 |
Any other scenarios not covered here?
Found this by Lake Siskiyou, Mt.Shasta.
Somebody missed their breakfast that morning they put up this sign ;-)
Somebody missed their breakfast that morning they put up this sign ;-)
A thing of beauty is a joy forever
Once the eyes see 'red' how can they move on to other colors? My favorite color dazzles me in its many many manifestations!
http://some-ramblings-and-reflections.blogspot.com/2009/11/fall-color-glory.html
My new earrings organizer
One of the things I can never satisfactorily have organized is my collection of earrings. They always seem to end up in a miserable heap no matter if I keep them in a purse, in a box, or in a drawer. And like many others, I seem to wear the same earrings and occasionally will chance upon a pair I had long forgotten I have had. Additionally, sometimes I'd find some of them with a stone missing, a pearl gone or a delicate part broken. In the last week I decided to search online for earring organizers. Nothing I found was impressive. I also found several DIY videos on youtube. Many were creative and economical - I saw a kitchen curtain hung on a clothes hanger, a plastic canvas (with holes for cross stitches), etc - on which the earrings could be set up. But though they looked neat and nifty, retrieving earrings from them on a day to day basis looked inconvenient.
Yesterday, while browsing through the office supplies section of an electronics store, I found a possible storage for my earrings in the most improbable of things. A document holder! It's of the same wire mesh kind that most office supplies - pencil holders, file trays etc are. Absolutely no effort needed. Just plug and play!
Yesterday, while browsing through the office supplies section of an electronics store, I found a possible storage for my earrings in the most improbable of things. A document holder! It's of the same wire mesh kind that most office supplies - pencil holders, file trays etc are. Absolutely no effort needed. Just plug and play!
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| Basic document holder with magnets to secure the document to the frame |
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| Hang the earrings into the holes - view of side A |
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| close up view |
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| side B |
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| profile view |
This can sit on the vanity, a dresser or chest. It doesn't occupy a whole lot of room. The base is stable enough and won't topple easily. The space in between the 2 arms makes it easy to remove earrings with clasps or backings. I found that if you hang such earrings( with clasps) lower and hang the ones with just the bent metal insert higher up, it makes for easy putting on and taking off. And yeah, it cost me $5.99! and took me 5 minutes to put them up!
Golu galatta - part 3
Finally, here are the promised pictures from Navarathri golu 2010. Once again a big big thanks to Uma and her MIL, Lalitha aunty - this was possible only because of your boundless kindness and help. To view them bigger, please click on the respective picture.
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| The stringers are supported by vertical strips of wood on the outside and inside |
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| steps are secured on the stringers |
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| handyman does a neat job and signs off |
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| A dream of many years attains fruition |
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| Gajalakshmi idol broke en route from India, hence an odd 8th Lakshmi sits with the 7 from the set |
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| The pink elephant on the lowest step- an addition from my daughter; I suggested she could keep them along with the elephant set on the right. She countered' but the elephant wants to see the pooja happenning on the left'. She won, I couldn't have topped that! |
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For 9 days DD was itching to touch, play with and wreak a mini havoc on my labor of love. I brought the china shop to the bull and glad to report 'All izz well'. |
How far will you go?
Watched this appalling ad for a Toyota Highlander on TV yesterday.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzuK85t2jlE
In this video, a child is embarrassed to get into his dad's old, beat up car; When he is being picked up at school, he actually hides behind a bush and then pole vaults into the car to avoid being seen in that car by his friends; while another child proudly sits in his parent's gleaming Highlander and goes " Just because you're a parent , you don't have to be lame".
Even for advertising that is meant to undermine, impress, insinuate and trick the mind , this is disgusting.
As grown-ups we often compare ourselves to others - be it physical attributes, be it possessions, the vacations we take, the classes we send our kids to and so on. With all our maturity and rationale, we ourselves get overwhelmed sometimes. Think about the tender years leading up to and during teenage - this period is fraught with superiority, inferiority and a bunch of other -ity complexes. We've all walked down that street. It's a period we're insecure about so many things , including our parents - their appearance, their accents, their sense of humor and so on. But from time to time we've had eye opening moments even at that age when we regarded our parents as our heroes; when it was reaffirmed to us that no matter what, as long as we do the right thing, there's no need to be ashamed of who we are, what we look like, what our lifestyle is like, what we possess. When I was in high school ( and now) , it was most certainly uncommon for school going children to be working outside the house trying to earn money to support the family. Our teachers used to tell us that they knew girls in our class who worked as domestic help - cleaning and scrubbing before showing up in school at 9 am. They asked us not to be vain and realize what was truly important and of value to us. Till date I do not know who those girls were. But I was certainly in awe of them for what they were.
Parenting is not easy. As we teach our kids to have self identity and self worth that does not involve conforming to fads and belonging in cliques, it was repulsive to see a message that had stooped so low , even for advertising. You are enticing little children to buy toys, video games, sugary treats and Disney vacations. Do you have to resort to calling a parent lame for driving a non-glamorous car ? And this is the same company that came up with the Prius, a bellwether of earth friendly vehicles? Sigh!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzuK85t2jlE
In this video, a child is embarrassed to get into his dad's old, beat up car; When he is being picked up at school, he actually hides behind a bush and then pole vaults into the car to avoid being seen in that car by his friends; while another child proudly sits in his parent's gleaming Highlander and goes " Just because you're a parent , you don't have to be lame".
Even for advertising that is meant to undermine, impress, insinuate and trick the mind , this is disgusting.
As grown-ups we often compare ourselves to others - be it physical attributes, be it possessions, the vacations we take, the classes we send our kids to and so on. With all our maturity and rationale, we ourselves get overwhelmed sometimes. Think about the tender years leading up to and during teenage - this period is fraught with superiority, inferiority and a bunch of other -ity complexes. We've all walked down that street. It's a period we're insecure about so many things , including our parents - their appearance, their accents, their sense of humor and so on. But from time to time we've had eye opening moments even at that age when we regarded our parents as our heroes; when it was reaffirmed to us that no matter what, as long as we do the right thing, there's no need to be ashamed of who we are, what we look like, what our lifestyle is like, what we possess. When I was in high school ( and now) , it was most certainly uncommon for school going children to be working outside the house trying to earn money to support the family. Our teachers used to tell us that they knew girls in our class who worked as domestic help - cleaning and scrubbing before showing up in school at 9 am. They asked us not to be vain and realize what was truly important and of value to us. Till date I do not know who those girls were. But I was certainly in awe of them for what they were.
Parenting is not easy. As we teach our kids to have self identity and self worth that does not involve conforming to fads and belonging in cliques, it was repulsive to see a message that had stooped so low , even for advertising. You are enticing little children to buy toys, video games, sugary treats and Disney vacations. Do you have to resort to calling a parent lame for driving a non-glamorous car ? And this is the same company that came up with the Prius, a bellwether of earth friendly vehicles? Sigh!
DeeDee moments
Whether my daughter thinks of me as a wonderful mom or not, when she grows up, right now I am amazed by her ideas and behaviours. It is true that motherhood is synonymous with sacrifice and struggle, but I am also on the receiving end of some interesting, insightful experiences for which I am grateful to my little one.
I took her for her appointment with her pediatrician. On the drive I told her she will receive injections and it'll only be a tiny prick, won't hurt much ; I told her, "You're now a big girl and you should co-opearte". She nodded in agreement. But I was blown away by how still she sat and took 2 shots, one on each arm, unflinched. No tears, no scuffle, absolutely no resistance. She also took a vision test - Without the slightest intervention from me, the nurse and my daughter communicated and worked with each other to complete the test. I watched as the nurse explained to my daughter and asked her to tell whether the 3 lines of letter E were pointing toward a boy/girl/rabbit/bird , looking through a big binocular, while the nurse stepped through different slides. It was the first time I saw her have a somewhat long interaction with a stranger, understanding and replying correctly without any help from parents.
After Halloween and trick-or-treating, my daughter is in possession of twenty-some candies and is feeling on top-of the-world! She is displaying remarkable restraint. She has been told she can have only one candy a day. I deliberately didn't put away the stash and have kept it in plain sight to see if she can hold up. I wouldn't be too upset if she couldn't adhere to my ruling and ended up eating 2-3 candies in a row. But she isn't. She carries her little orange bucket of goodies everywhere she goes, up n down the stairs. She takes them out and observes them, the colorful wrapping, the names spelled out in bright reds, oranges and greens and then puts them all back in. She even came and told me ' Ma , If I eat more than one, I'll go to garage'. But she hasn't violated. For all of 3 years of age, I am quite surprised at this level of maturity.
In as much as she makes me proud, such instances immediately make me feel a twinge of pain at how fast she's growing up, how soon she's acting all mature and grown-up. Sometimes, I tell her, "you're my baby!" and her quick retort is "amma, I am big-girl-ing!". And I go "Nooooooo!".
I took her for her appointment with her pediatrician. On the drive I told her she will receive injections and it'll only be a tiny prick, won't hurt much ; I told her, "You're now a big girl and you should co-opearte". She nodded in agreement. But I was blown away by how still she sat and took 2 shots, one on each arm, unflinched. No tears, no scuffle, absolutely no resistance. She also took a vision test - Without the slightest intervention from me, the nurse and my daughter communicated and worked with each other to complete the test. I watched as the nurse explained to my daughter and asked her to tell whether the 3 lines of letter E were pointing toward a boy/girl/rabbit/bird , looking through a big binocular, while the nurse stepped through different slides. It was the first time I saw her have a somewhat long interaction with a stranger, understanding and replying correctly without any help from parents.
After Halloween and trick-or-treating, my daughter is in possession of twenty-some candies and is feeling on top-of the-world! She is displaying remarkable restraint. She has been told she can have only one candy a day. I deliberately didn't put away the stash and have kept it in plain sight to see if she can hold up. I wouldn't be too upset if she couldn't adhere to my ruling and ended up eating 2-3 candies in a row. But she isn't. She carries her little orange bucket of goodies everywhere she goes, up n down the stairs. She takes them out and observes them, the colorful wrapping, the names spelled out in bright reds, oranges and greens and then puts them all back in. She even came and told me ' Ma , If I eat more than one, I'll go to garage'. But she hasn't violated. For all of 3 years of age, I am quite surprised at this level of maturity.
In as much as she makes me proud, such instances immediately make me feel a twinge of pain at how fast she's growing up, how soon she's acting all mature and grown-up. Sometimes, I tell her, "you're my baby!" and her quick retort is "amma, I am big-girl-ing!". And I go "Nooooooo!".
What kind of dog are you?
In my (seemingly) unending struggle with weight loss, many times, I do wonder what I am made up of. I can't help but compare myself with my coworker who's a chinese mom of 3 but looks like a teenager herself, the friend who is a size 4 and claims she's never set foot in a gym, my sisters whom my skinny dad decided to give his best genes to ! And what is with those fortunate few who embark on a weight loss journey, steadily drop 1-2 lbs a week by doing the 'right diet, right exercise' routine. Not to disparage their acheivements, but what is keeping me and my sorority sisters all over the world from making any significant progress in this battle? Some of my friends and I exercise most days of the week. I have always been sort of dieting, since a time I can't remember. What makes some people slide down on the weight incline the instant they start to walk 45 minutes a day or give up sodas or dessert?
I am on my toes from the instant I get home until late in the night. It infuriates me when someone tells me "just be active don't go overboard with working out at the gym, you'll surely lose weight' or ' just walk more, your generation needs to get off the couch more often'. Wow! something so incredibly simple and potent, why hadn't I thought of this before?
I chanced upon a segment on weight loss from a book called 'Small change', a book I picked up spontaneously as a gift for myself on my birthday, 2 minutes before the store closed, while my husband was driving around the block to pacify my cranky daughter. I am glad I bought it, I actually like it for the most part. In this section on weight loss, the authors explain this with a clever dog analogy. Dogs come in different sizes, energy levels and life spans. While some dogs need only a little playtime others needs to be exercised vigorously, not just a walk-around-the-block. A cockapoo can complete its quota of physical activity by just running around the dining table and sprinting up and down the stairs, a Border collie - a high energy and highly intelligent animal - needs to run miles and miles everyday. Failing which, it may not just get overweight and sluggish like a cocker spaniel would, it's going to act dysfunctional and can tear your house apart! Identify the dog within you, then eat and exercise accordingly. Most importantly, stop feeling guilty or bad about the dog you are not!
I am on my toes from the instant I get home until late in the night. It infuriates me when someone tells me "just be active don't go overboard with working out at the gym, you'll surely lose weight' or ' just walk more, your generation needs to get off the couch more often'. Wow! something so incredibly simple and potent, why hadn't I thought of this before?
I chanced upon a segment on weight loss from a book called 'Small change', a book I picked up spontaneously as a gift for myself on my birthday, 2 minutes before the store closed, while my husband was driving around the block to pacify my cranky daughter. I am glad I bought it, I actually like it for the most part. In this section on weight loss, the authors explain this with a clever dog analogy. Dogs come in different sizes, energy levels and life spans. While some dogs need only a little playtime others needs to be exercised vigorously, not just a walk-around-the-block. A cockapoo can complete its quota of physical activity by just running around the dining table and sprinting up and down the stairs, a Border collie - a high energy and highly intelligent animal - needs to run miles and miles everyday. Failing which, it may not just get overweight and sluggish like a cocker spaniel would, it's going to act dysfunctional and can tear your house apart! Identify the dog within you, then eat and exercise accordingly. Most importantly, stop feeling guilty or bad about the dog you are not!
Mother and Mother Earth approved!
Am trying hard to do away with paper in the kitchen. In its place I am trying to use cloth kitchen towels -different sets for wiping counters, for drying utensils and one for drying hands. I am trying to use reusable shopping bags. Am making a concious effort to stay away from plastic cutlery and paper cups, plates.
In the beginning of this decade when I first came to this country the copious supply of paper from the kitchen to the bathroom to wet wipes to kleenex in cars and lobbies of offices impressed me. I found the no-mess, no-fuss cleaning that paper affords so easy. Who wouldn't? Why would someone deal with a dirty dish rag ?
