

Papa gave his signature smile, turned to her and replied in a low tone, “I couldn't risk that 0.01%”.

To the most disgusting bank, ever !

I am entirely frustrated by the turn of events. It’s been two years since I left my last employer and I am still struggling to get my PF. What have I been doing for the last two years is what you ask? Yeah I had a baby and he is going to be ten months old now, but in between all that I have been communicating with either my ex employer or my bank to get things done. Except when I was in the labor room.

This bank, basically a foreign bank, had a different name two years back, when a sales guy thrust those documents in front of me and asked me to sign them on my joining day at my ex employer’s. And lo and behold, I am an account holder ! And right there was my debit card, a customer relationship number, cheque leaves all neatly arranged in a file which looked as elegant as the Brittanica. All on the same day…or the same hour that I met them! I accepted the account without questions- well why would I - when I all I care about is the salary which has to get credited promptly by the end of every month.

Six months after I put down my papers, I randomly checked whether all is well at my PF processing. Then suddenly those guys came up with an excuse saying that the PF papers require a Rs.1 revenue stamp, signed across by yours truly, which was not in my submitted forms. I clearly remember submitting that when I was in India, and it was very obvious that these guys lost it. Then it took a few ISD calls, hunting for Re.1 Indian revenue stamp in a different country, signing it across and sending it by courier. Thankfully they acknowledged the receipt of the stamp and as instructed, I waited again for two more months and checked the status when they came up with a fresh excuse- cancelled cheque leaves are required. This time, my head fuming with rage, I applied for a cheque book to be delivered at my address. Then these bank guys said that the cheque book returned undelivered (My foot!). I updated my address ( added a spacebar to the existing one) and it got delivered the second time at the same address. This process took a lot of emails, phone calls to customer service and more importantly, two good months. Again the cheque leaves were sent to them and I ensured that all the documents were in place.

I waited another four months.

Suddenly one fine morning my Papa called me and said sadly that my account with this nasty bank is getting closed as there is no activity in it for the last two years. How did Papa come to know? Interesting question. The so called super bank's primitive website does not allow country codes other than +91 to be entered in the mode of communication tab and so, I was forced to give Papa's number there. So these brainless monkeys at the bank were actually communicating with Papa on my behalf - now that's what we call a secure modern age banking. 

I called these bank people, wrote emails – crispy and lengthy, I posted grievances saying-please do not close my account, as my PF is getting processed and I have given this account number in it– nothing happened. They said that as my salary stopped coming in, they converted my account into some other type (wth !) in which it required a minimum balance. How am I to know this, you bastards? They say they gave me a warning letter to my address, that account will be closed- which wasn’t delivered (because you dint send it, you useless creatures!). And one day they just closed it; which essentially also means that my PF will never get credited. All my other efforts to get the PF went down the drain.

 I emailed the branch head, node head, communication manager, everyone whom I could get an email of and pleaded them to reopen my account as my PF will be credited into it. They replied saying no, not politely though, with enough shameless lies about the phone calls and emails they sent which never reached me. However the courier saying that the account is closed reached me promptly…how madam? Your bank is just plain spiteful and I genuinely hope it closes down and you roam down the streets begging with your resume, you know that?

Anyway what lies ahead of me is a herculean task to download a fresh set of forms, fill them, attach revenue stamp and cancelled cheque leaves of a different account number. It will again take another year to get processed. I do not know how much I have in my PF, but mind you worthless fools, even if it is Rs.1, I am entitled to each and every paisa of it - as it is the fruit of my toil - which you disoriented dumb heads wouldn't know a shit about. Then I will send you an email, my dear ex-banker. I will also come to your office when I am in India, a couple of months from now, and give you an earful. 

Tit for tat !

So it was a overall checkup for the nine month old at his pediatrician’s.  

A two year old girl came close to me and tried to pull my son - Aaron's nose. I gracefully and tactically avoided the damage by moving him away from the cute little intruder. 

Then I told hubby, “ Are you watching this or not? That kid would have pulled his nose out now. She had nails too…sharp ones”

“Ohh” came a sluggish response coupled with a yawn. “ Kids are like that. They will play and sometimes even hurt each other. Nothing to worry about”

Me: “Nono I mean to say, we should not trust him at a play school with older kids at this stage, you know”

Suddenly he sat straight, gave me a look and “ Oh I see? Then you do one thing. Buy a glass cage and keep him inside that. So no one will ever touch him and he will be perfectly safe”

 I fell silent and the day went about as usual,  the conversation conveniently forgotten.

