How intelligent Moms pack for a vacation !

Tomorrow my vacation starts (yay!) so this week is like an overstretched Friday. Like on Friday it’s the weekend so at work the laptop, unread emails and colleagues are all pushed to a secondary, insignificant place where the mode is set to ‘ignore’.  I did not mention ‘bosses’ in the above sentence because they are already in that place we don’t need to push them.

I am not a systematic person unlike both my parents. I pack in the eleventh hour and I’d been that way ever since….. err…ever since I had to pack myself. That is, around the time I got married. Thankfully till date I’ve never forgotten any important stuff like comb, eyeliner etc., but I admit that couple of times I did forget irrelevant stuff like e-ticket and passport. I don’t understand why my folks back home were so mad at me for driving back home to take those – they were acting so hysterical like I forgot my toothbrush or something.

Basically my house is in a complete mess right now. We have two bedrooms. The master bedroom, which is mostly maintained well with most of the things in place (don’t judge me; this is a major achievement in homes of toddlers) because this room is partially visible from the entrance. The other bedroom has a Queen Size mattress which is on the floor as cots are dangerous for my toddler who seems to ride roller coasters in his sleep. He usually sleeps next to me, but wakes up somewhere else we literally have to hunt for him in the morning under his Angry Birds pillow or under a pile of blankets. So for safety reasons we did not buy a cot for this room. There is also a computer table and chair. It is better for one’s mental and emotional health and peace to prevail in the house if the items on this table are untouched. Even my toddler understands this. Besides the bed and table there is also a wardrobe, and what is left of that room is a portion of floor that can accommodate two malnourished adults. This portion of the floor is the place where the suitcases currently rest, obviously with nothing in it, but it is opened so that we don’t forget to put something in it and go home tomorrow. So if I have to put the toddler to sleep in this mess it becomes a Herculean task to move these suitcases one by one, and the chair and other stuff we shopped for the family. Suppose I successfully navigate all these, something or the other catches the fancy of the toddler and sleeping becomes an impossible dream.

Even a bachelor's home on a Friday night may not be as messy as a home which has enthusiastic toddlers in it. Like the other day I found almost half a kilo pearl onions from the gap between sofa cushions, vegetables and fruits are found from places that we least expect it to be. There is no standard place to search for a TV remote. If there are children you search for TV remotes in shoe racks, the fridge, kitchen drawers, and washing machine, these being some likely places. So imagine packing in such a situation. When I pack, it is like demonstrating Newton’s third law of motion, because my action is met with an equal and opposite reaction– my toddler unpacks it. And the stuff that is unpacked needs to be hunted. For an absent minded Mamma like me, I may not even go to such lengths to find something I may just ignore it could be the key to open the suitcase or something.

This is why I pack in the last minute. At the last minute the hubby experiences temporary deafness due to the stress of packing his countless gadget accessories and power cables and the toddler will be busy choosing the toys he can’t live without. This is one of the few rare occurrences in our home when nobody is talking, and I can pack with a rational mindset.

I hope this explanation will be convincing enough to Papa who had been asking me to pack since New Year.

 Image Courtesy: Google Images.

Why most women hate each other ;-)

We, women are intensely guarded about ourselves. This makes us shrewd in a way that is mostly harmless, but it adds to our list of enemies. For example, let’s say we walked into a party and liked a sari, jewelry, blouse pattern or a handbag of another woman, and we wanted to know how and where they bought it from, or got it customized.

Firstly, the distance between us and the woman in question is full of the unseen reality called ego topped with a fog of jealousy. It is so heavy and opaque that it weighs us down. Complimenting another woman or asking her where she got it from is like losing our dignity for life. Some people have no qualms to appreciate anything that they like, even complete strangers have given me compliments but for majority others, it is a mammoth effort to break free from their comfort bubbles (where they are reigning Queens and everyone else are just subjects) and ask the question. It hurts.