Paper plates and plastic cutlery weren't new to me, but they are used much more here than what I was used to in India. Aaah, just use-n-throw, so clean, I used to think! Especially when it comes to eating at little joints and eateries, the cleanliness of the utensils used by us guests was never something to worry about.
Each and every thing that we thought made life easy, convenient and simply better is now coming back to bite us in a big way.
When my parents ever used a cloth bag, I used to cringe. If my parents ever suggested using sheets of paper whose back sides were plain, we thought they were being too thrifty. When they did not want to throw away any piece of furniture or a household item that could find an alternate use, we let out an incredulous sigh! But now I am trying hard to get lean, mean and green!
I particularly remember when , one time, just before a train journey, my mother wanted to take drinking water in a stainless steel vessel ( called a gooja, it's a special vessel with its own lid , used exclusively to carry water, buttermilk or hot beverages) and I adamantly put my foot down and vetoed it. I would be too embarassed, I told her ; we could just get 2 bottles of water. I am still not so cool with the idea of a gooja, but I 've sufficiently distanced myself from plastic bottles.
It's funny how the many things we upheld, the many ideas we had and our internal code of right and wrong have meandered and morphed over the years to something very different. This is not limited to environment -friendliness, but as I age I find many things about my parents' ideas and thoughts, their advice start to have more meaning, relevance and making more sense to me
When I discuss these things with my mother, her response is - ' You children never find what we say to be of any value. If the same thing is said in fancy english and if it's said on websites and on TV, that is when it becomes saturated with meaning!'. Once again, I roll my eyes!
In the beginning of this decade when I first came to this country the copious supply of paper from the kitchen to the bathroom to wet wipes to kleenex in cars and lobbies of offices impressed me. I found the no-mess, no-fuss cleaning that paper affords so easy. Who wouldn't? Why would someone deal with a dirty dish rag ?
Paper plates and plastic cutlery weren't new to me, but they are used much more here than what I was used to in India. Aaah, just use-n-throw, so clean, I used to think! Especially when it comes to eating at little joints and eateries, the cleanliness of the utensils used by us guests was never something to worry about.
Each and every thing that we thought made life easy, convenient and simply better is now coming back to bite us in a big way.
When my parents ever used a cloth bag, I used to cringe. If my parents ever suggested using sheets of paper whose back sides were plain, we thought they were being too thrifty. When they did not want to throw away any piece of furniture or a household item that could find an alternate use, we let out an incredulous sigh! But now I am trying hard to get lean, mean and green!
I particularly remember when , one time, just before a train journey, my mother wanted to take drinking water in a stainless steel vessel ( called a gooja, it's a special vessel with its own lid , used exclusively to carry water, buttermilk or hot beverages) and I adamantly put my foot down and vetoed it. I would be too embarassed, I told her ; we could just get 2 bottles of water. I am still not so cool with the idea of a gooja, but I 've sufficiently distanced myself from plastic bottles.
It's funny how the many things we upheld, the many ideas we had and our internal code of right and wrong have meandered and morphed over the years to something very different. This is not limited to environment -friendliness, but as I age I find many things about my parents' ideas and thoughts, their advice start to have more meaning, relevance and making more sense to me
When I discuss these things with my mother, her response is - ' You children never find what we say to be of any value. If the same thing is said in fancy english and if it's said on websites and on TV, that is when it becomes saturated with meaning!'. Once again, I roll my eyes!
Nothing in particular-isms
As a spouse and a parent, every woman practises sacrifice, patience and forgiveness everyday. We are all just nuns in plain clothes. Without wearing a habit, we've made these virtues a habit.
If there is hell, one of its torture chambers would consist of 'ab exercises' exclusively, I am sure. After an exhillarating zumba class that was equal parts dance club and concentration camp, the last 10 mins of abs was pure, unadulterated pain. There was one set where we had to sit leaning back at a 30-40 deg angle, pressing down on a ball placed between the lower back and the floor, legs bent at the knees, feet resting on the floor. Maintaining this stance, we had to do a bow and arrow pose, only thing that imaginary arrow was making a U turn and impaling me !!!! In that pose, we were asked to turn and look to the far right, I saw my neighbor's face shaking in pain.
If there is hell, one of its torture chambers would consist of 'ab exercises' exclusively, I am sure. After an exhillarating zumba class that was equal parts dance club and concentration camp, the last 10 mins of abs was pure, unadulterated pain. There was one set where we had to sit leaning back at a 30-40 deg angle, pressing down on a ball placed between the lower back and the floor, legs bent at the knees, feet resting on the floor. Maintaining this stance, we had to do a bow and arrow pose, only thing that imaginary arrow was making a U turn and impaling me !!!! In that pose, we were asked to turn and look to the far right, I saw my neighbor's face shaking in pain.
Golu galatta - part 2
About six or seven cardboard boxes full of idols arrived in Bangalore with us. Amidst all other engagements, commitments and a high energy 2 yr old , I used up every little block of time I got to segregate the different sets ( some of the sets were in multiples), clean the dolls free of hay( which clung to the dolls) which being a farm product is deemed inadmissible by U.S.Customs. I then packed the dolls in sheets of bubble wrap and secured them with scotch tape. Then these packages were further rolled in little towels, sarees and other pieces of clothing. Since weight not volume is the bottleneck while packing suitcases, it had to be ensured that these bundles would not have a whole lot of room jostling and shaking on their overseas journey. Everytime I tried to get at least a few dolls packed and into the bags, my daughter would wake up prematurely from her nap. Every vegetable vendor, tender coconut seller, courier service worker, kashmiri carpet seller, flower seller, milk man was very successful in waking up this extremely light sleeper. At the end of a few days, my parents, my sisters and cousins got tired of seeing me completely engrossed in this exercise oblivious to all else. One by one my suitcases got packed, my vacation got over and before you could say 'cat in the hat' I was struggling to buckle my aircraft seat belt, tears flooding up my eyes. Every time after a trip to India, I suffer from post-travel depression. A lot of internalizing, a lot of soul searching happens in the days following return.
Why am I here, what am I doing here?
What is all this worth , when my family is so far away?
How long will this 'once in 2 or 3 yr visits' that are barely 3 weeks long, go on?
Everytime I go, I notice more grey hair , more wrinkling in my parents, it wrings my heart.
This time the depression was very acute and lasted much longer than it normally does. The very cold winter spelled more gloom-and-doom , exacerbating my homesickness. After a painful couple of months, life caught up with me.
Months flew by, Navarathri was again round the corner.
The dolls were ready. We went about the task of building a staircase arrangement to display them. A few experienced golu-keepers gave us some loose guidelines on how to go about this, which took us to the lumber section of the store.
A day was spent doing multiple trips to Home Depot and Lowes, some serious discussion on how to build the support for the structure, what wood could and couldn't be cut, what tools we possessed and how much handyman-ness DH could pull off. Some of the discussion was pure humor as we tried to translate our goal into something the salesman could understand.
The vertical pieces of wood on either side that support the horizontal stair between them are called stringers or deck steps.
Us : We don't need something for outdoors, this'll be in our living room
him : you're building a deck in your living room?
some more explanation ensues
Us : It'll be a temporary thing, we'll dismantle this after 10 days
him: You're building a staircase that you need just for 10 days?.
.
.
.
.
Us : It need not be very heavy duty, it's not for people to step on.
him : It's for a pet?
Us : Actually, it's for displaying dolls
him : You're having a sale, uh?
This and more spiced up the otherwise onerous process of evaluating what we needed to build - a staircase that'd just lay against a wall , but not get mounted on it.
It took DH more than a half day to measure and meticulously clamp, screw together and create it.
Part 3 will follow with pictures.
Why am I here, what am I doing here?
What is all this worth , when my family is so far away?
How long will this 'once in 2 or 3 yr visits' that are barely 3 weeks long, go on?
Everytime I go, I notice more grey hair , more wrinkling in my parents, it wrings my heart.
This time the depression was very acute and lasted much longer than it normally does. The very cold winter spelled more gloom-and-doom , exacerbating my homesickness. After a painful couple of months, life caught up with me.
Months flew by, Navarathri was again round the corner.
The dolls were ready. We went about the task of building a staircase arrangement to display them. A few experienced golu-keepers gave us some loose guidelines on how to go about this, which took us to the lumber section of the store.
A day was spent doing multiple trips to Home Depot and Lowes, some serious discussion on how to build the support for the structure, what wood could and couldn't be cut, what tools we possessed and how much handyman-ness DH could pull off. Some of the discussion was pure humor as we tried to translate our goal into something the salesman could understand.
The vertical pieces of wood on either side that support the horizontal stair between them are called stringers or deck steps.
Us : We don't need something for outdoors, this'll be in our living room
him : you're building a deck in your living room?
some more explanation ensues
Us : It'll be a temporary thing, we'll dismantle this after 10 days
him: You're building a staircase that you need just for 10 days?.
.
.
.
.
Us : It need not be very heavy duty, it's not for people to step on.
him : It's for a pet?
Us : Actually, it's for displaying dolls
him : You're having a sale, uh?
This and more spiced up the otherwise onerous process of evaluating what we needed to build - a staircase that'd just lay against a wall , but not get mounted on it.
It took DH more than a half day to measure and meticulously clamp, screw together and create it.
Part 3 will follow with pictures.
DeeDee moments
* My daughter has never heard of or watched the movie, Titanic. But she and I have become like that young romantic couple from the movie - Rose and Jack ( the characters played by Kate Winslet and Leonardo Dicaprio), in that, she seems to follow the 'you jump, I jump' philosophy. This pertains among a few other things, to sleep. She sleeps when I sleep. Rather, in the effort to make her sleep which easily takes about 45 minutes I end up falling asleep myself. And in the mornings, no matter how sound asleep she is, the moment I am up, she is up. I have tried several ways to have her sleep longer. I pad on both sides with pillows and wake up as gingerly and sneakily as possible - doesn't work. She has the intuition of an animal that senses a predator from a few miles away.
* She likes to watch Tom and Jerry. I sometimes worry if she's watching too much violence, even if it's only in animation and even if it's never too final. After a severe blow from a heavy skillet that flattens the whole head, the animal will stretch his head up and slap his sides out to recover his face sans any sign of the assault. She explains to me on our ride to day care, " Jerry is the mouse and the cat's name is Toman"
* She's so dizzy with excitement about her birthday that has already passed a few days ago. To a room full of guests we had over last weekend, she comes and announces - Hey everybody, let's sing happy birthday to me - and actually starts to sing. We all joined in. It's all easy, there's no ego, no disappointment, no gap between expectations and actualizations in a child's life.
* She combs her dad's hair and goes, "Wow dad, you are such a cute pincess"
* When she exclaims, "Amma , I love you!", I usually ask her 'how much?'. The other day, she replied,
"fourteen" ; I said " No, I want more!", to which she shot back, " Okay, eleven-teen". I love that number, in my mind that's a very very big number.
* She likes to watch Tom and Jerry. I sometimes worry if she's watching too much violence, even if it's only in animation and even if it's never too final. After a severe blow from a heavy skillet that flattens the whole head, the animal will stretch his head up and slap his sides out to recover his face sans any sign of the assault. She explains to me on our ride to day care, " Jerry is the mouse and the cat's name is Toman"
* She's so dizzy with excitement about her birthday that has already passed a few days ago. To a room full of guests we had over last weekend, she comes and announces - Hey everybody, let's sing happy birthday to me - and actually starts to sing. We all joined in. It's all easy, there's no ego, no disappointment, no gap between expectations and actualizations in a child's life.
* She combs her dad's hair and goes, "Wow dad, you are such a cute pincess"
* When she exclaims, "Amma , I love you!", I usually ask her 'how much?'. The other day, she replied,
"fourteen" ; I said " No, I want more!", to which she shot back, " Okay, eleven-teen". I love that number, in my mind that's a very very big number.
Next time, on time?
I am conciously making an effort at being on time. But, at the risk of sounding unscientific, it seems like certain things aren't meant to be!
A few anamolous occurrences of the past few weeks -
I plan well in advance and get DD and myself ready well before time. I put an enthusiastic, profusely babbling toddler in her car seat and get into the driver's seat thinking I am going to be on time and boom - unexpectedly she throws up - clean up time - 20 minutes.
I had a training at work couple of weeks ago for which I had to be in at work quite early, after dropping DD off at day care. I requested her dad to drop her off, who always has something more important, more critical and very urgent regardless of my crises. I conceded and started well in time to factor that in. I get pulled over and am cited for a speeding violation. I was doing 40 in a 30 speed limit zone- it's a busy street and I was going at average speed of the traffic around me. But hey, I was chosen for the lucky prize. I was so aghast I rattled off a big speech to the traffic cop. Never knew I had it in me. In this country, I know I won't be beheaded for speaking my mind. As long as one remains within the boundaries of decency and respect, you can vent your frustration even to someone in a position of authority. Of course certain situations don't render themselves to this exercise.
What really rankled me was not so much that he actually gave me the ticket, but that he was so stubborn and inconsiderate of my explanation of the situation. I asked him how come they ( police) are never around when reckless drivers are making dangerous, unannounced turns and lane changes, when people are zooming at 80 in a 40 zone, when left turn signals are mistaken for a through light - I almost had a collision with a moron who did that when I was making my rightful left turn. I told him what happened that day was an exception and that he should please let me go with a warning, I am usually a very conscientious driver, I don't even use expletives or obscene gestures at such offenders. How many times do we absorb the mistakes of someone else on the road just to avoid something untoward from happenning? In the end, I told him " Hey it's the month end , you have to reach your target number of tickets, isn't it? Next time, try catching the real culprits and not penalizing marginal offenders who are right 99% of the time." He replied " It's not like that ma'am". I drove off thinking 'yeah right!' - late by 25 minutes.