The very next day, Aaron fell down on a mat in the living room as he was crawling. As I was in the kitchen, his rough n tough Daddy was in charge and he was eye witness to the accident. Suddenly he lifted the baby, pacified him and came running to the kitchen. 

“Should we take him to the doctor?”

Me: *casually* “Why what happened to him”

“He just fell down you know…**gasps for breath**and his face hit the floor, and a drop of blood came from his gums”

Me: “Happens. As he is teething, gums are tender now..So… every time he falls, this is bound to happen”

“No he cried, tears also came…”

Me: “Really? Then do one thing …you put him in that glass cage and keep in the living room”…. 

Well he left the kitchen before I completed that sentence.

Lent Recipe: Vegetable Cutlet.

To be brutally honest, I am a terrible cook. I am not a foodie either. I just eat to live unlike err… everyone I know. Each and every dish I ever prepared was just mediocre, nothing special and some of them I cooked soon after marriage were total flops. However by mistake a pepper chicken came out great when I was at Bangalore and ever since I don’t remember being praised or blamed for something I cooked. I received nods from my ‘victims’ which suggested ‘Yeah, it is edible’. However women are judged by their culinary skills and any other skill she has is usually overlooked. But I’ve never bothered or even strove to be a good cook, because I’ve never been interested in it. However this quality of mine is an insult of the highest degree to my Mom, grandmother and sister who have that magic in them that whatever they prepare even when half asleep turns out to be one of a kind. So I ended up being a man-woman and I am not proud of it either.

Recently I came across a few food blogs. The reason I was browsing through food blogs was that it is lent time for us Christians, and for the next fifty days until Easter I have voluntarily given up chicken and fish, which are the ones that I really love. I am allergic to red meat, and so I am living on leaves and herbs now. I have a new respect for vegetarians these days. And to stay the least, being vegetarian in the middle-east where chicken shewerma is a national food – that is the kind of temptation I have to overcome during this period. So I was checking to see any exciting vegetarian recipes which can be cooked by dummies like me. And I came across vegetable cutlet.

It was weekend, and I was all set and hell bent on making this cutlet. My husband had the double duty to take care of the baby (the other being watching TV), who’d crawled under the dining table as a sign of protest when I was making this cutlet. The little dude was not very impressed as I dint play with him all forenoon. For anyone who is going through this article right now, please note - this is not a recipe post. It is my experience of making a cutlet for the first time in my life. If you want, I guarantee that you may try this at home as it came out really well. If I can make it, then you definitely can, even if you are a robot and reading my blog.

Ingredients(Vegetables)

Beetroot – 1 medium sized

Potatoes – 2 reasonably large

Beans – a handful

Carrot – 1 large

Onion – 1 large

Other Ingredients

Coconut oil

Bread Powder

Eggs – 2 (vegetarians can use maida and water instead)

Coriander leaves

Green Chillies - 3

Garam Masala

Pepper Powder

Salt

Ginger-Garlic Paste.

How I went about it

1.       Initially, I called my mother.

She said that instead of cooking potatoes separately, you can combine them with beetroots, if you don’t mind the potatoes getting that purple color. (I wanted the end result to taste and look like a cutlet – the color of potatoes was far from my concern at that time). This will save time and energy, she added. So I cut potatoes in squares, and beetroot the way I know it (it’s okay folks no one will dig out the shape of beetroots from the final result, so chill and cut whichever way you want), and cooked in a pressure cooker with very less water and some salt for 5 whistles. I drained it and let it cool.

2.      Then I peeled a medium sized piece of ginger, few garlic pods and green chillies and put them in the small jar of the mixer. I added garam masala, salt and pepper powder also to it, made a paste and kept it aside.

3.      Then I heated a pan, poured coconut oil (just little) and sautéed the onion. When it became light, I added the paste and closed the lid and kept on low flame for couple of minutes. Then the raw smell of the garam masala disappeared and the paste was blended with the onions.

4.      I added the cut beans and grated carrot into this and closed and cooked for five minutes or so. I then checked whether they were cooked and switched off the flame and let it cool.