Once Rachel (Jennifer Aniston) said in F.R.I.E.N.D.S, ‘Oh its okay, women hate me’ with pride. So we can safely assume that if you are someone most women don’t keep too much company with then either you have something that is too enviable ( rich husband, luxury car, branded wardrobe, diamond jewelry being the common reasons) , or you have a great figure.

Now comes the second part of it. Suppose I leave my ego at home and walk into a party ( in reality this is not possible, it’s like the critics telling you to leave your brain at home and go watch Golmaal series) and let’s say all women are wearing enviably pretty accessories.

Me: Hey your blouse is so pretty and perfectly stitched! Where did you get it made?

Other woman: “Oh this is my mother’s blouse…hers is a tailor near our family home…I think that tailor relocated…’

Mother’s blouse! It looked exactly like the one Shilpa Shetty wore in one of her item songs.  This woman will tell you her email password but not her tailor’s address. She safeguards his identity like one of her deepest secrets which can be revealed only by conducting a narcotic analysis on her.

***********

Me: ‘Hey nice shoes! Where did you get these from?’

Other woman: ‘You like it ? I don’t know where it is from. Someone gifted it to me.’

Since when did people start gifting shoes to adults? :-o

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Me: ‘Hey! Your earrings are beautiful! From where did you get these?’

Other woman: ‘These are my sister’s earrings…I will ask her and let you know.. .’

This is a temporary escape. We will not ask further questions about where her sister is, as it is obvious that she doesn’t want to say it. But if you insist she will not hesitate to say that her sister is a nomad with no permanent address.

***********

Me: ‘Hey your kids are so well behaved and speak so fluently! Which school do they go to?’

Other woman: ‘Thanks! They go to XYZ School. But the fee is high and they spend a lot of time commuting to and fro. Also the admissions have closed…it difficult to get into, you need to have recommendation letter from Barack Obama…blah blah…’

This is a full sermon. She does not want your kid to go to that school. Amen.

***********

Me: ‘Hey, what a gorgeous Kurti! Where did you get this from?’

Other woman: ‘I bought this like five years ago…I don’t remember exactly…’

It is brand new. She bought it for this party the day before. I am not a donkey I know what five year old kurtis look like.

***********

Me: ‘Hey how did you bake these cookies? Can you share the recipe?’

Other woman: ‘Sure I will mail you dear.’

This woman’s first priority will be to block you or anyone who asked the recipe from google chat.

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Me: ‘Hey how did your chicken fry come out so crunchy outside and soft inside? Any tip you can share?’

Other woman: ‘No…I just put the chicken in oil…and I did it in the last minute yaa’

We have tongues, woman. And we use it to taste food at meal times. (Henceforth we will use it to badmouth you).  And we have had fried chicken before; it’s not our first time.

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Me: ‘What a beautiful neckpiece is that! Where did you get it from?’

Other woman: ‘Oh thanks! My grandmother gave me this. It was made by a goldsmith known to her. If you want I can ask her’

This woman I talked to is already in her late 40s. The chance that her grandmother is alive is thousand to one, and even if she is, she may barely remember her own name. And if you ask her this goldsmith question she may even die trying to remember it.

***********

So basically, women don’t tell you anything. We divulge nothing about ourselves, but  try to extract every single detail about other women. If we are successful enough extracting a little bit we are very creative to fill voids with assumptions and spicy details. The secretive behavior even to our best friends is one of the reasons why we say women are more complicated than the intricate design on their antique jewelry.

Last week I met my husband’s friend at the supermarket. He’s a cheerful guy and while talking to him I noticed his wrist watch which looked very elegant.

Me: ‘Wow what a watch! Tag Heur?’

That guy: ‘ Arrey, nono! It is Swatch. You know the Qurm City Centre? When you go to Carrefour supermarket, there is a Swatch showroom on the right no? I bought it from there. They still have it’.

I dint even ask him.

 Image courtesy: Google images.

Surviving the Lenten Season.