Yesterday, yet again, got myself and DD ready to be on time for a meeting. Strapped her in her car seat , strapped myself into the driver's seat , put the key in its hole and turned to realize battery was dead long ago. No, it was not a slip on my part - no doors were shut improperly, no lights were left on. The battery of my 4.5 yr old car had led an eventful life, reached a ripe old age and died of natural causes the morning I wanted to get to work a little before a status meeting. This fact was given to me by the AAA vehicle assistance person who I thought could jump start my car in 10 minutes. So, when it was made clear to me that the old battery would not be able to hold charge, that even if it could be jump started now, it'd die again whenever I'd turn off the engine and leave it for a few minutes, the decision was made to replace the battery. After the necessary procedure, upon his direction to try starting my car again, I turned the ignition on and the sound of my car whirring to life was the best audio I could have enjoyed , at that time. Paid $140 for the new battery, signed in a couple of forms and also volunteered to the gentleman that I'll gladly answer any survey about this service. As annoying and avoidable as they seem, I sometimes take these surveys and give the concerned person the best score possible, if I am pleased with the service. If it has been less than desirable or just bad, I don't answer the survey at all. It may mean nothing to us, but probably for them customer feedback can go a long way in either direction. I reconciled with this setback, and got to work 40 minutes after the said meeting was supposed to start.
Why should I make any effort to be on time? Like a lecturer from P.U. days would exclaim - You are too early for the next class!
A few anamolous occurrences of the past few weeks -
I plan well in advance and get DD and myself ready well before time. I put an enthusiastic, profusely babbling toddler in her car seat and get into the driver's seat thinking I am going to be on time and boom - unexpectedly she throws up - clean up time - 20 minutes.
I had a training at work couple of weeks ago for which I had to be in at work quite early, after dropping DD off at day care. I requested her dad to drop her off, who always has something more important, more critical and very urgent regardless of my crises. I conceded and started well in time to factor that in. I get pulled over and am cited for a speeding violation. I was doing 40 in a 30 speed limit zone- it's a busy street and I was going at average speed of the traffic around me. But hey, I was chosen for the lucky prize. I was so aghast I rattled off a big speech to the traffic cop. Never knew I had it in me. In this country, I know I won't be beheaded for speaking my mind. As long as one remains within the boundaries of decency and respect, you can vent your frustration even to someone in a position of authority. Of course certain situations don't render themselves to this exercise.
What really rankled me was not so much that he actually gave me the ticket, but that he was so stubborn and inconsiderate of my explanation of the situation. I asked him how come they ( police) are never around when reckless drivers are making dangerous, unannounced turns and lane changes, when people are zooming at 80 in a 40 zone, when left turn signals are mistaken for a through light - I almost had a collision with a moron who did that when I was making my rightful left turn. I told him what happened that day was an exception and that he should please let me go with a warning, I am usually a very conscientious driver, I don't even use expletives or obscene gestures at such offenders. How many times do we absorb the mistakes of someone else on the road just to avoid something untoward from happenning? In the end, I told him " Hey it's the month end , you have to reach your target number of tickets, isn't it? Next time, try catching the real culprits and not penalizing marginal offenders who are right 99% of the time." He replied " It's not like that ma'am". I drove off thinking 'yeah right!' - late by 25 minutes.
Yesterday, yet again, got myself and DD ready to be on time for a meeting. Strapped her in her car seat , strapped myself into the driver's seat , put the key in its hole and turned to realize battery was dead long ago. No, it was not a slip on my part - no doors were shut improperly, no lights were left on. The battery of my 4.5 yr old car had led an eventful life, reached a ripe old age and died of natural causes the morning I wanted to get to work a little before a status meeting. This fact was given to me by the AAA vehicle assistance person who I thought could jump start my car in 10 minutes. So, when it was made clear to me that the old battery would not be able to hold charge, that even if it could be jump started now, it'd die again whenever I'd turn off the engine and leave it for a few minutes, the decision was made to replace the battery. After the necessary procedure, upon his direction to try starting my car again, I turned the ignition on and the sound of my car whirring to life was the best audio I could have enjoyed , at that time. Paid $140 for the new battery, signed in a couple of forms and also volunteered to the gentleman that I'll gladly answer any survey about this service. As annoying and avoidable as they seem, I sometimes take these surveys and give the concerned person the best score possible, if I am pleased with the service. If it has been less than desirable or just bad, I don't answer the survey at all. It may mean nothing to us, but probably for them customer feedback can go a long way in either direction. I reconciled with this setback, and got to work 40 minutes after the said meeting was supposed to start.
Why should I make any effort to be on time? Like a lecturer from P.U. days would exclaim - You are too early for the next class!
Golu galatta - part 1
Navarathri! Every time I visited people's houses during this festival, I drooled over their elaborate golu - the tiered arrangement of dolls - deities, villagers, animals. I always wished to have one in my house but didn't have the space or the dolls to pull through this feat.
After a few years of just visiting and wishing, I moved into a bigger house. Space was no longer an issue. Visiting India and buying a large number of dolls and bringing them back was a daunting task. It has proved to be more collosal than 'mere daunting'. I visit India once in 2 or 3 years. It could be any time of the yeear and not necessarily during this festival. The dolls are made and sold primarily during the weeks leading up to and a couple of weeks after this festival. Chennai ( Madras) is where one can get a good variety and a decent bargain.
So, last year a month before the actual festival I started to contact my relatives in Bangalore and Chennai to request them to procure some dolls for me. My cousin, UK and her mother-in-law came to my rescue. After receiving a postitive response from UK via email, I asked her to buy a few sets for me. I was starting from scratch and everything was welcome. UK's mil, aunty L was so wonderful and accomodating, my first golu this year is really possible almost entirely because of her. UK and Mrs.L went around Mylapore's shopping area, which is , at the said time of the year, said to be teeming with doll sellers with many different eye catchy varieties of dolls - dasavatharam ( the ten incarnations of Lord Vishnu), Ashta Laskshmi ( Eight different forms of Goddess Lakshmi), Rama Pattabhishekam ( Coronation ceremony of Lord Ram), Krishna with gopikas etc are some standard fare that have been around for generations. New themes and concepts are introduced each year. The dolls are not just of deities, there are elaborate themes like harvest festival - Pongal, farmer's market, the temple set depicting a meticuloulsy made gopuram( temple tower) with the street outside showing flower sellers, coconut vendors, auto rickshaws and so on. And then there's always Lord Ganesh who can be morphed into anything/anyone stylish and cute in keeping with the biggest news at that time. From cricketer to singer , dancing Ganesha to Yoga ganesha , he lends himself to any expression and most of us don't mind. Ganesha is as much fun as he is powerful.
Traditionally the dolls are made of clay and then painted over. The clay dolls usually have less than perfect facial features, sometimes they can be plain gross with eyes at different levels and an arm shorter than another. So, it requires very careful examination of each piece before one buys them. These days paper mache' dolls abound, they look a lot more beautiful due to very clear features and well defined brush strokes. On the flip side they don't last for generations like the clay ones. Since these dolls are in storage for prolonged periods, other than their 9 days of glory, the paper ones tend to deteriorate in a couple of years. These nuggets of wisdom came from Mrs.L too. For these two reasons, I picked the clay ones.
On the first day UK and Mrs. L went on a sort of scouting mission, checking for inventory , prices and a general reconnaisance tour. The next day, Mrs. L cleared some shelf space in her house for these dolls and then they went and actually purchased many different sets. They stored these different boxes for 3 months until I could pay a visit to their place. We had a fantastic 2 days with their whole family - they are really really nice people and it instantly felt like I had known them all along. Before I could leave, Mrs.L patiently and painstakingly opened the boxes for me, resorted the idols so I could carry them on train from Chennai to Bangalore. The unpacking and repacking took a lot of time and effort . Also we had to clear up a lot of hay and shredded paper that is used to cushion these dolls while packing. I thanked Mrs.L many times over, but any amount is less. Hardly anybody would do what she did for me. Until the very end when each single box went into the cars taking us to the train station, she watched over and ensured the nylon strings with which the boxes were secured, were alright.
After a few years of just visiting and wishing, I moved into a bigger house. Space was no longer an issue. Visiting India and buying a large number of dolls and bringing them back was a daunting task. It has proved to be more collosal than 'mere daunting'. I visit India once in 2 or 3 years. It could be any time of the yeear and not necessarily during this festival. The dolls are made and sold primarily during the weeks leading up to and a couple of weeks after this festival. Chennai ( Madras) is where one can get a good variety and a decent bargain.
So, last year a month before the actual festival I started to contact my relatives in Bangalore and Chennai to request them to procure some dolls for me. My cousin, UK and her mother-in-law came to my rescue. After receiving a postitive response from UK via email, I asked her to buy a few sets for me. I was starting from scratch and everything was welcome. UK's mil, aunty L was so wonderful and accomodating, my first golu this year is really possible almost entirely because of her. UK and Mrs.L went around Mylapore's shopping area, which is , at the said time of the year, said to be teeming with doll sellers with many different eye catchy varieties of dolls - dasavatharam ( the ten incarnations of Lord Vishnu), Ashta Laskshmi ( Eight different forms of Goddess Lakshmi), Rama Pattabhishekam ( Coronation ceremony of Lord Ram), Krishna with gopikas etc are some standard fare that have been around for generations. New themes and concepts are introduced each year. The dolls are not just of deities, there are elaborate themes like harvest festival - Pongal, farmer's market, the temple set depicting a meticuloulsy made gopuram( temple tower) with the street outside showing flower sellers, coconut vendors, auto rickshaws and so on. And then there's always Lord Ganesh who can be morphed into anything/anyone stylish and cute in keeping with the biggest news at that time. From cricketer to singer , dancing Ganesha to Yoga ganesha , he lends himself to any expression and most of us don't mind. Ganesha is as much fun as he is powerful.
Traditionally the dolls are made of clay and then painted over. The clay dolls usually have less than perfect facial features, sometimes they can be plain gross with eyes at different levels and an arm shorter than another. So, it requires very careful examination of each piece before one buys them. These days paper mache' dolls abound, they look a lot more beautiful due to very clear features and well defined brush strokes. On the flip side they don't last for generations like the clay ones. Since these dolls are in storage for prolonged periods, other than their 9 days of glory, the paper ones tend to deteriorate in a couple of years. These nuggets of wisdom came from Mrs.L too. For these two reasons, I picked the clay ones.
On the first day UK and Mrs. L went on a sort of scouting mission, checking for inventory , prices and a general reconnaisance tour. The next day, Mrs. L cleared some shelf space in her house for these dolls and then they went and actually purchased many different sets. They stored these different boxes for 3 months until I could pay a visit to their place. We had a fantastic 2 days with their whole family - they are really really nice people and it instantly felt like I had known them all along. Before I could leave, Mrs.L patiently and painstakingly opened the boxes for me, resorted the idols so I could carry them on train from Chennai to Bangalore. The unpacking and repacking took a lot of time and effort . Also we had to clear up a lot of hay and shredded paper that is used to cushion these dolls while packing. I thanked Mrs.L many times over, but any amount is less. Hardly anybody would do what she did for me. Until the very end when each single box went into the cars taking us to the train station, she watched over and ensured the nylon strings with which the boxes were secured, were alright.
Mall stories
Last weekend, what started as a furniture hunt morphed into a 'let's buy you a couple of shirts' undertaking. DD, DH, myself and PIL ( parents-in-law) browsed for a shirt or two on the eve of DH's birthday. Not that there was any need for a special occasion. My husband is the complete antithesis of the typical male traits that are bemoaned in womens' circles from what I've heard or read about. I'd read from some forwarded email about a man saying of his wife, that he wouldn't let go of her hand, or else she'd go shopping. That, I would have to say to my husband. He loves to shop - loves to buy clothes, perfume, belts, wallets, shoes etc for himself. I do not have any of the 'leaves the toilet seat up/ leaves a damp towel or dirty socks on the floor' kind of issue. Nope! My husband is a neat freak, meticulously organizes and maintains all his belongings down to the last bit of paper. No matter what time he comes home, how tired he is, his clothes, socks etc all go where they need to. Does not need any goading or urging to get important tasks done. Before you decide that the grass on my side is super green , gets a generous dose of 'miracle-gro for lawns' every week and I also have a beautiful garden with a fountain, in the centre of which is the sculpture of a cherubic angel..... I must state that these very same behaviours coupled with the highly critical Virgo that he is make it X-tremely difficult for the spouse i.e. myself.
Getting back to the shirt-shopping, DH picked up a couple of shirts I selected and went into the fitting room, promptly followed by DD. None of my calling out to her from the entrance to the Men's fitting room had any desired effect. As I waited there, DH called out to me to come take her. I put my head in, saw nobody in the passage way and proceeded toward the stall in which the rest of my immediate family was temporarily housed. Once I got there, my husband opened the door and to my astonishment, I found my daughter standing in her under pants ready to wear the new shirt. Seeing her dad take of his shirt had triggered this instant imitating. I wished for a second that she'd learn all the things I was intending for her to emulate from us, with this willingness, free of fuss. Shaking my head in disbelief, I gently but sternly asked her to wear her frock and come out. Meanwhile, she pulled my hand and yanked me into the stall and said " hurrah, we did it, we did it!" Doraaaaaaa, sometimes I can't stand you!
My husband was gesturing with both hands, with the urgency and fervor of an aid worker at the site of a catastrophe, for me to put back the clothes on our almost 3 yr old( who was in absolute glee that we were all together in this tiny confined space). And I was alternately pleading with ,chiding and bribing my daughter to put on her clothes and come out with me, when there was a knock on the door and a voice went 'We can't have you in here ma'am, you have to leave'. I was so embarrassed, never before would I have pictured myself in this kind of a situation. My daughter was jumping with joy, talking to and making funny faces at her reflection in the full length mirror while my husband and I argued with each other softly and tried our best to convince DD. What would be worse was if she ran out of the stall and outside that fitting room in her underpants and out into the expanse of the store. An episode of Seinfeld again came to mind - Serenity now, Insanity later! This, dear yet-to-be-parents is one of the many moments of heightened tension and embarrassment that your progeny will treat you to. Somehow one of my entreaties clicked and I was able to bring her out with her clothes back on her and as I was walking out I said to the attendant , " I apologize, my daughter ran in and wanted to try that shirt herself " to which the jerk replied ' I know, it's too small a space for you to get mischeavous'! Huh? My embarrassment multiplied instantly and I found myself at a loss for words. Carrying my toddler in my arms I walked across to a different section when in the middle of my horror and exhaustion, I thought to myself "Don't be so sure! wink! "
Getting back to the shirt-shopping, DH picked up a couple of shirts I selected and went into the fitting room, promptly followed by DD. None of my calling out to her from the entrance to the Men's fitting room had any desired effect. As I waited there, DH called out to me to come take her. I put my head in, saw nobody in the passage way and proceeded toward the stall in which the rest of my immediate family was temporarily housed. Once I got there, my husband opened the door and to my astonishment, I found my daughter standing in her under pants ready to wear the new shirt. Seeing her dad take of his shirt had triggered this instant imitating. I wished for a second that she'd learn all the things I was intending for her to emulate from us, with this willingness, free of fuss. Shaking my head in disbelief, I gently but sternly asked her to wear her frock and come out. Meanwhile, she pulled my hand and yanked me into the stall and said " hurrah, we did it, we did it!" Doraaaaaaa, sometimes I can't stand you!
