Because every day is not Valentine’s Day

I am a sucker for Valentine’s Day, and Birthdays and Anniversaries. I just need an excuse to celebrate. This year I saw a few lovey-dovey posts on facebook for Valentine’s Day which claimed that every day was Valentine’s Day with their soul mate. I am a bit incredulous when I hear something like that, not because I am a cynic but because for me every day simply cannot be Valentine’s Day. In between chores and long working hours, toddler tantrums and the daily grind, many a day runs along without a chance for cuddles and sweet nothings being exchanged with the love of my life. Is this a reflection that we care less for each other now than six years ago when during our courtship the romantic gestures were grander? I think not, we certainly love each other more today, we are more in tune, and we have a lovely girl who just strengthens this bond between us. Having said that, sometimes I think we do take our loved ones for granted, not just our partners but maybe also our parents or siblings or best friends. I am polite, energetic, humorous, and on my best behavior when I am the “Trainer at Work” but when I get back home at the end of the day I may just want to crawl into bed or tune out in front of the TV. So when a special occasion comes along it’s a great chance to show your loved ones how much you care. Sometimes you may feel pressured by all the commercialization that such “days” have undergone but celebrations aren't about buying each other expensive presents it’s about little things that matter much. Maybe it’s a lovingly cooked meal, a card that you hand painted or a nice back rub, none of which need to cost big bucks. And that’s my case for celebrating special occasions because after all it’s not just the day you are celebrating but the person and the relationship you share.

Flights of Fantasy!

Lights, camera , action…Bollywood here I come!!! Now don’t get me wrong it’s not a career in acting that I am after, its stardom, nothing less than the lead role for me. When did this obsession start? Well, it can probably be traced back to those early days when I used to traipse around the living room, Mum’s dupatta in tow which was my handy prop, turning into my lovely locks one moment, into my sari the next. At age five of course this was perfectly acceptable, the darling antics of a precocious child. My parents were indulgent and forced many an Uncle and Aunty to sit through the entire rendition of a Sridevi number in their daughter’s inimitable style with applause and exclamations at all the appropriate places.

That was at five at 15 these things just weren’t so amusing anymore, it was the year of the “Board Exam”. It was time to banish the dreams of ever being the Bubbly to the Banti and concentrate on one’s studies instead.  So I walked the much trodden path, got a respectable 80% in my tenth went on to do my arts in Junior College (Oh yes, that way my parents are pretty liberal they didn’t insist I became a Doctor or Engineer), topped my university for my graduation, sailed through my MBA and finally landed a job through campus placement in a well respected MNC. 

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I am not unhappy, in any case Mr. Bhansali or Karan J might never have discovered me, after all I don’t have the smile of a Madhuri or the oomph of a Malika. What’s more, my dear old grandparents in Trichur are spared the embarrassed squirming as their conservative neighbors speak in hushed tones about the pavam menons’ whose granddaughter doesn’t seem to be able to afford enough clothes. Yet when the lights go off and the film begins to roll I always wish I had given my fantasy wings to fly

The Birthday Party

Ria woke up and slowly opened her eyes – “Oh my God it’s my birthday today” said a voice in her head, she jumped out of bed and did a little jig. Finally 365 days after her last birthday this one had finally come.

She tip toed out of her bedroom, everyone was already up and busy doing their bit for tonight’s party. First she caught sight of her grandfather blowing the balloons, oh my, his cheeks looked quite red and puffy from all that blowing. From the kitchen she could hear the clanging of pots, the cooker whistling and her grandmother humming as she rustled up one lip smacking treat after another. She had overheard her mother and grandmother planning the menu yesterday, there were to be chutney sandwiches, skewers of grilled chicken, mutton cutlets, dhokla and chocolate fudge.

Suddenly she heard a growl, it was coming from her stomach, all that talk of food was making her hungry “ Ammmmaaaa” she called.

After quickly gulping down her chocolate milk and wolfing down a couple of idlis she went to investigate what her father was upto. She found him upstairs, surrounded by shiny pink wrapping paper, he seemed busy. He also had a stack of crayons and colouring books with him. Into each pack went one book paired with a set of crayons then, they got wrapped and sealed with cello tape. “ACHA” called Ria, “What are you doing?” “I am wrapping the return gifts ofcourse”, he replied. “Return gifts, what are those, are they for me?” “No darling” said Dad “They are for your friends who are coming for the party tonight, something for them to remember you by long after the party is over”

Triiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnggggggggg!