On Ash Wednesday, March 5th started the Lenten season, and ended on Easter, April 20^th. This was a time of vegetarianism, a time of stifling temptation and persistent fight against the non-vegetarian demons trying to lure me into chicken biryani. The ‘demons’ are basically my family members, yes, thank you very much.

Lenten season had been a challenging one for me. My hubby does not believe in any season or day that stops him from eating non vegetarian food. My toddler is yet to come to terms with the fact that food can actually exist without meat in it. So I was basically caught between two hard core carnivores during Lenten season. Usually I have no problems surviving it, but this time it was different. Each day I had to listen to mini lectures about how faith is good but there is no hard and fast rule that you should avoid non vegetarian food during Lenten season. My mother called me and said that she skipped church and is going to a Muslim wedding instead because…Mutton Biryani, baby! Basically I dint have anyone including elders in the family for spiritual support during this time.

However there are some people who follow Lent and then act like they are being crucified as well. That they are following Lent is shouted from the rooftop and showcased as an act of spiritual publicity. We all have that friend who is desperate to show that she is religious by propagating faith through social media. Living the faith is different, so I completely despise the hypocrites who err more than any other, yet share religious quotes on facebook.  

Lenten Season does not give me liberty from household duties, so cook non vegetarian, I must. Otherwise the resident carnivores may be pissed and that is the last thing I ever want to happen. Basically they are not so demanding. One non vegetarian side dish and everyone sleeps happily. My only side dish for a month had been Al Marai yoghurt, and by consuming just that for over 40 days I am so bursting with calcium right now that I can almost hear it.  

Appam

After the long wait of what felt like ages, came Easter day. The day of resurrection and sanctity. And for us foodie Christians, it is also called the day celebrating the victory of meat over vegetables. Christians all over the world eat like crazy on that day. For us Mallus, the day begins with Appam and stew (mostly beef). And by noon we treat ourselves to such a feast that whatever was missed for the preceding forty plus days would be evened out. By evening, it becomes impossible for us to move. That’s when we clumsily laze around the couch and watch movies back to back. 
Ah the joy of Easter!

Beef stew.

For anyone who wonders what Lent season is, I will embark on giving you a small idea. 

Lenten Season is the period from Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, to Easter, calculated to be 46 days. Lenten Season is a period of preparation for Easter, along with remembrance of Palm Sunday, Last Supper and death of Christ on the cross. So Christians usually follow some spiritual discipline that includes fasting prayers and vegetarianism marking the Holiness of the period and to mirror Christ and how He resisted temptation, endured and defeated suffering. This is something that is instilled within us as children and Christians of different denominations have their own way of observing Lent.  

Like I told you, when we give up something we love most it has got to be food. And that is how vegetarianism continues to be the most common Lent practice. Some people even give up alcohol and smoking too, but you don’t see them in public ;-)

Easter was a blessed one for us, our families and friends as well. It was great on our tummies too!  And unlike the last 40 days, hens will continue to be pepper chicken and cows, beef ularthiyathu like they always have been. 

Image Courtesy:Google Images (for the first Lent poster)

The 'Gelf' Malayalee.

Everyone knows Nancy, who writes at Reflections. Mom of two, exuberant and perpetually young at heart, all her loyal followers knows the names and hobbies of her beautiful daughters like their own. For example she could write about a simple power cut in her home so interestingly, that by the end of it you’d realize that power cuts are actually fun. She turns around any situation into a party. Each and every post of hers has left me smiling and feeling better. After some persuasion, I got her to write a guest post on my blog. Yay! She was busier than a bee all these days due to personal reasons, which I hope she will put it up on her blog soon, but she remembered my request . Thank You Nancy !

 I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did… !

The Gelf Malayalee!

In the 1970’s & 80’s a tiny state in South India witnessed a mass migration of its people to the gulf countries. The discovery of oil and shortage of man-power in the gulf was like a prayer answered for  many young men faced with bleak job prospects in their home country.