My husband was gesturing with both hands, with the urgency and fervor of an aid worker at the site of a catastrophe, for me to put back the clothes on our almost 3 yr old( who was in absolute glee that we were all together in this tiny confined space). And I was alternately pleading with ,chiding and bribing my daughter to put on her clothes and come out with me, when there was a knock on the door and a voice went 'We can't have you in here ma'am, you have to leave'. I was so embarrassed, never before would I have pictured myself in this kind of a situation. My daughter was jumping with joy, talking to and making funny faces at her reflection in the full length mirror while my husband and I argued with each other softly and tried our best to convince DD. What would be worse was if she ran out of the stall and outside that fitting room in her underpants and out into the expanse of the store. An episode of Seinfeld again came to mind - Serenity now, Insanity later! This, dear yet-to-be-parents is one of the many moments of heightened tension and embarrassment that your progeny will treat you to. Somehow one of my entreaties clicked and I was able to bring her out with her clothes back on her and as I was walking out I said to the attendant , " I apologize, my daughter ran in and wanted to try that shirt herself " to which the jerk replied ' I know, it's too small a space for you to get mischeavous'! Huh? My embarrassment multiplied instantly and I found myself at a loss for words. Carrying my toddler in my arms I walked across to a different section when in the middle of my horror and exhaustion, I thought to myself "Don't be so sure! wink! "
A lesson from preschool
My daughter is moving to preschool from junior-pre. It's actually the classroom next door from her current one. I had a what they call 'needs and services' meeting with her teacher this morning to go over schedules, general curriculum, activities, any specific things about her personality that I wanted to discuss etc. I told the teacher, sometimes a couple of older kids push or hit her and she doesn't defend herself. The teacher mentioned they do watch out especially for such behavior. They take the kids away by redirecting them into other activities and sometimes talking to them about the effects of their acts, making them think about what they did. And how it can hurt their friends. And she said sometimes when even that doesn't work the boisterous kids are sent to another classroom for a couple of hours, during that time they become uncomfortable and want to get back to their class. She said it's to make them realize that being with their friends is a privilege and they have to acknowledge that.
That was a wonderful statement, it set me thinking. So many things we take for granted are actually a gift. Being able to see your spouse ( and kids) every evening is a privilege. There are so many men and women whose spouses are away from them - getting an MBA, finishing up their residency, taking up a job cross country or in another continent in this economy, travelling a lot for work, fighting in Iraq or Afganistan and so on. Being able to sit down for a dinner together, even being able to argue face to face is a privilege. It's not always possible to compare ourselves with the starving in Somalia or the homeless in the aftermath of the earthquake in Haiti. But from time to time, it's important to realize what we have , not materialistic pleasures or possessions, but the friends and family, the picnics or bike rides in the free air under the sun, the joys of celebrating birthdays and anniversaries.... I don't mean to get sentimental and start singing the glory of God, it's that - we all have troubles, everyone has problems - but the only way to be happy and enjoy life is to, from time to time think of how fortunate we are . Only when we see ourselves relative to the situations and circumstances of those who are less privileged can we value the people and moments we have. And if we are bitter or sour over mundane things, it helps to pay a visit to the other classroom in our lives for a bit, so we acknowledge and respect what we have.
That was a wonderful statement, it set me thinking. So many things we take for granted are actually a gift. Being able to see your spouse ( and kids) every evening is a privilege. There are so many men and women whose spouses are away from them - getting an MBA, finishing up their residency, taking up a job cross country or in another continent in this economy, travelling a lot for work, fighting in Iraq or Afganistan and so on. Being able to sit down for a dinner together, even being able to argue face to face is a privilege. It's not always possible to compare ourselves with the starving in Somalia or the homeless in the aftermath of the earthquake in Haiti. But from time to time, it's important to realize what we have , not materialistic pleasures or possessions, but the friends and family, the picnics or bike rides in the free air under the sun, the joys of celebrating birthdays and anniversaries.... I don't mean to get sentimental and start singing the glory of God, it's that - we all have troubles, everyone has problems - but the only way to be happy and enjoy life is to, from time to time think of how fortunate we are . Only when we see ourselves relative to the situations and circumstances of those who are less privileged can we value the people and moments we have. And if we are bitter or sour over mundane things, it helps to pay a visit to the other classroom in our lives for a bit, so we acknowledge and respect what we have.
Mall stories
This past weekend, DH, DD and yours truly found ourselves in a shopping mall as part of running errands. I was in the women's apparel section of a store , alone for barely a few seconds, when as I have come to expect these days, at the most inopportune of moments, my daughter started to squeal "pee pee". I turned to find DH carring her in his arms approaching me with the expression of someone handing over the baton to the next runner in the Olympic relay race. Obviously, I have to drop anything I am doing to heed to that call. I followed the signs to the restroom which is usually at the farthest , remotest corner of the store from where I'd usually hang out. Like George Costanza from Seinfeld who knew all about restrooms in different parts of the city, after potty training my daughter, I am now aware of decent restrooms in a few public places that I was blissfully unaware of, prior to motherhood.
Upon reaching the ladies' restroom, I knocked the door as I wasn't sure whether it was a multiple stall or a single toilet situation. As I knocked I leaned on the door which gave way since it was unlocked. At the same time a young woman from one of the stalls answered , "Yes", to which I responded, " I was just checking, thank you". I proceeded to an empty stall with my daughter as I heard the woman go, "Is there a purse there? "
Puzzled I looked out at the sinks and the floor area and let out a "Uhh I don't see anything here."
She : "Go in the one which has an activation sticker "
Further alarmed as my daughter was almost wrapping up her business there, I wasn't sure what this woman was saying and if she mistook me for someone she might have been expecting - a friend or someone.
Me : " I am not the one you think you are talking to"
She : Pardon!
Me : I think you mistook me for someone else.
She : Eh, I am on the phone....
Me : Oh sorry, I apologize!
DD : She's not talking to you, amma!
Me : thinking to myself - Right, that's the icing on the cake.
I helped DD wash up and tried to exit before the lady could catch sight of me.
Upon reaching the ladies' restroom, I knocked the door as I wasn't sure whether it was a multiple stall or a single toilet situation. As I knocked I leaned on the door which gave way since it was unlocked. At the same time a young woman from one of the stalls answered , "Yes", to which I responded, " I was just checking, thank you". I proceeded to an empty stall with my daughter as I heard the woman go, "Is there a purse there? "
Puzzled I looked out at the sinks and the floor area and let out a "Uhh I don't see anything here."
She : "Go in the one which has an activation sticker "
Further alarmed as my daughter was almost wrapping up her business there, I wasn't sure what this woman was saying and if she mistook me for someone she might have been expecting - a friend or someone.
Me : " I am not the one you think you are talking to"
She : Pardon!
Me : I think you mistook me for someone else.
She : Eh, I am on the phone....
Me : Oh sorry, I apologize!
DD : She's not talking to you, amma!
Me : thinking to myself - Right, that's the icing on the cake.
I helped DD wash up and tried to exit before the lady could catch sight of me.
Can't let go.....
Yes, I admit it, I am a serial killer - of orchids!!!!
There, I said it!
The fifth set is dying out on me.
I love the buggers and am thrilled by the sight of these dainty blossoms in my home.
first batch : died due to overwatering
second batch : died in spite of watering as required
third batch : died after I re-potted them into a bark mix, after getting good instruction from several youtube videos and reading up online how-to literature.
fourth batch : reason unknown
fifth batch : even fertilized as recommended
Each time I buy at least two plants in the hope that at least one of them makes it into its second year with me.
By now I know most of the basic rules of growing these dahlings, where am I going wrong?
I water them once a week or so, allowing them to completely dry out between waterings. I keep them in indirect sunlight as suggested. I have tried sphagnum moss and bark mix as the medium for cultivation.
Why won't they live on and happily bloom?
(In) significant other is disgruntled about my craze to keep buying and my inability to keep these plants thriving. 'Stop fussing about your orchid and spend some of that time on 'our kid' , says he!
Everytime I go up and down the stairs and catch sight of these beauties sitting on the landing, I feel a lump in my throat. Please live on dearies....
There, I said it!
The fifth set is dying out on me.
I love the buggers and am thrilled by the sight of these dainty blossoms in my home.
first batch : died due to overwatering
second batch : died in spite of watering as required
third batch : died after I re-potted them into a bark mix, after getting good instruction from several youtube videos and reading up online how-to literature.
fourth batch : reason unknown
fifth batch : even fertilized as recommended
Each time I buy at least two plants in the hope that at least one of them makes it into its second year with me.
By now I know most of the basic rules of growing these dahlings, where am I going wrong?
I water them once a week or so, allowing them to completely dry out between waterings. I keep them in indirect sunlight as suggested. I have tried sphagnum moss and bark mix as the medium for cultivation.
Why won't they live on and happily bloom?
(In) significant other is disgruntled about my craze to keep buying and my inability to keep these plants thriving. 'Stop fussing about your orchid and spend some of that time on 'our kid' , says he!
Everytime I go up and down the stairs and catch sight of these beauties sitting on the landing, I feel a lump in my throat. Please live on dearies....
Marital bliss ?
This is a convo from a sitcom I was watching, I found the exchange of words very amusing.
A married man and a man who chooses to remain unmarried ( and is a popular ladies' man) are chilling out on the deck, drinking margheritas...
MM : You know what, I have a confession to make.
Un-MM : Uh?
MM : Sometimes I wonder about the 'Road not taken'
Un-MM : Which road would that be?
MM: Your road!
Un-MM : Oh! Yeah it's a good road.
MM: So, it's not a case of - the grass is green on the other side ?
Un-MM : No, no no! The grass is pretty fricking green on this side!
MM : Damn!
A married man and a man who chooses to remain unmarried ( and is a popular ladies' man) are chilling out on the deck, drinking margheritas...
MM : You know what, I have a confession to make.
Un-MM : Uh?
MM : Sometimes I wonder about the 'Road not taken'
Un-MM : Which road would that be?
MM: Your road!
Un-MM : Oh! Yeah it's a good road.
MM: So, it's not a case of - the grass is green on the other side ?
Un-MM : No, no no! The grass is pretty fricking green on this side!
MM : Damn!
Sleepless in San Jose ( and everywhere)
My friends and I sometimes discuss how hard it is for vegetarians to lose weight when compared to meat eaters. Omnivores, if they are careful how their meat is cooked and what kind of animal food they choose over others, have it working for them. For vegetarians like me, when you're working out and trying to watch what you eat, you're getting burnt from both sides. Without some chicken to add bulk to your salad, without fish and egg, we certainly don't have it easy contending with lentils, beans grains and dairy along with our dear pals from the plant kingdom - vegetables and fruits.
I discovered the problem of vegetarians extends beyond the human race. Today,while watching TV, I learnt that meat eating animals like cats and lions sleep many hours of the day compared to plant eaters like giraffes, zebras and deers who have to graze and eat for many more hours of a day to satisfy their nutritional requirements. And even the few hours that they do sleep, they have to be vigilant of predators. This sleep pattern was true even for plant-eating dinosaurs versus carnivores like T-Rexs.
Especially if you are a vegetarian, working mother of a toddler, you can kiss sleep goodbye! She sleeps less and I am sleepless. No matter what, I am not going to cross that line , I was always a vegetarian and will forever be - with all its little supposed flaws!
I discovered the problem of vegetarians extends beyond the human race. Today,while watching TV, I learnt that meat eating animals like cats and lions sleep many hours of the day compared to plant eaters like giraffes, zebras and deers who have to graze and eat for many more hours of a day to satisfy their nutritional requirements. And even the few hours that they do sleep, they have to be vigilant of predators. This sleep pattern was true even for plant-eating dinosaurs versus carnivores like T-Rexs.
Especially if you are a vegetarian, working mother of a toddler, you can kiss sleep goodbye! She sleeps less and I am sleepless. No matter what, I am not going to cross that line , I was always a vegetarian and will forever be - with all its little supposed flaws!
La-loo episode
This evening when I went to pick up DD at day care, as usual I took her to the restroom. She is fiercely independent and insists on not getting any help from me. I comply. As she was washing her hands at the sink outside the bathroom, another mom asked me how old she was. Many times I get that from other moms who are pleasantly surprised to learn my 2 1/2 yr old is potty trained and goes about her activity in restroom all by herself, including washing her hands with soap and drying them with a paper towel and disposing it off properly. I smiled in the 'proud mama' moment. Before the curve of my smile could straighten up DD started pulling out more sheets of the paper towel. I gently chided her, reminding her to not waste paper, when she goes "One for me, one for appa and one for amma". I winced in pain, while the other moms giggled. With kids the grin-to-grimace transition happens instantaneously. I pleaded and coaxed in vain for her to let go of the paper. She gripped them close to her torso and walked away with conviction. I followed shaking my head at the 'helpless mama' moment.
Powercuts that helped connect
Recently saw a wall post on my kiddo cousin's FB profile that read 'Pissed off by powercuts..'