“Oh that must be Amma with the cake” squealed Ria as she turned and raced down the stairs and sure enough it was, only you couldn’t see her face because it was hidden behind the most enormous cake. “Careful Ria or else you will trip me”, said Amma as she weaved her way to the dining table to put down the cake while Ria jumped up and down trying to take a peek into the box. “Oh please may I take a peek” she cried. “Ok, ok as long as you don’t touch it!” warned Amma. It was the most beautiful thing that Ria had ever set her eyes on, all her favourites Winnie the Pooh, Piglet, Tiger and even Owl; they were all sitting around and seemed to be having the most delicious time ever at a picnic! Sigh they certainly looked good enough to eat but she had to wait another 4 hours, 30 minutes and 20 seconds more for her first guest to arrive.

Finally it was time, she was in her frilly, fluffy white birthday frock, which swished and swooshed every time she moved. Amma insisted that she wear her new sandals too though she would much rather have padded about bare foot and finally came the tiny heart shaped matching hairclips. Everybody oohhed and aahhed to see her and suddenly cameras and cell phones were pulled out to take some pictures followed by more pictures, standing here and then there and everywhere. First with her father then with her mother, then both of them together then the grandparents one by one then together and finally one with the entire family, oh enough with the pictures thought Ria when all she wanted was for the party to start!

The first to arrive were the Funny Family, Mama Funny, Papa Funny and little Baby Funny who they called fun for short. “Happy Birthday Ria” sang the Funnies in chorus, Ria liked them, who wouldn’t, they made her laugh so much every time they visited. And she was sure they would bring her a really fun birthday present, which they did, it was a mini bowling alley with 10 pins in different colours and 2 balls in a bright red and blue.

Next to arrive were the Talk-a-Lots, “Happy Birthday Ria” said Mamma Talk a Lot, “How are you? Oh you must be excited, I am too, parties are so much fun and look at all the decorations, they are so pretty…” And many more things but Ria lost track after a while because Papa Talk-a-Lot was talking at the same time asking her how she was and whether she was excited, blah blah blah! And baby talk-a-lot was really small and hadn’t learnt how to talk as yet so he just gave little shrieks of glee now and again.

Soon after came Mr and Ms. Bright, they didn’t have any kids as yet but they asked her all kinds of intelligent questions and quizzed her about her alphabets and numbers and just from the shape of the gift she knew she was getting books as a present which was nice coz she liked to read too.

The last ones to arrive, fashionably late some would say, were the Fashionable Family, dressed in a crisp, impeccably tailored suit Mr. Fashionable looked dapper as always and Mama Fashionable looked pretty and elegant in her pale yellow dress and Baby Fashionable was dressed in what else but haute couture Pink! Take a guess on what they got for her, why a designer dress ofcourse.

At last it was time to cut her cake. Amma picked Ria up and placed her on the chair, because she was not tall enough as yet to reach the cake. “Make a wish Ria”, said Dad. So she screwed her eyes shut very tight and wished for, well it’s a secret because they say if you share your wish it won’t come true. At the same time she inhaled a big breath of air and blew it out with as much force as she could muster so that the candles blew out in just one breath. After the cake was cut everyone piled their plate with all the delicious treats and all the sound in the house was that of lips smacking, teeth chomping and no tongues wagging at all.

Today even Amma relaxed her only one piece of chocolate rule and allowed Ria to stuff herself with cake and sweets to her hearts content. Well, all good things must come to an end and so it was true for this party too. Waving their bye-byes and wishing Ria a wonderful year ahead all the guests left one by one. Ria was she was sad because her birthday celebrations were over and she had to wait for an entire year more to celebrate the next one and yet happy for she had had a wonderful time.

What is Happiness?

What is happiness?

This question has often perplexed me and I found myself mulling over it a little more than usual over the past couple of days.

Ok, let’s start with a list of things that make me happy. First and foremost comes my daughter and I am not just saying that to be politically correct but watching her grow, spending time with her and just marvelling at my own creation  brings me joy untold; it’s a genuine feeling that fills me up from inside and makes my heart want to just burst.