Every man took whatever job he got, worked hard and sent home almost all the money he earned to pay up debts, to educate and to marry his siblings off into good families. After a decade or so the family woke up to the fact that he was also unmarried and scurried around to find him a suitable girl. They got him married to a nurse/pharmacist/physiotherapist[select any one] and sent both back to the desert. Both husband and wife worked day/night shifts, scrimped & saved to educate their children + send money to their folks back home, all the while aware that they were better off than many of their countrymen.

The way the post is moving you can be forgiven for thinking I’m kind of glorifying the Gulf Malayalees’[GM] achievements. Seriously I’m not. Oh all right maybe a little. But my post is not about their trials and tribulations in foreign land….it is about a few traits all the Malayalees living in the Gulf share whether they like to admit it or not;-).

#So jumping right in, let’s start with food…..the Gulf Malayalee’s eating habits did not undergo any major transformation because he was living in the Middle East[ME]. Rice and the usual curries were made in his kitchen as traditionally as it was made in his tharavad[family home]. His only weakness was Kentucky Fried Chicken. He never, ever got fed up of it. He ordered it for birthdays, anniversaries, when guests dropped in, for farewell parties, in fact he is even known to carry KFC home when he went on annual leave. The next time you travel in a plane from UAE/Qatar/ Kuwait/ Bahrain/Saudi to Kerala and happen to smell KFC, remember you heard it from me first;-).

# As soon as the GM got his residence visa stamped, his first priority was to get a driving license. His first car was a sturdy, practical model because at that point owning a car itself was a huge achievement.  But as time passed he unconsciously nursed a secret desire in his heart. In his eyes the ultimate status symbol was a Mercedes, which of course was way beyond his means. So he did the next best thing. He bought a second-hand Mercedes and proudly drove it around till the end of his stay in the ME. Not much has changed even today…..his children who are all grown up now have a thing for 4 wheel drives mainly Prado & Range rovers.

# Another dream the GM worked hard to achieve was his ‘own’ house back in his home country. He lived frugally and saved hard to make this dream come true. No matter what his job in the ME, the house he built for himself came under the category of mansions. It would have a huge hall, 3-4 bedrooms with ‘attached’ bathrooms & 2 or 3 kitchens depending on his means. Not to forget all the light fittings, plumbing material and sofa/bedroom sets he carefully cargoes in from the Gulf. Now for the saddest part…..this house would remain unused for the better part of the GM’s life. By the time he decides to go back to live there for good, his children would have settled down elsewhere leaving him & wife to use just 1 bedroom & kitchen with the rest of the house shut off to avoid further wear and tear.

#Another peculiar quirk of the GM…….he talks nostalgically of his hometown every chance he gets; how he climbed trees, bathed in rivers, walked 8 kms to school every day, how his home town was the best and how he yearned to go back. But that’s all he does….he just talks. When it comes right down to it he delays his going back using every excuse he can find. Simply put, he is afraid to give up this comfortable life and start all over again. But he’ll never, ever admit this, not even to himself.

Other regular quirks associated with GMs’…

# At any given point he’ll boast about the number of visas he has taken for others and how they prospered because….only because he took their visa and made their life.

#The GM’s luggage when he went home for vacation was sure to contain among other things huge tins of Nido, Tang, Galaxy Chocolates, Reynolds pens, Fa Soap, Nivea cream, Yardley Powder, Axe Oil and countless bottles of Tiger Balm to distribute among relatives, friends, neighbors, the church priest, the village doctor, the midwife who helped bring him into the world…..the list is endless.

# Unless he was a professional, nobody back home knew what exactly he worked in the Gulf as…..he could be an office boy, carpenter or a delivery boy slaving day & night for his Arab boss but when he went home on annual leave he wore a gold chain thick as a rope around his neck, a gold bracelet adorned his wrist and heavy rings on his fingers that everybody assumed he had a great job in the gulf.

# Before the Gulf Malayalee goes back to his home country for good, he makes sure by fair means or foul his children too are well-settled in the same place he made his life. It’s another story that the children are eyeing US, Canada and even India[something GM parents simply cannot comprehend] to settle down…

Like I said, that’s another story.