5.      By that time the potato-beetroot was cool, so I mashed it and watched some TV.

6.      After some time, the cooked carrot and beans were also cool and I added them into this mixture and mixed it with my hands. Yes I washed them...I mean the hands. I checked for salt and gave a little to my maid for her opinion. She gave me a go-ahead. (Don’t go too far with the salt at this stage, let it remain subtle, because eventually you have to dip them in egg and if its subtle now, it will eventually round up to the nearest salt accuracy)

7.      I tried to make a ball of it with my right hand alone, then used both hands to mould it and pressed it manually to form a circle. It did not stick to my hands and rested on the plate in good shape.

8.      Likewise I did for the entire stuff and made 15 balls. Phew!

9.      I then dipped each of them in egg, and rolled them around in bread powder and kept in fridge for half an hour.

10.   I took them after that and shallow fried them until they got chocolate brown, but not burnt.  I used very little oil. In fact I took enough oil only to fill the tiny cap of the oil bottle twice. After frying I moved them to a container with absorbent paper and it absorbed rest of the oil.

Notes: 

1. I made the ginger garlic paste at home and did not use any ready mades. It makes a hell of a taste difference (lesson learnt from my previous catastrophic experience)

2. If you buy the rusk and powder it and store in air tight container at home, that is the best. I dint have time to do that so bought ready-made bread powder for this one. Its okay, but I was not so satisfied. The original bread powder smells good and is very much different from the canned one.

3. Do not add water while cooking the beans and carrot. Just close the lid and cook on low flame. The beans can be cut thinner than that shown in the picture. ( I don’t have a food processor…sob Lbecause buying me a food processor is like buying LED TV for a blind man.

4. The garam masala used was made at home by crushing the spices in the mixer. Pepper powder was also crushed and prepared at home.

5. You can add a combination of other vegetables of your choice and avoid beetroot. I used beetroot because it gives a dark color to the cutlet and has a good flavor too. You can use cheera(leafy vegetable) also to prepare this. Cheera is super healthy and rich in iron and hence I don’t like it much. But I’d like to try with cheera next time, and check whether they taste good when disguised as a cutlet.


6. For those who are wondering what is the role of eggs in a vegetable cutlet, chill. You can use maida or all purpose flour, made to a paste in water instead. 

And there is my healthy and tasty vegetable cutlet which has negligible oil content. It is undoubtedly a healthy snack for fussy toddlers (that is if the toddler lets you make it).


 Am I cool or what! (Already soaring high in self appreciation…you are welcome too : D)

Photo Courtesy: Hubby - Abu Sandeep.

Facebook Etiquette :-)

Few things I thought every facebook user should know: 

1.       If you know me, add me. If you don’t and you have 112 mutual friends with me, you don’t need to add me out of courtesy. I wouldn’t mind it either.

2.       Facebook will not give a dollar each for clicking ‘share’ button to any of the distressing pictures you circulate around. It is only like those chain mails from the 90’s which says that if your forward the photo of Virgin Mary to 20 people in less than 8 seconds, she will appear in your room today.

3.       Do not poke me if you don’t know me. There is nothing more disgusting in the virtual world than being poked by total strangers.

4.       Seriously I wonder how people get the time to check ‘Anita’s predictions’ and the ‘Meaning of your name’. They even ridiculously go to the extent of requesting innocent people to use the same.

5.       Half of the people who share random sceneries with the tag ‘I love Kerala’ and ‘Proud to be a Keralite’ do not live in Kerala. They don’t even live in India. A few rare specimens do not even admit of being a Keralite when asked.

6.       In photos of happy-looking couples, some people post comments like ‘You both look so much like each other’. I really don’t understand how a husband and wife can look like each other. You can get away with ‘Nice pair’ without provoking people to think you are weird.

7.       There are some pictures of kittens and puppies going around for more than a decade through forwarded emails. Please do not reshare those in facebook saying ‘cute puppy’. They must be dead and gone by now.

8.       I had to unsubscribe from some people’s posts because they constantly upload youtube videos of ‘mile sur mera tumhara’ and other songs from a long time ago and say that it is ‘nostalgic’. If you upload them each and every day, it is not nostalgic anymore.

9.       All of us who have access to facebook have access to youtube as well. You can say that you like such and such songs, but sharing the link of each and every song you like, on every single day is frustrating. Nobody is going to watch them anyway.

10.   Trying to ignore the n farmville requests...now what the hell is cityville and castleville ? Please !

“Heal facebook... Make it and better place…For you and for me and the entire human race…”

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.