It can be very frustrating for people especially in the hot summer without their fans and air coolers/conditioners. Music/TV/studying , a slew of activities get disrupted, true! But somehow thinking back about powercuts brought back a lot of fond memories of my growing up years. Whenever we lost power, as much as it rankled us, it provided relief moments when we sisters and cousins chatted, mostly played antakshari. We shared funny anecdotes about happennings in school or college and sometimes my mother, or aunt also joined in the fun. We imitated our teachers and their accents and would be laughing hysterically. Gathering in one room in that candlelight , laughing and just being silly - I am overwhelmed by nostalgia. In this age of ipods, laptops, cellphones and blackberries - Gosh! There was a time when apple, blackberry were simple fruits, palm was a tree (or the inside of one's hand)
24 hour TV, youtube, facebook, twitter we're so well connected to far off people and events, but so detatched from those who are around us.
When I was in college I always commuted by public bus. I used to strike up a conversation with anyone sitting beside me, and such interactions have led to a couple of wonderful friendships. Today it's hard to see any young boy or girl not immersed in their cell phones- talking, messaging or lost in their musical world with a pair of white wires attached to earplugs, travelling down their ears and disappearing into a pocket or bag. The ability to work round the clock and remotely from outside office is the worst bane to hit our generation. The good old days when a siren signalled the start of the day at 7:30 or 8 am and another one at 5:30 when everbody had to wind down and leave, makes so much sense to me now. Weekdays, weekends, holidays; night and day - is all one big blur.
My most recent experience with power outage was when I was in Toronto, the east coast lost power for a day and a half. With traffic lights gone, public transport halted, we could not step out. Stores were closed, our electric stove was useless. Our kind landlady who lived in the basement urged us to bring our pressure cooker down to cook some rice on her gas stove. My colleagues and I had a nice candle light dinner - a simple menu of rice, some curry and spicy powders tasted so good with happy, unhurried and uninterrupted conversations.
A friend suggested to go on a 'digital diet' where you discipline yourself to stay away from the electronic monsters all around you. If only I could do it ! I'd welcome a power cut every now and then to break this maddenning pace of life, to close out all the distractions and have some good time with friends and family.
It can be very frustrating for people especially in the hot summer without their fans and air coolers/conditioners. Music/TV/studying , a slew of activities get disrupted, true! But somehow thinking back about powercuts brought back a lot of fond memories of my growing up years. Whenever we lost power, as much as it rankled us, it provided relief moments when we sisters and cousins chatted, mostly played antakshari. We shared funny anecdotes about happennings in school or college and sometimes my mother, or aunt also joined in the fun. We imitated our teachers and their accents and would be laughing hysterically. Gathering in one room in that candlelight , laughing and just being silly - I am overwhelmed by nostalgia. In this age of ipods, laptops, cellphones and blackberries - Gosh! There was a time when apple, blackberry were simple fruits, palm was a tree (or the inside of one's hand)
24 hour TV, youtube, facebook, twitter we're so well connected to far off people and events, but so detatched from those who are around us.
When I was in college I always commuted by public bus. I used to strike up a conversation with anyone sitting beside me, and such interactions have led to a couple of wonderful friendships. Today it's hard to see any young boy or girl not immersed in their cell phones- talking, messaging or lost in their musical world with a pair of white wires attached to earplugs, travelling down their ears and disappearing into a pocket or bag. The ability to work round the clock and remotely from outside office is the worst bane to hit our generation. The good old days when a siren signalled the start of the day at 7:30 or 8 am and another one at 5:30 when everbody had to wind down and leave, makes so much sense to me now. Weekdays, weekends, holidays; night and day - is all one big blur.
My most recent experience with power outage was when I was in Toronto, the east coast lost power for a day and a half. With traffic lights gone, public transport halted, we could not step out. Stores were closed, our electric stove was useless. Our kind landlady who lived in the basement urged us to bring our pressure cooker down to cook some rice on her gas stove. My colleagues and I had a nice candle light dinner - a simple menu of rice, some curry and spicy powders tasted so good with happy, unhurried and uninterrupted conversations.
A friend suggested to go on a 'digital diet' where you discipline yourself to stay away from the electronic monsters all around you. If only I could do it ! I'd welcome a power cut every now and then to break this maddenning pace of life, to close out all the distractions and have some good time with friends and family.
Happy Birthday amma!
Amma. Loving, supportive and totally huggable! A powerhouse of inner strength, a die-hard optimist, an epitome of 'Laugh and be happy, no matter what the situation'. As I age, I realize more and more how strong a woman my mother is and when I compare my college education , my work experience to her worldly wise ways, I am nowhere close to her. Being the home maker that she always has been she has at various times added quite a varied and colorful experience to her kitty. She has sewn blouses for some people in our neighborhood, she used to sell bedspreads and bedsheets out of our house. She single handedly oversaw the construction of our house along with managing all household chores and 3 children. My father's entire universe was his work. My mother paid bills, made all home related purchases, took care of our needs. I remember vividly, we used to live in this complex with 8 houses. There was an electric motor to pump water from a well to 2 overhead tanks from where all houses received their tap water. Most of the time that motor would not function properly. My mother would use a wrench and pry a tube open. Then feed water into it to fill the air gap and then screw the cap back on. Every single time the motor would stop working , which was very frequently, it was only my mother who took it upon herself to fix this. When even that didn't help, we'd go back to drawing water from the well with rough, braided thick ropes. I've drawn water from the well and seen my mom do it until I was 15 or 16. For a really long long time until I started my undergrad, my mother washed all our clothes on an old fashioned stone slab.
She worked briefly sewing and doing quality control at a Garments exports factory that her friend had newly started. Every stint she had to go out of the house to work, she beamed with happiness. She worked extra hard to cook, clean and run errands during these spells. Nobody forced her to work outside the house. In fact we all loathed it. I've been spoilt by a stay-at-home mom, in that, the one or two odd days that she ever had something important to do and I had to get our house keys from a neighbor's house after school, I was angry, teary eyed and very resentful. Nothing screamed 'NORMAL' more than my mother opening the door when I got back from school.
When we moved into our own house, there was a B.Ed college on the same street and an associated hostel. My mother ran a small stationary business out of her house. That didn't go too well. But she built a huge network of friends with the students and teachers. One time when they were looking for an office admin, her short-hand and typing skills came in handy and she worked there for almost a year. We frowned and she gushed with glee. Now I can understand how important it was for her to get out at least for a few hours and discover herself beyond her domestic duties.
During all times in my life that I've felt low or under-confident she always lifted my spirits, she has a great outlook on life. No matter what stress or difficulty she's in, she chooses to be grateful and look at the less fortunate. She's very fun-loving and is a friend of my friends, my sisters' friends, and my daughter's friends. She is way more open-minded, understanding and accomodating than I am at my age. She learnt to use the computer to email and chat, effortlessly. Whereas my electrical engineer dad is still reluctant to make the computer his friend. Adaptable, resourceful and easy going - you could put her anywhere on this planet and she'll be fine.
She travelled alone from Bangalore to san Francisco and then from here to Toronto with a stop over in Vegas. In Toronto she spent 20 days with me sans TV/ cell phone/computer. I worked without taking a day off and she happily lived her days reading a few books and taking long walks. Evenings and weekends I'd take her out. We watched 'Bend it like Beckham' and she loved it. We visited downtown Toronto and Niagara over the weekend , what a beautiful mommy-and-me time it was!
If an optimist says, the glass is half-full, my mother would pour the water into a smaller glass and call it 'completely full'. Her cup always runneth over! Whether you take her on a hike or to some friend's house, whether it's to the temple , for bowling or to try a different cuisine - the enthusiasm is the same. And if you cancel after discussing all of this as you have to work late, no problem. She'd await me at home with food, a smile and something to laugh about.
Never complaining, always happy, kind and considerate even to strangers; Quick to forget, quicker to forgive - I don't know how she does it!
Amma, there's none like you or will ever be! Happy Birthday!
She worked briefly sewing and doing quality control at a Garments exports factory that her friend had newly started. Every stint she had to go out of the house to work, she beamed with happiness. She worked extra hard to cook, clean and run errands during these spells. Nobody forced her to work outside the house. In fact we all loathed it. I've been spoilt by a stay-at-home mom, in that, the one or two odd days that she ever had something important to do and I had to get our house keys from a neighbor's house after school, I was angry, teary eyed and very resentful. Nothing screamed 'NORMAL' more than my mother opening the door when I got back from school.
When we moved into our own house, there was a B.Ed college on the same street and an associated hostel. My mother ran a small stationary business out of her house. That didn't go too well. But she built a huge network of friends with the students and teachers. One time when they were looking for an office admin, her short-hand and typing skills came in handy and she worked there for almost a year. We frowned and she gushed with glee. Now I can understand how important it was for her to get out at least for a few hours and discover herself beyond her domestic duties.
During all times in my life that I've felt low or under-confident she always lifted my spirits, she has a great outlook on life. No matter what stress or difficulty she's in, she chooses to be grateful and look at the less fortunate. She's very fun-loving and is a friend of my friends, my sisters' friends, and my daughter's friends. She is way more open-minded, understanding and accomodating than I am at my age. She learnt to use the computer to email and chat, effortlessly. Whereas my electrical engineer dad is still reluctant to make the computer his friend. Adaptable, resourceful and easy going - you could put her anywhere on this planet and she'll be fine.
She travelled alone from Bangalore to san Francisco and then from here to Toronto with a stop over in Vegas. In Toronto she spent 20 days with me sans TV/ cell phone/computer. I worked without taking a day off and she happily lived her days reading a few books and taking long walks. Evenings and weekends I'd take her out. We watched 'Bend it like Beckham' and she loved it. We visited downtown Toronto and Niagara over the weekend , what a beautiful mommy-and-me time it was!
If an optimist says, the glass is half-full, my mother would pour the water into a smaller glass and call it 'completely full'. Her cup always runneth over! Whether you take her on a hike or to some friend's house, whether it's to the temple , for bowling or to try a different cuisine - the enthusiasm is the same. And if you cancel after discussing all of this as you have to work late, no problem. She'd await me at home with food, a smile and something to laugh about.
Never complaining, always happy, kind and considerate even to strangers; Quick to forget, quicker to forgive - I don't know how she does it!
Amma, there's none like you or will ever be! Happy Birthday!
Nothing in particular-isms
Q : What turns perfectly normal, peaceful, fun-loving individuals into angry, depressed and sometimes violent entities?
A : Marriage
The single-most effective service social workers can do is to prevent some marriages from happenning!!!!
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My mother always says , a married couple needs a child to fill the emotional void that sets in, in a few years of being married. She believes all the differences and small arguments will be drowned with love and affection as the child will form a "bridge" between the husband and wife! I do whole heartedly agree with her now.
She couldn't be more right and more wrong! Bridge no doubt! When previously we would have been unable to get to each other , at times, we now spar frequently on the no-toll bridge!!!!
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I told my husband he should make a concious effort at being nice to me.
He replied with a grin that he'd take a "stab" at it!
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This one's from a reality TV show I was watching a few days back :
A thirty something woman is dealing with a relationship conundrum involving a chilhood friend turned love interest and an ex , she's discussing things with her 90 plus grandmom. She asks , " Gran, you were married to grandpa for 64 yrs, did you ever consider divorce?" Granny, sweet and wrinkled like a perfect raisin replies" Divorce - never! Murder - everyday!"
A : Marriage
The single-most effective service social workers can do is to prevent some marriages from happenning!!!!
**************************************************************************************
My mother always says , a married couple needs a child to fill the emotional void that sets in, in a few years of being married. She believes all the differences and small arguments will be drowned with love and affection as the child will form a "bridge" between the husband and wife! I do whole heartedly agree with her now.
She couldn't be more right and more wrong! Bridge no doubt! When previously we would have been unable to get to each other , at times, we now spar frequently on the no-toll bridge!!!!
***********************************************************************************
I told my husband he should make a concious effort at being nice to me.
He replied with a grin that he'd take a "stab" at it!
***********************************************************************************
This one's from a reality TV show I was watching a few days back :
A thirty something woman is dealing with a relationship conundrum involving a chilhood friend turned love interest and an ex , she's discussing things with her 90 plus grandmom. She asks , " Gran, you were married to grandpa for 64 yrs, did you ever consider divorce?" Granny, sweet and wrinkled like a perfect raisin replies" Divorce - never! Murder - everyday!"
Que Sera Sera
I have no fixed idea or plan for what my daughter should be when she grows up. My parents gave me the freedom to choose my path and never forced any of their children into or away from any field. My daughter certainly will have more choices and more challenges (ouch!)than I did , when she grows up. I hope she has the maturity and awareness to recognize her calling and go for it. The reason I am talking about career choices for my toddler is : she found a long piece of white foamboard left over from a home decoration project. It's a 5ft by 1/2ft long rectangular piece. She was holding it in her hands and shaking it around ( it's very light). After a couple of times, she started swinging it and shaking it jumping up and down. She called out to me to see what she was doing. I instantly knew she was trying to mimic the people who stand at busy intersections on weekends and shake signs advertising a new restaurant or housing community. She's seen many a sight like such with amusement, wearing a huge grin on her face. This childhood excitement is okay, but I could hardly picture my child waving and shaking advertisement signs on street corners!!! I quickly shook her out of it with the generous offer of a candy and watching 'Curious George' on TV without asking for it. I don't know if I am simply attaching too much meaning to a simple act. That foamboard is going to disappear until I can figure out a good way to use it.
Daycare drama winds down
After many days of tormenting struggle, today my daughter went into school with a half hearted smile, without tears and actually gave me a hug , a kiss and waved bye to me! Considering what we went through the last three weeks, it feels like warm minestrone or lentil soup ( on a chilly day) for my soul - sorry, being a vegetarian, the expression 'chicken soup for the soul' makes me ill at ease; Its supposed connotations of comfort are lost on me!