Does anybody want to agree/add value/defend the subject of the post???

Anybody who knows a Gulf Kashmiri/Gujarati/Bengali/Tamilian can also give their take:-).

[This Gelf Malayalee claims to be no expert on the subject and writes[tongue-in-cheek] based solely on personal experiences & hearsay.]

Three years an Ambivert.

Dictionary sends me a new word and its possible meanings each day to my inbox. Most of which obviously I dint know existed, because otherwise you would have seen them extensively splashed across this blog. Today they sent me a word, ambivert.

According to dictionary, Ambivert is one whose personality type is intermediate between introvert and extrovert. As soon as I read it, I knew I was one.

Basically, I am not an introvert. I do not sulk in a corner of a party hall. I do not stew in my worries or success. However, at the same party if someone asks me to dance I may need a diaper. And that, my friend, is a quality of an ambivert. If you think about it, most of us are. Remember our teachers? They scream and yell at us all year. And the day our parents are called for the meeting at school, they are all sweet and extremely well behaved, and our parents are like ‘ You better stop talking about your teacher like that…she is a female version of Swami Vivekananda …just look at her!’ and there she is, saree clad with a halo circling around her head. On other days when she yells the saliva droplets travel at the speed of light to reach the backbencher’s nose, and there are fumes instead of the halo. So she is the best example of an ambivert. It can also be technically defined as- intelligent situational smartness or the lack of it.

We, ambiverts, are basically the convertible type. I mean, when we encounter negative criticism, we transform ourselves into extroverts. Whereas when there is a general knowledge quiz, we are introverts, or even invisible! We are completely flexible and this does not mean that we have no character or backbone; it just that we are chameleons in human form, newly christened as ambiverts! 

My almost-three-year-old was an introvert until he was one and a half. He would sit on my lap, wishing that nobody looked at him or pulled his cheeks. Later he became an extrovert. He would just walk into parties and transform into a tiny party animal. He wouldn't even turn to check if we were still around. Now he is almost three, and is in nursery. His teacher tells me, ‘He is so cute he doesn't even cry or yell over here’ and our neighbors say ‘what a cute little guy you've got.. We don’t even get to hear his voice…he is the silent type isn't he? You are so lucky!’ My husband and I are completely speechless at this stage and we just pretend to agree as our eardrums are already partially damaged by the person in question.

My sunglass is now in three pieces, most of my hair pulled out from its roots, the furniture broken at the ends, torn, spat on or scratched, you wouldn't believe that our walls were once white, some dresses have chocolate/sketch pen marks that refuses to go, and when he hangs from the sofa headrest upside down (that is how he watches TV), he gives me a feeling that he was Mowgli in his previous life. My eardrums are insensitive to smaller sounds now, as when he is a fraction of a millimeter away from me he yells ‘Ammeey’ into my ear which I could have heard had I been in space.

 But at parties, he is the kind of boy anybody would love to pamper and cuddle with. He puts up this innocent look and angelic smile, the combination that floors many female toddlers. And by ‘floors’ I meant, that when nobody is looking it is possible he could literally FLOOR them. That is how one displays the quality of being an ambivert. 

There is another word called antevert. According to the dictionary, it is a verb used ‘to displace (the uterus or other body organ) by tipping forward.’ It was when he tried to antevert me that I ended up in the labor room.

Image Courtesy:Google images.

Give me a high five... I turned FIVE !

March 2009. 