My next source of happiness comes from work that makes me feel productive. When I pull off an event successfully, conduct a training program that lands me excellent feedback, see something I wrote in print or even get my guests to rave about the food I cooked for a party it gives me a real high. All the effort, the slogging, it all seems worth it after that bit of appreciation.

Love makes me happy! I was brought up in a close knit family and I grew up close not just to my parents, by the way I am an only child, but also to my grandparents and the extended family even though we always lived as a nuclear family. When I got married I was certain I would want not just my husband’s love but also that of his family. Loving others makes me happy too so the fact that I have a warm relationship with not just my side of the family now but also his seems to release some happiness hormone in me!

Having my own money makes me happy! I grew up appreciating the value of money, we never wanted for anything but ours was an ordinary life where treats like eating out were few and far in between. My Mother was a housewife who always wanted her daughter to have a successful career. She was the most powerful influence in my life and I was left rudderless when I lost her- I was just twenty. In direct contradiction to her hopes for me to have a successful career came also her imploring me not to become one of “those women” who left her children to be looked after by someone else. I probably never thought about the contradiction then and now when I would like to know more it’s too late she is not giving me any answers. Coming back however the pleasure of earning, saving and spending one’s own money that’s definitely linked to happiness. Now comes the question ‘How much money?’ How much is ever enough? When I had a full time well-paying job I compared myself to my peers who passed out of the same Business School and felt under paid – NOT HAPPY! Then I started working part time and had to take a 50% pay cut along with the cut in hours, that made me – UNHAPPY. Finally I quit that job and started freelancing which meant that assignments are sometimes hard to come by and that certainly doesn’t make me happy.

So in life at every point of time there seems to be something to be happy about and something to be unhappy about. Right now I am in a phase where I get to do the Number 1 thing that makes me happy – spend time with my daughter which means I do a little less of the other things on the list which inevitably makes me slightly unhappy. So I guess all of us have to ride that see-saw through life with one leg on either side trying to balance between being able to do the things that make us happy and others that don’t. So here is CHEERS to not tipping over or at least picking yourself up and getting back on that ride called life if you do!

The Boy who didn't like to Bathe

Gandhu Bandhu never liked to bathe.

Every time his mother yelled “It’s time for your bath Gandhu”

Gandhu ran.

And when Gandhu ran, his mother chased after him.

He ran over the bed and under tables, around chairs and in between lamps.

At first, his mother would be close behind his heels, she would stretch her hands and almost catch a bit of his shirt or a clump of his hair, then Gandhu ran faster and Amma got slower, till finally Gandhu escaped with a triumphant cry of victory.

Sometimes Amma tried something new, like lying in wait for Gandhu and pouncing on him when he least expected it.

At other times she tried to offer him sweets or bribes to make him have a bath.

If all failed, she scolded him or warned him about the wrath of his father to see him unbathed.

Mostly nothing worked. Gandhu merrily evaded all his mother’s ingenious efforts to entrap him.

Finally on the 23^rd of March it had been 12 days since Gandhu had his last bath.

A ripe odour clung to Gandhu, announcing his arrival wherever he went. Gandhu, fortunately or unfortunately, had a blocked nose so he couldn’t smell a thing and if anyone complained he went to Amma’s dressing table and sprayed on a liberal puff of her perfume.

But what Gandhu hadn’t realised is that along with the sharp odour, slowly this skin was disappearing under a thick layer of dirt. There was the mud from after playing football, a bit of the curry that had spilled from many lunches and dinners, some paint from that picture he had so beautifully painted.

So on the twelfth day of not bathing when he went to his Amma and asked her for lunch all she said was “Go home boy and ask your mother for food”. “Amma, YOU are my mother” said Gandhu but Amma just gave him a puzzled look, crinkled up her nose and walked off.

Then he went to his Grandpa in the garden and said, “Appu can you push me in the swing” and Appu said, “Who are you? This swing is only for residents of this building”. Appu was a retired Naval Officer and very strict about order and discipline so Gandhu didn’t want to risk asking him to peel off the dirt to reveal himself.

Gandhu was feeling sad now so he turned to the one person he know could cheer him up “Ammuma please tell me a story” he said to his grandmother. To his utter dismay she replied, “Little child who are you? Are you lost?”