I kept repeating to her how exciting her days are at school, the plethora of fun things she gets to do, how nice and caring her teachers are and so on. Eevn though those words never elicited an understanding nod or a 'Okay, ma', their cumulative effect combined with a sense of resignation must have attained fruition! This morning again during our drive I was rehashing the same tunes, when suddenly DD said " Amma, I got a boo-boo on my finger". I seized my chance and told her, her teacher could give her a bandaid, that she should ask for it with a "please". She cottoned to the concept of getting bandaids as I expected and that lubricated the whole effort nicely. I almost could'nt see the light at the end of this tunnel, I was thinking of looking at other care options since the settling down issue had blown out of proportion. It tugs at my heart to say bye to her when she smiles and walks into her classroom happily. To see her cry and struggle in protest is painful beyond words. I have jet lag from all the guilt trip I've been made to take.
So glad the curtains have started to draw down on this drama!
I kept repeating to her how exciting her days are at school, the plethora of fun things she gets to do, how nice and caring her teachers are and so on. Eevn though those words never elicited an understanding nod or a 'Okay, ma', their cumulative effect combined with a sense of resignation must have attained fruition! This morning again during our drive I was rehashing the same tunes, when suddenly DD said " Amma, I got a boo-boo on my finger". I seized my chance and told her, her teacher could give her a bandaid, that she should ask for it with a "please". She cottoned to the concept of getting bandaids as I expected and that lubricated the whole effort nicely. I almost could'nt see the light at the end of this tunnel, I was thinking of looking at other care options since the settling down issue had blown out of proportion. It tugs at my heart to say bye to her when she smiles and walks into her classroom happily. To see her cry and struggle in protest is painful beyond words. I have jet lag from all the guilt trip I've been made to take.
So glad the curtains have started to draw down on this drama!
New daycare drama!
Parenting, so far, for me has been a stimulating, rewarding, enriching, sleep depriving, exhillarating, under-the-table-crawling .... cornucopia of experiences. Must remind myself my daughter is just two and a half and there are more peaks to scale in this journey! One unique thing about motherhood - you have never before with anyone in your life resonated so much in their joy and pain. When your child is excited upon seeing a new toy, your heart soars. When he/she cries in pain, every cell in your heart aches. Now I can understand the expression - it's like having a piece of your heart walk outside your body!
DD has started at a new day care this week. Each day her settling down gets worse and worse. From crying for five minutes, she's progressed to one hour. She's not eating. Even her sippy cup comes back with milk( on which she practically lives)! Her dad dopped her at day care once and swore he'll never go through it again since it breaks his heart to leave his weeping, screaming daughter at day care and walk away mercilessly. Never mind the fact that I have to do it everyday!
I have been preparing her for this transition talking to her about the new place at every chance I get with her , every time she'd care to hear me. Initially she was excited , probably the gravity of spending an entire 8-9 hour day in a new place amidst new faces had not sunk in as yet!
I asked her softly last evening what she doesn't like about the new place, she says ' they have yucky carpet!'. My eyebrows go up a half inch looking at the mess she's made of the carpet at home!
Yesterday her teacher told me , when she was talking to someone on the phone, DD walks up to her and asks " Are you calling my dad to come pick me up? ". I am speechless!
Change is hard. Especially for me! As much as monotony and boredom set in easily, I am 'snug as a bug in a rug' most of the time. I resist any change. I can understand my daughter's situation. It does take a good deal of time to start feeling comfortable with your new environment.
The thing that really wrings my heart is, with lies and deception I manage to buckle her up in her car seat and drive her to her school. Once there, as she's fighting and struggling when the teacher literally tears her away from me, her flushed face and teary eyes shoot an expression of 'You too, Brutus?"! That realization that the one person closest to you, who you think understands you well is also hand-in-glove in this conspiracy - is evident on her face. I walk away partly because that's what I have to do, not linger and make it any more difficult for the teachers, mostly because I cannot stomach the emotion she hits me with! I drown in guilt as the tide of anger and helpless frustration ebbs and flows until I get to work and drown myself further in yet another set of challenges and issues. Motherhood smolders inside quitely singeing away at weak , lame attempts to justify it all saying it's what is practical! And that you can do nothing about it. I know in two weeks she'll be all settled in , adjusted and will start enjoying her new place and friends. But right now, she's in pain and I am in bigger pain.
DD has started at a new day care this week. Each day her settling down gets worse and worse. From crying for five minutes, she's progressed to one hour. She's not eating. Even her sippy cup comes back with milk( on which she practically lives)! Her dad dopped her at day care once and swore he'll never go through it again since it breaks his heart to leave his weeping, screaming daughter at day care and walk away mercilessly. Never mind the fact that I have to do it everyday!
I have been preparing her for this transition talking to her about the new place at every chance I get with her , every time she'd care to hear me. Initially she was excited , probably the gravity of spending an entire 8-9 hour day in a new place amidst new faces had not sunk in as yet!
I asked her softly last evening what she doesn't like about the new place, she says ' they have yucky carpet!'. My eyebrows go up a half inch looking at the mess she's made of the carpet at home!
Yesterday her teacher told me , when she was talking to someone on the phone, DD walks up to her and asks " Are you calling my dad to come pick me up? ". I am speechless!
Change is hard. Especially for me! As much as monotony and boredom set in easily, I am 'snug as a bug in a rug' most of the time. I resist any change. I can understand my daughter's situation. It does take a good deal of time to start feeling comfortable with your new environment.
The thing that really wrings my heart is, with lies and deception I manage to buckle her up in her car seat and drive her to her school. Once there, as she's fighting and struggling when the teacher literally tears her away from me, her flushed face and teary eyes shoot an expression of 'You too, Brutus?"! That realization that the one person closest to you, who you think understands you well is also hand-in-glove in this conspiracy - is evident on her face. I walk away partly because that's what I have to do, not linger and make it any more difficult for the teachers, mostly because I cannot stomach the emotion she hits me with! I drown in guilt as the tide of anger and helpless frustration ebbs and flows until I get to work and drown myself further in yet another set of challenges and issues. Motherhood smolders inside quitely singeing away at weak , lame attempts to justify it all saying it's what is practical! And that you can do nothing about it. I know in two weeks she'll be all settled in , adjusted and will start enjoying her new place and friends. But right now, she's in pain and I am in bigger pain.
I got a ticket!
Before I landed in the U.S., anytime someone announced, "I got a ticket", it was usually in a jubilant tone and meant a ticket to a highly sought after movie, concert or some such event. If the tone was flat, it'd mean - it was a bus/train ticket and was usually an FYI kind of deal.
The day I came home and announced to DH that I got a ticket, my mood was sombre - I was holding the citation I'd received a couple of hours before , in my hand.
I received a speeding ticket and had to take a traffic school ( concentration camp) course and finally a test. I was doing 40, supposedly, in a 25 mi/hr zone. I can vividly recall that day as I was listening intently to Jhumpa Lahiri speak with Terri Gross about her novel, The Namesake, which I had read and was enjoying listening to her interview. It wasn't like I was listening to some fast music. There were 4 or 5 cars ahead of me on this single lane painful street with 3 stop signs and it would have been impossible to go at 40. This cop who was camouflaging among the bushes came out of the hiding and was behind me. He was on a bike and put on his right turn indicator, meaning for me to pull over. I thought he wanted to make a right turn and kept driving at 20 like one of those annoying grannies. IMO, he got irked that I didn't pull over until I heard a siren and that caused him to write me that ticket. I tried explaining , very gently that I've always been a very careful and concious driver and have never violated any traffic/safety rules. He could have just given me a warning and let me off. Bike riding cops rarely let you go, the car driving ones are more mellow.
Neways, I had to pay a fine of $280 ( being made to stand for an hour and a half in the line at traffic court - chatted up with a gum chewing , braid sporting 21 yr old guy and a 40 something excessively made up woman). And then had to take the traffic school which is an online course of at least 6-8 hrs, it's the most excruciating thing on earth. The lessons are in the form of slides and every slide stays put on the screen for atleast 3-4 mins and there's no way to click the right arrow mark to proceed. The same rules are drummed and drilled into you in so many ways. One idea is presented as an entire paragraph with convoluted, repitious sentences - torture with tautology! It reminded me of a classmate in undergrad who'd copy from my test paper. If I wrote ' take a 5k resistor', he'd copy it as ' a 5K resistor is taken' - basically converting active to passive voice and vice versa, so it wouldn't be obvious he copied.
After every 3 or 4 slides there's a quiz, without correctly answering which , you cannot go ahead. If you answer 50% of them wrong, you've to repeat the lesson. Each lesson is about 35 slides long. I was dizzy, nauseous and cursed that cop for putting me through this torment. The course assumes you're a victim of amnesia and starts at a level below when you took the test for obtaining learner's permit- before you ever got behind the darn wheel! It's not like I had forgotten every basic road sense by violating that speed limit. The only thing that'd be worse than traffic school is if they start punishing people physically, like whipping them for such traffic violations. Why can't they come up with something far more meaningful like send violators to exercise boot camps - running, strength training, abs and push-ups, weights between 6 am and 7 am for a month. Or mandatory personal training sessions - so they get the satisfaction of having punished us and we also benefit from the hard labor and hours put in? Gosh, I spent 2 full days of the weekend grudgingly going through the whole course material ( with DH smiling like Satan from time to time) only at the end of which, I could register for the test I had to appear for at a designated testing centre. I had to answer 50 heckling questions , of the same painful nature as those in the lessons, got 47 of them right and passed the test.
Have you ever received a traffic ticket? Do share your experinces.
The day I came home and announced to DH that I got a ticket, my mood was sombre - I was holding the citation I'd received a couple of hours before , in my hand.
I received a speeding ticket and had to take a traffic school ( concentration camp) course and finally a test. I was doing 40, supposedly, in a 25 mi/hr zone. I can vividly recall that day as I was listening intently to Jhumpa Lahiri speak with Terri Gross about her novel, The Namesake, which I had read and was enjoying listening to her interview. It wasn't like I was listening to some fast music. There were 4 or 5 cars ahead of me on this single lane painful street with 3 stop signs and it would have been impossible to go at 40. This cop who was camouflaging among the bushes came out of the hiding and was behind me. He was on a bike and put on his right turn indicator, meaning for me to pull over. I thought he wanted to make a right turn and kept driving at 20 like one of those annoying grannies. IMO, he got irked that I didn't pull over until I heard a siren and that caused him to write me that ticket. I tried explaining , very gently that I've always been a very careful and concious driver and have never violated any traffic/safety rules. He could have just given me a warning and let me off. Bike riding cops rarely let you go, the car driving ones are more mellow.
Neways, I had to pay a fine of $280 ( being made to stand for an hour and a half in the line at traffic court - chatted up with a gum chewing , braid sporting 21 yr old guy and a 40 something excessively made up woman). And then had to take the traffic school which is an online course of at least 6-8 hrs, it's the most excruciating thing on earth. The lessons are in the form of slides and every slide stays put on the screen for atleast 3-4 mins and there's no way to click the right arrow mark to proceed. The same rules are drummed and drilled into you in so many ways. One idea is presented as an entire paragraph with convoluted, repitious sentences - torture with tautology! It reminded me of a classmate in undergrad who'd copy from my test paper. If I wrote ' take a 5k resistor', he'd copy it as ' a 5K resistor is taken' - basically converting active to passive voice and vice versa, so it wouldn't be obvious he copied.
After every 3 or 4 slides there's a quiz, without correctly answering which , you cannot go ahead. If you answer 50% of them wrong, you've to repeat the lesson. Each lesson is about 35 slides long. I was dizzy, nauseous and cursed that cop for putting me through this torment. The course assumes you're a victim of amnesia and starts at a level below when you took the test for obtaining learner's permit- before you ever got behind the darn wheel! It's not like I had forgotten every basic road sense by violating that speed limit. The only thing that'd be worse than traffic school is if they start punishing people physically, like whipping them for such traffic violations. Why can't they come up with something far more meaningful like send violators to exercise boot camps - running, strength training, abs and push-ups, weights between 6 am and 7 am for a month. Or mandatory personal training sessions - so they get the satisfaction of having punished us and we also benefit from the hard labor and hours put in? Gosh, I spent 2 full days of the weekend grudgingly going through the whole course material ( with DH smiling like Satan from time to time) only at the end of which, I could register for the test I had to appear for at a designated testing centre. I had to answer 50 heckling questions , of the same painful nature as those in the lessons, got 47 of them right and passed the test.
Have you ever received a traffic ticket? Do share your experinces.
'me' time : Be careful what you wish for!
Went to kickboxing class yesterday after a break of about 3 1/2 months. And got some much deserved pelting. It feels like I have been hit by a train. I am supposed to have been kicking and boxing for a whole hour. But at the end I looked like I'd been at the receiving end of some kicking and boxing by some guy who has anger management issues, got nagged in the morning by his wife, missed lunch and had a couple of people cut him off in traffic later the same day.
This reminded me of a Jillian Michaels exercise dvd that I once worked out with - 30 day Shred! After reading a couple of reviews I ordered this dvd. The evening I came back home and saw it had been delivered, I popped it in and watched it while sipping coffee sitting on my couch. A few jumping jacks, some crunches, push ups, squats - all elementary school stuff, I remember thinking to myself. In fact I even doubted my decision to buy it.
Next morning I got ready at 7 am to work out along with the dvd. Boy!!!!! Jillian is the most evil, sadistic purveyor of pain there has ever been! The individual steps are carried out in fast succession. There is not a half a minute's rest between the different sets of exercises. Jillian actually says at a couple of instances -' I dare you to pick up that remote and press 'pause', keep going !'. The first time I saw her say that, I was taken aback in that shaky, sweaty state of mine. It was almost like she could see me reaching for my remote and was saying that in real time. Spooky! The squats are all done with dumb bells. These innocuous looking 5 lb weights can make you tear up when you are doing chest flies and such. The abs, jumping jacks and squats - the circuit repeats itself at a dizzying pace. I was shredded in 30 mins not 30 days. I completed the 30 minute workout. But for 4 days after that, I was walking like I had fallen down in a stampede and ten people had run helter-skelter all over me! I couldn't climb stairs up or down ( both ways were painful!), I had difficulty sitting down and getting up, I struggled to lie down on the bed. And to see me get up from a lying position - turning and grovelling on hands and knees, even the most hard hearted person would have looked for a kleenex. Muscles that I didn't know existed were twisted out of shape. They were happy that they had been acknowledged finally, and I was writhing in pain. I spent those 4 days debating whether this one was a keeper because of the death blow it dealt me, meaning it'd definitely prove effective for weight loss or if and how I should go about trying to sue Ms.Michaels. I repeated the workout after a couple of months and paused the dvd in places where I had to. I wasn't left as sundered this time. I haven't paid Jillian and her workout-mates a third visit yet.