I was working at a MNC in Bangalore, as a software programmer. Even so, I was on bench. Bench is defined as that situation in an IT industry, when the organization pays you to stay away from their projects. Like my Mom who was at a point ready to pay me to shut up and stay out of the kitchen. However I got a workstation assigned to me that involves a revolving chair whose ability to revolve was completely baseless as there was no John Abraham sitting in the adjacent cubicle. In fact there was a malnourished guy, who was also so short that he looked like a 7 year old. With such people around we should have opaque cubicles and chairs that do not allow us to look around. The computer assigned to me was prehistoric, and looked like a front load washing machine. The only sites we got to browse were the portals of that very organization which otherwise we wouldn't browse even at gunpoint. Those were orkut days, Mark Zuckerberg was still in college, whatsapp was not conceived yet and Yo Yo Honey Singh was still roaming around with his Bio data and nursery school light music video on Mumbai Locals.

 I was newly married, my husband worked at a firm whose CEO was charged with corruption and sent to jail and future looked completely bleak for them. Global recession was at its peak, some of my friends on bench where I worked were fired without any notice, and my career was basically hanging from the edge of a cliff. We started our wedded life thus, on a ship which hit two icebergs at once.

But then for newly married couples none of this matters. We could drink just water and live in a mediocre house like it was a Beverly Hills mansion as long as we had each other. It was one of those days when I came across some popular humor blogs. Simple everyday events and conversations were so hilariously written. I started going to the archives and read between the lines. Then the thought came to my mind, why not start a blog of my own. Why should mankind be spared from my literary torture? In fact the characters in my family were the rarest of the rare in terms of temporary insanity and other matters. I dint even need to hunt around for topics to write or improvise on existing ones. And hence the blog was born. 

However I was too naive to blog anonymously. Instead I used my real name, email id and photograph. The blog became a topic of conversation and content scrutinized at marriages and baptisms. Many active bloggers of that time quit. There are a few who survived and even found their way into my friend’s list on Facebook. I even won a contest, received complimentary hampers, participated in tags, found some great friends, and somehow the inspiration to write some rubbish or the other continues to this day! I mean my will to torture people just ceases to diminish:-o

The consistency of my blog can be mainly blamed on some loyal readers who liked the stuff I wrote. They never missed to comment. They did not write ‘Hey great post! Mind-blowing! Breathtaking! Nice! Creative! Magical!’ after every post because it wasn't any of those. They shared their thoughts with me rather than indulging in compliments. And they complimented me genuinely when they felt I deserved it. And these are the people who helped sustain this consistent ride, so if you have any problem with the content of this blog, please blame them. Do you see the top 25 culprits on either side? And they inspired me with their own blogs, which were equivalent to reading full-fledged best sellers. They taught me how to be unique in one’s own style.

       Thank You !

And the ones who have always taken pride in my blog, and often been my subject to tease or quote, were my parents and the hubby. They have always been there, and with simple comments and loving gestures, were the pillars of my existence in this journey .Without the hubby’s jokes, or those blunders that happened really frequently, it would have been difficult for me to update so often!

So, my blog turned five and counting! Who would have thought that the outcome of the devil’s workshop on a bench could actually last this long! I hereby take this wonderful opportunity to thank all the people of that company who kept me on bench and on the verge of unemployment for so long, that I woke up and realized that blogs were fun, unlike software codes. I also thank Microsoft Word for your eternal patience, putting up with all my horrible spellings and grammar.

 I am also immensely grateful to all the neon shoes wearing females, who thought that I was some narcissist who overused Microsoft Word, instead of ogling at the pink lipped, gel headed gay boy at the cafeteria. Last but not the least; I thank everyone from the auto driver who dropped me at Dairy circle and charged me half my month’s pay, the neighbor who peeped through my kitchen window, and the stray dogs of Bangalore that ruled the streets, for being unintentional inspirations to various posts of mine that finally adds up to 181!  ( I used a calculator for that one. I have only ten fingers)

I've heard my family casually talk to others about my blog. I must say that nothing can be a bigger reward than realizing that the people I love are proud of me, this being one of the reasons. And it has steered me along for five whole years, with plenty of support from peers on blogger.

It was indeed an amazing journey, because I did not start the blog to win contests, or become famous. Something I started as a time pass has become an extension of me, and it has become a place where I can be honest without getting fired.

Picture courtesy: Google images.