These and other thoughts were interrupted by the screeching sound of the garage door opening and I was glad to be home, back with my family. So much for 'me' time. It's just 'me getting whipped' time!
This reminded me of a Jillian Michaels exercise dvd that I once worked out with - 30 day Shred! After reading a couple of reviews I ordered this dvd. The evening I came back home and saw it had been delivered, I popped it in and watched it while sipping coffee sitting on my couch. A few jumping jacks, some crunches, push ups, squats - all elementary school stuff, I remember thinking to myself. In fact I even doubted my decision to buy it.
Next morning I got ready at 7 am to work out along with the dvd. Boy!!!!! Jillian is the most evil, sadistic purveyor of pain there has ever been! The individual steps are carried out in fast succession. There is not a half a minute's rest between the different sets of exercises. Jillian actually says at a couple of instances -' I dare you to pick up that remote and press 'pause', keep going !'. The first time I saw her say that, I was taken aback in that shaky, sweaty state of mine. It was almost like she could see me reaching for my remote and was saying that in real time. Spooky! The squats are all done with dumb bells. These innocuous looking 5 lb weights can make you tear up when you are doing chest flies and such. The abs, jumping jacks and squats - the circuit repeats itself at a dizzying pace. I was shredded in 30 mins not 30 days. I completed the 30 minute workout. But for 4 days after that, I was walking like I had fallen down in a stampede and ten people had run helter-skelter all over me! I couldn't climb stairs up or down ( both ways were painful!), I had difficulty sitting down and getting up, I struggled to lie down on the bed. And to see me get up from a lying position - turning and grovelling on hands and knees, even the most hard hearted person would have looked for a kleenex. Muscles that I didn't know existed were twisted out of shape. They were happy that they had been acknowledged finally, and I was writhing in pain. I spent those 4 days debating whether this one was a keeper because of the death blow it dealt me, meaning it'd definitely prove effective for weight loss or if and how I should go about trying to sue Ms.Michaels. I repeated the workout after a couple of months and paused the dvd in places where I had to. I wasn't left as sundered this time. I haven't paid Jillian and her workout-mates a third visit yet.
These and other thoughts were interrupted by the screeching sound of the garage door opening and I was glad to be home, back with my family. So much for 'me' time. It's just 'me getting whipped' time!
Nothing in particular-isms
* California! - We're so fabulous that our neighboring state is called NV!
* I exercise some caution while driving, exercise some patience when dealing with my daughter ( can hear the lie detector beeping!) and I realize, this is about the only exercise I am getting these days!
he he! This just came to me while brushing my teeth this morning, wanted to write it down somewhere before it gets purged out with the timed auto erase that keeps happenning in my head!
Adding on :
* Arguing with your spouse is like running on a treadmill - Time has passed, energy has been expended , but you are where you started, without making any progress! And you are tired!
* Being away from home makes one home-sick! But being out on the sea makes one sea-sick ?
* When you're talking out loud to yourself ( or no one in particular) , you're crazy. When you do the same thing in cyber space, you're blogging!
Disclaimer : These are original flashes from my cerebrum :-), any resemblance to to any quotes from anywhere is purely co-incidental.
* I exercise some caution while driving, exercise some patience when dealing with my daughter ( can hear the lie detector beeping!) and I realize, this is about the only exercise I am getting these days!
he he! This just came to me while brushing my teeth this morning, wanted to write it down somewhere before it gets purged out with the timed auto erase that keeps happenning in my head!
Adding on :
* Arguing with your spouse is like running on a treadmill - Time has passed, energy has been expended , but you are where you started, without making any progress! And you are tired!
* Being away from home makes one home-sick! But being out on the sea makes one sea-sick ?
* When you're talking out loud to yourself ( or no one in particular) , you're crazy. When you do the same thing in cyber space, you're blogging!
Disclaimer : These are original flashes from my cerebrum :-), any resemblance to to any quotes from anywhere is purely co-incidental.
Somebody, stop me!
A rolling stone gathers no moss.
But the mind is like a rolling stone with magnet on one side and fevicol on the other, picking up everything in its way. As if the wandering mind and its stiff resistance to stay focussed weren't enough, we now have the internet - a galaxy of information explosion through which the mind rolls on uncontrollably.
I spend a lot of time on the internet, I seriously need to wean myself off that and exercise some discipline. I have become this person who - if I need to clean out my closet and have forty five minutes to do so, will first starty by googling 'How to organize your closet' - from there jump to
House plants - A simple, satisfying way to decorate your living space - to
How to grow Orchids - to
Dealing with your toddler's tantrums - to ..... and an hour and twenty minutes have passed and I have not lifted a finger except to click my mouse button!
My God!
If I make myself stop reading about movies and filmstars , then I find I am suddenly addicted to something else. The topic of interest varies - it's recipes or yoga or child rearing and so on.
I keep trying to straighten this , but like a grandparent that spoils a child, undermining the parent's efforts at disciplining, the internet thwarts my every resolve. It's a web no doubt, I am snarled and it's world wide, where can I escape to? As Jim Carrey says in Mask - Somebody, stop me!
But the mind is like a rolling stone with magnet on one side and fevicol on the other, picking up everything in its way. As if the wandering mind and its stiff resistance to stay focussed weren't enough, we now have the internet - a galaxy of information explosion through which the mind rolls on uncontrollably.
I spend a lot of time on the internet, I seriously need to wean myself off that and exercise some discipline. I have become this person who - if I need to clean out my closet and have forty five minutes to do so, will first starty by googling 'How to organize your closet' - from there jump to
House plants - A simple, satisfying way to decorate your living space - to
How to grow Orchids - to
Dealing with your toddler's tantrums - to ..... and an hour and twenty minutes have passed and I have not lifted a finger except to click my mouse button!
My God!
If I make myself stop reading about movies and filmstars , then I find I am suddenly addicted to something else. The topic of interest varies - it's recipes or yoga or child rearing and so on.
I keep trying to straighten this , but like a grandparent that spoils a child, undermining the parent's efforts at disciplining, the internet thwarts my every resolve. It's a web no doubt, I am snarled and it's world wide, where can I escape to? As Jim Carrey says in Mask - Somebody, stop me!
IMO
Five words I don't like :
Let's get back to work
Four words I don't like :
The weekend is over
Three words I don't like:
But you promised...
Two words I don't like
1) It's closed ( as in a restaurant or store)
2) House full ( or 'full house' to be correct)
One word I don't like
mortgage
p.s : As you expect ( more like dread !) a post of words I like will follow.
Let's get back to work
Four words I don't like :
The weekend is over
Three words I don't like:
But you promised...
Two words I don't like
1) It's closed ( as in a restaurant or store)
2) House full ( or 'full house' to be correct)
One word I don't like
mortgage
p.s : As you expect ( more like dread !) a post of words I like will follow.
Change the music!
This ever happen to you?
You listen to 'vande mataram' and suddenly feel a surge of patriotsim - for the duration of the song or until a few minutes later ? You listen to a peppy number and feel like tapping your feet and going 'shake shake' ? Of course you have! The music and lyrics of a song have a strong influence on the way we feel - be it for a few minutes alone - to snap us out of certain moods and drive us into some states of mind! We have lullabies to make little ones fall asleep, hymns and devotional songs played in places of worship, fast music with beats for exercise classes, ghazals and lilting classical music for wedding receptions and so on... That said, I am now zooming in to Indian film music. This potent force - playing in petty tea stalls to petite I-pods - touches millions! There is a song for every mood, occasion and feeling. Songs in the rain, in the snow, about meeting and parting , on nature's beauty to a soldier's duty (sorry , rhyming is this affliction I have, when it comes to me, I just can't make it go away!).
In particular, when I listen to songs on love failure, I feel why is there always so much hurt and despair alone? This discussion is not about how to respond to love failure and cope with it ( fodder for another post sometime later). The point I am trying to make is , why is there only moping and pining ( in these songs)? The psyche of songs like
1) 'Accha sila diya tune mere pyar ka...' - fantastic song that made Sonu Nigam a household name
2) 'Tujhe yaad na meri aayi, kisi se ab kya kehna...- from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai
3) Sach mere yaar hai ..... baaki bekar hai - from Sagar
Whether you have actually experienced a heart break in life or not, through these songs you do vicariously feel the ache and hurt. All the missing and suffering when two people in love are temporarily separated is alright, but what's with all songs on unrequited love or betrayal or otherwise- having the same theme of
'My life is not worth living without you, I am a non-entity without you...' - despair, dejection and bawling!
If it's the guy, he's drowning himself in alcohol and if it's the girl, she's weeping to the point of dehydration - I have no gender bias, but the Indian filmmakers have kept it this way, so far!
Why can't we have songs like
Aretha Franklin's 'I will Survive' - She even goes on to say 'I should have changed that stupid lock, you're not welcome anymore' to the person who broke her heart and left her.
Another example Wham's
'Last Christmas I gave you my heart..... This year I'll give it to someone special'
Or another song I've heard -
' Follow me everything is alright......
If you want to leave, I can guarantee
You won't find nobody else like me'
We need to have more songs like these which talk about moving on, turning a new leaf and getting over love that's no longer alive. Though there have been movie plots that have dealt with this positivity, I can't seem to think of any song lyrics that reflect this pluck!
Even the one or two songs that come to mind like Ashiqui's
'Ab tere bin jee lenge hum...' start off defiantly but go on to describe only pain and hurt.
Songs of sadness and heartache are deeply touching and many are my favorites too. They can transport you to another time and place. I am not against this very sentiment, but can we not also have songs of hope, of treating life itself as a more precious commodity than just one person or one incident ? With some choice words and the accompaniment of some good music, these songs could actually inject some courage and spirit into many folks that are grieving and moping!
May be like : ' Tumse bichad ke zindagi se kuch paaya hai, kya kahe ek alag hi mazaa aaya hai'
or perhaps - 'Tune humara dil thoda hai, vaapas aaoge tho haddi thod denge' LOL!
or something like that! :-) What say?
You listen to 'vande mataram' and suddenly feel a surge of patriotsim - for the duration of the song or until a few minutes later ? You listen to a peppy number and feel like tapping your feet and going 'shake shake' ? Of course you have! The music and lyrics of a song have a strong influence on the way we feel - be it for a few minutes alone - to snap us out of certain moods and drive us into some states of mind! We have lullabies to make little ones fall asleep, hymns and devotional songs played in places of worship, fast music with beats for exercise classes, ghazals and lilting classical music for wedding receptions and so on... That said, I am now zooming in to Indian film music. This potent force - playing in petty tea stalls to petite I-pods - touches millions! There is a song for every mood, occasion and feeling. Songs in the rain, in the snow, about meeting and parting , on nature's beauty to a soldier's duty (sorry , rhyming is this affliction I have, when it comes to me, I just can't make it go away!).
In particular, when I listen to songs on love failure, I feel why is there always so much hurt and despair alone? This discussion is not about how to respond to love failure and cope with it ( fodder for another post sometime later). The point I am trying to make is , why is there only moping and pining ( in these songs)? The psyche of songs like
1) 'Accha sila diya tune mere pyar ka...' - fantastic song that made Sonu Nigam a household name
2) 'Tujhe yaad na meri aayi, kisi se ab kya kehna...- from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai
3) Sach mere yaar hai ..... baaki bekar hai - from Sagar
Whether you have actually experienced a heart break in life or not, through these songs you do vicariously feel the ache and hurt. All the missing and suffering when two people in love are temporarily separated is alright, but what's with all songs on unrequited love or betrayal or otherwise- having the same theme of
'My life is not worth living without you, I am a non-entity without you...' - despair, dejection and bawling!
If it's the guy, he's drowning himself in alcohol and if it's the girl, she's weeping to the point of dehydration - I have no gender bias, but the Indian filmmakers have kept it this way, so far!
Why can't we have songs like
Aretha Franklin's 'I will Survive' - She even goes on to say 'I should have changed that stupid lock, you're not welcome anymore' to the person who broke her heart and left her.
Another example Wham's
'Last Christmas I gave you my heart..... This year I'll give it to someone special'
Or another song I've heard -
' Follow me everything is alright......
If you want to leave, I can guarantee
You won't find nobody else like me'
We need to have more songs like these which talk about moving on, turning a new leaf and getting over love that's no longer alive. Though there have been movie plots that have dealt with this positivity, I can't seem to think of any song lyrics that reflect this pluck!
Even the one or two songs that come to mind like Ashiqui's
'Ab tere bin jee lenge hum...' start off defiantly but go on to describe only pain and hurt.
Songs of sadness and heartache are deeply touching and many are my favorites too. They can transport you to another time and place. I am not against this very sentiment, but can we not also have songs of hope, of treating life itself as a more precious commodity than just one person or one incident ? With some choice words and the accompaniment of some good music, these songs could actually inject some courage and spirit into many folks that are grieving and moping!
May be like : ' Tumse bichad ke zindagi se kuch paaya hai, kya kahe ek alag hi mazaa aaya hai'
or perhaps - 'Tune humara dil thoda hai, vaapas aaoge tho haddi thod denge' LOL!
or something like that! :-) What say?
The Road Not taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.... I studied Robert Frost's poem, probably also answered a couple of questions on it in my English examination , but never really took the message home!
After II P.U.C exams in april of 1994 and writing the Common entrance exams for Engineering/Medicine/Dentistry in May, I along with my brood, awaited the results and the interview - Counselling, it was called -for admission into colleges. Designing things was not my passion, equations didn't entice me! But I wanted to study to become an engineer. Because that's what most of my friends wanted to do and if you couldn't manage to get into a professional course, you were no good!
At that time, there were cases going on in court for fixing the percentage of seats that would be reserved for students from different ethnic backgrounds! For most of my friends and me, the general merit quota was the only channel and that was getting squeezed thinner by the day! Protests and rallies went on and newspapers threw up a differ number each week - days and weeks passed and the fate of thousands of us hung in this tangled balance. My rank was not particularly impressive, but I was somewhat confident of securing an admission in an engineering college. Some of my friends joined B.Sc. and I debated with myself on whether I was doing the right thing by putting all my eggs in the engineering degree basket. One morning the percentage rose to 80% - a very dear friend of mine called me - I ran to my neighbor's who lived across from us, where we received important phone calls as we didn't yet have a telephone at home back then - "Call for Sujatha" called out aunty and I sprinted across. My friend talked to me for five minutes discussing the chaotic situation and advised me to join B.Sc just in case... I thanked her and came back home. My parents' thoughts echoed my friend's words. My own fear had grown to a Godzilla size. So I went back to my college where I studied my P.U.C , 2 months after classes had commenced, to secure an admission for B.Sc. The Principal was supportive of my case, but gently chided me for running the rat race toward engineering. I wanted 'Microbiology' , she said I would have walked through if I had come during regular admission time. The class was full and she could not offer me that. She said 'Clinical nutrition and Dietitics' had some openings and I could take it if I wanted. I did.
For almost 4 weeks I worked overtime catching up on lab work, notes and completing my Practical record up to date. I still felt very sore at the thought of not being able to make it to engineering. The course was otherwise very interesting. Our nutrition lab comprised of planning diets for a sedentary youth, a pregnant lady, an athlete and so on. We had to meet the carbohydrate/protein/fat/water requirement for each meal and keep the calorie intake within a certain level. We laughed when we came up with adult meals like - 1 idli, 1 cup of sprouts , a banana for breakfast. Or 1 roti, 1 cup of rice, small cup of yogurt and a small salad for lunch. I realize now those weren't ridiculously small, but actually the right kind of portions for today's inactive lifestyles.
Before the end of a month into my new course the counselling sessions had started and my turn came - I went for it and got into an engineering programme, thereby abruptly ending the B.Sc course I had barely joined. At that time, it was peer pressure, societal pressure and my own imagined pressures that pushed me into studying engineering. Fast forward fifteen years, and I now enjoy reading and learning about olive oil, vinegar, almonds and spinach. I devour every article I chance upon on metabolism, exercise, and food. It feels like a career in nutrition and dietitics would have been so right for me!
But then from time to time I have wanted to be a doctor, a lawyer, a biologist, a dancer, an actress ( oh! that I still fantasize about), a detective, a teacher and so on..
In the past few years, my mind has been toying with a few more options!!!!
In my case :
A few roads ( not two) diverged in a yellow wood
I took the one heavily trodden upon, I am bugged
I keep turning to see
Most other roads seem like fun to me
I think I am going to run back to the fork
Stand there for a while and wonder
About the road I took
And the one yet to be taken!
In conclusion :
1) A girl's life is full of choices
2) I am a very confused person
3) And Rober Frost , definitely had it easy!
After II P.U.C exams in april of 1994 and writing the Common entrance exams for Engineering/Medicine/Dentistry in May, I along with my brood, awaited the results and the interview - Counselling, it was called -for admission into colleges. Designing things was not my passion, equations didn't entice me! But I wanted to study to become an engineer. Because that's what most of my friends wanted to do and if you couldn't manage to get into a professional course, you were no good!
At that time, there were cases going on in court for fixing the percentage of seats that would be reserved for students from different ethnic backgrounds! For most of my friends and me, the general merit quota was the only channel and that was getting squeezed thinner by the day! Protests and rallies went on and newspapers threw up a differ number each week - days and weeks passed and the fate of thousands of us hung in this tangled balance. My rank was not particularly impressive, but I was somewhat confident of securing an admission in an engineering college. Some of my friends joined B.Sc. and I debated with myself on whether I was doing the right thing by putting all my eggs in the engineering degree basket. One morning the percentage rose to 80% - a very dear friend of mine called me - I ran to my neighbor's who lived across from us, where we received important phone calls as we didn't yet have a telephone at home back then - "Call for Sujatha" called out aunty and I sprinted across. My friend talked to me for five minutes discussing the chaotic situation and advised me to join B.Sc just in case... I thanked her and came back home. My parents' thoughts echoed my friend's words. My own fear had grown to a Godzilla size. So I went back to my college where I studied my P.U.C , 2 months after classes had commenced, to secure an admission for B.Sc. The Principal was supportive of my case, but gently chided me for running the rat race toward engineering. I wanted 'Microbiology' , she said I would have walked through if I had come during regular admission time. The class was full and she could not offer me that. She said 'Clinical nutrition and Dietitics' had some openings and I could take it if I wanted. I did.
For almost 4 weeks I worked overtime catching up on lab work, notes and completing my Practical record up to date. I still felt very sore at the thought of not being able to make it to engineering. The course was otherwise very interesting. Our nutrition lab comprised of planning diets for a sedentary youth, a pregnant lady, an athlete and so on. We had to meet the carbohydrate/protein/fat/water requirement for each meal and keep the calorie intake within a certain level. We laughed when we came up with adult meals like - 1 idli, 1 cup of sprouts , a banana for breakfast. Or 1 roti, 1 cup of rice, small cup of yogurt and a small salad for lunch. I realize now those weren't ridiculously small, but actually the right kind of portions for today's inactive lifestyles.
Before the end of a month into my new course the counselling sessions had started and my turn came - I went for it and got into an engineering programme, thereby abruptly ending the B.Sc course I had barely joined. At that time, it was peer pressure, societal pressure and my own imagined pressures that pushed me into studying engineering. Fast forward fifteen years, and I now enjoy reading and learning about olive oil, vinegar, almonds and spinach. I devour every article I chance upon on metabolism, exercise, and food. It feels like a career in nutrition and dietitics would have been so right for me!
But then from time to time I have wanted to be a doctor, a lawyer, a biologist, a dancer, an actress ( oh! that I still fantasize about), a detective, a teacher and so on..
In the past few years, my mind has been toying with a few more options!!!!
In my case :
A few roads ( not two) diverged in a yellow wood
I took the one heavily trodden upon, I am bugged
I keep turning to see
Most other roads seem like fun to me
I think I am going to run back to the fork
Stand there for a while and wonder
About the road I took
And the one yet to be taken!
In conclusion :
1) A girl's life is full of choices
2) I am a very confused person
3) And Rober Frost , definitely had it easy!
Laugh and be merry!
I remember the first 3 lines of this poem from high school English. I remember it from time to time. Thanks to the world wide web, today I googled and found this poem in less then 3 seconds. Here it is in its entirety.
Laugh and be merry, remember, better the world with a song,
Better the world with a blow in the teeth of a wrong.
Laugh, for the time is brief, a thread the length of a span.
Laugh and be proud to belong to the old proud pageant of man.
Laugh and be merry: remember, in olden time.
God made Heaven and Earth for joy He took in a rhyme,
Made them, and filled them full with the strong red wine of His mirth
The splendid joy of the stars: the joy of the earth.
So we must laugh and drink from the deep blue cup of the sky,
Join the jubilant song of the great stars sweeping by,
Laugh, and battle, and work, and drink of the wine outpoured
In the dear green earth, the sign of the joy of the Lord.
Laugh and be merry together, like brothers akin,
Guesting awhile in the rooms of a beautiful inn,
Glad till the dancing stops, and the lilt of the music ends.
Laugh till the game is played; and be you merry, my friends.
by John Masefield
Laugh and be merry, remember, better the world with a song,
Better the world with a blow in the teeth of a wrong.
Laugh, for the time is brief, a thread the length of a span.
Laugh and be proud to belong to the old proud pageant of man.
Laugh and be merry: remember, in olden time.
God made Heaven and Earth for joy He took in a rhyme,
Made them, and filled them full with the strong red wine of His mirth
The splendid joy of the stars: the joy of the earth.
So we must laugh and drink from the deep blue cup of the sky,
Join the jubilant song of the great stars sweeping by,
Laugh, and battle, and work, and drink of the wine outpoured
In the dear green earth, the sign of the joy of the Lord.
Laugh and be merry together, like brothers akin,
Guesting awhile in the rooms of a beautiful inn,
Glad till the dancing stops, and the lilt of the music ends.
Laugh till the game is played; and be you merry, my friends.
by John Masefield
Sign post found in Lalbagh, Bangalore
Direction: an explicit instruction, assistance in pointing out the proper route — usually used in plural
If tomorrow comes....
Note : This has nothing to do with Sidney Sheldon's novel with the same title!
I dropped my daughter off at day care this morning. Nothing unusual, but tis a monday morning and she lingered and looked at me with longing eyes as I was waving bye to her. She wanted to be with me rather than go into her daycare and I wanted to be with her much rather than come in to work. We gazed at each other like lovers separated by society,family and circumstances. The door closed in my face and as I got into my car and started driving, an incident narrated by my uncle came to mind. This happened several years ago when my uncle's daughter, cousin M was in kindergarten.
Mama, as I call my uncle, used to drop off his daughter at school and proceed to his workplace. M always whined and fussed about going to school. Everyday, mami and/or mama had to explain to her why she needs to go to school, how it's important for her to get a good education that would make her independent and add value and blah blah! And she was never convinced. They'd show her examples of her older sibling, cousins and other kids who also went to school. And she'd point to every kid she knew in the 0-3 yrs age group who got to stay home. Explaining the age logic had no effect on her. This process would also delay mama in getting to work. Sometimes, when M lay on the floor protesting, mama would exclaim "The only difference between me and her is that I cannot lay on the floor and cry like her, I too do not feel like going to work!"
One morning as M was doing her usual routine of " I don't feel like going to school!", mama quite unexpectedly said in a fit of frustration, "Okay, you don't have to go. You get to stay home today." M was overjoyed to hear this and immediately overcome by skepticism at this sudden gratuitousness. Mama continued,"But tomorrow morning, you'll get ready without any complaining, absolutely no fussing!"
Suited her just fine. Who has seen tomorrow? Today is here and now and the real deal! She grabbed the offer! Mama made the transaction more solid by asking M to swear in front of the God's idols in the house, by placing her palm on the ground. M followed without any hesitation. The deal was sealed! Mama was convinced that maybe since the cajoling and explaining wasn't working, giving in might! That she would get bored, realize school is more fun and would stop the daily drama. Much to mami's agony, he made this decision and left to work.
M spent the day doing everything she could - stealthily feeding spoons of sugar from the kitchen to ants crawling on the compound wall outside, watching TV, trying to drape one of her mom's sarees and the like. What fun! School was torture, an establishment for strangling the freedom of mind and the creative use of time! Phew! Needless to say, the day passed in the blink of an eye.
It was the next morning now. After brushing her teeth, M started her usual - "I don't want to go to school"! Mama was not totally shocked but this irked him. He asked her " Did you not promise me yesterday, did you not swear by putting your palm on the ground in front of God?". M's reply after thinking for a bit - "Yeah, but you didn't see I kept my palm a half inch above the ground, I didn't really touch the floor!"
Mama laughed his heart out at the answer. He was actually laughing out loud even as he narrated this incident to me. We were amused at M's ingenuity and wit! Recounting this tale actually replaced my sadness with a chuckle and I am glad I entered work with a smile!
I dropped my daughter off at day care this morning. Nothing unusual, but tis a monday morning and she lingered and looked at me with longing eyes as I was waving bye to her. She wanted to be with me rather than go into her daycare and I wanted to be with her much rather than come in to work. We gazed at each other like lovers separated by society,family and circumstances. The door closed in my face and as I got into my car and started driving, an incident narrated by my uncle came to mind. This happened several years ago when my uncle's daughter, cousin M was in kindergarten.
Mama, as I call my uncle, used to drop off his daughter at school and proceed to his workplace. M always whined and fussed about going to school. Everyday, mami and/or mama had to explain to her why she needs to go to school, how it's important for her to get a good education that would make her independent and add value and blah blah! And she was never convinced. They'd show her examples of her older sibling, cousins and other kids who also went to school. And she'd point to every kid she knew in the 0-3 yrs age group who got to stay home. Explaining the age logic had no effect on her. This process would also delay mama in getting to work. Sometimes, when M lay on the floor protesting, mama would exclaim "The only difference between me and her is that I cannot lay on the floor and cry like her, I too do not feel like going to work!"
One morning as M was doing her usual routine of " I don't feel like going to school!", mama quite unexpectedly said in a fit of frustration, "Okay, you don't have to go. You get to stay home today." M was overjoyed to hear this and immediately overcome by skepticism at this sudden gratuitousness. Mama continued,"But tomorrow morning, you'll get ready without any complaining, absolutely no fussing!"
Suited her just fine. Who has seen tomorrow? Today is here and now and the real deal! She grabbed the offer! Mama made the transaction more solid by asking M to swear in front of the God's idols in the house, by placing her palm on the ground. M followed without any hesitation. The deal was sealed! Mama was convinced that maybe since the cajoling and explaining wasn't working, giving in might! That she would get bored, realize school is more fun and would stop the daily drama. Much to mami's agony, he made this decision and left to work.
M spent the day doing everything she could - stealthily feeding spoons of sugar from the kitchen to ants crawling on the compound wall outside, watching TV, trying to drape one of her mom's sarees and the like. What fun! School was torture, an establishment for strangling the freedom of mind and the creative use of time! Phew! Needless to say, the day passed in the blink of an eye.
It was the next morning now. After brushing her teeth, M started her usual - "I don't want to go to school"! Mama was not totally shocked but this irked him. He asked her " Did you not promise me yesterday, did you not swear by putting your palm on the ground in front of God?". M's reply after thinking for a bit - "Yeah, but you didn't see I kept my palm a half inch above the ground, I didn't really touch the floor!"
Mama laughed his heart out at the answer. He was actually laughing out loud even as he narrated this incident to me. We were amused at M's ingenuity and wit! Recounting this tale actually replaced my sadness with a chuckle and I am glad I entered work with a smile!
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