Now in total despair Gandhu went running to his Dad who was just walking in from office, “Dad you recognize me don’t you, this is your son Gandhu.” Dad too crinkled up his nose and gave him a quizzical look. Gandhu? Is that you? Well it sounds like you but it doesn’t look like you. I can barely see your nose, or your eyes or your ears or anything at all actually.

“Dad what should I do? No one recognizes me, not even Ammuma.”

Dad thought for a while “Well there is one solution”

“Tell me, tell me” said Gandhu as he jumped up and down in a mixture of fear and excitement.

“We could try giving you a bath, but an ordinary bath just won’t work anymore. We will have to soak you for a bit in hot water and soap and then scrub you with a really big brush and end it with five minutes under the shower until we are absolutely sure that all the dirt is washed away”

“I only hope the skin doesn’t get washed away too” mumbled Dad as an afterthought

What followed was a lot of soaking, scrubbing, polishing and drying. Let me tell you it wasn’t the most enjoyable experience and a lot worse than if he had just had 12 baths in 12 days.

So the next time Amma said “It’s time for your bath Gandhu”

Gandhu said “Ok, Amma but I want my water pistols along” but that’s another story.

Super Star Grandmother

The first time you meet her its will take you a few minutes to re-align your mental perception of a typical grandmother and you better do it fast because she isn’t going to give you too much time to do whatever it is you need to. This lovely woman who looks harmless enough – plump, cute and grey haired – is in actual a real live wire. The many years of living as an Army wife (and subsequently a naval officer’s mother and army officer’s grandmother) has given her a definite military bearing. And just when you are getting used to the sharp tongue and shriveling a little under her even sharper gaze be ready to be pleasantly surprised by her open attitude and friendly nature. At heart I don’t know how old she feels or in this case how young because whatever your age she instantly forms a connection, enquiring about your boy friends and match making for you in the same breath.

 

“Don’t expect me to cuddle you” she warns and it’s true – I share a much better equation with her post adolescence that I ever did as a small child. In fact Ammuma (that’s Granny in Malayalam) and I started living under the same roof due to a tragic event in our lives. My mother was diagnosed with breast cancer before my 18^th birthday and my shattered father wondering how he would manage a teenaged daughter and run a house while his wife would need to be away for many months undergoing treatment called on who else but his mother to the rescue and overnight the grandmother who I had met so far only on the annual two week holidays suddenly became my every day guardian and caretaker.

 

She was apprehensive she says, self admittedly short tempered she wondered how she would get along with the grandchild who looked uncannily like her but was in a daze of grief having discovered that her mother was afflicted with a life threatening disease. Would there be teenage rebellion or maybe a generation gap?  But in her typical style, (she is a typical lioness when it comes to protecting her cubs) she flew in without a second thought to take care of her blood. Just when she thought that her days of toil and responsibility were over and she could sit back and relax while her children looked after her, she was obliged to get into the kitchen and start running the house. If that wasn’t enough she always went the extra mile making sure my lunch was packed just right and on those sweltering summer days when I returned home from college it was to a welcome glass of cold coffee – surely something that my mother would never have bothered with.

 

The one time we were at logger heads was when my exams approached, always a conscientious student with good grades and regular hours of study I had got used to my parents leaving me to my own ways. With her however studies and marks were always an obsession – marks were never good enough unless they were the best in the class. So much to my dismay she would impose an atmosphere not different from a concentration camp (albeit a well fed one) with strict instructions to remain glued to my books for as long as possible.

 

It was during the darkest of hours in my life when my grandmother lent me her protective shield of love and care. A couple of years down the line , soon after I had started attending classes at a prestigious business school in the country, my Mum left us, plunging my father and me into the depths of despair . Yet again it was Ammuma who came and lived with us transforming the house which almost had a haunted quality without her into a comforting home with her presence.

 

They speak of karmic connections between souls and kindred spirits and I am not sure what all that means but I do feel that some where there is a special connection between me and my granny. The Grand Lady who taught me without ever needing to instruct me so much about love and family and just simple humanity. A toast to her, one of the most amazing women I have ever known!

Visit to Kerala - 2012

I am proud to belong to the lovely state called Kerala, but far less pleased about the fact that in spite of being a Malayali I am yet to explore this so called Gods Own Country. Hailing from the state but living away, inevitably means that the annual holidays are spent skipping from one loved ones home to another, grandparents are eagerly waiting to see you and a precious day spent away from them would be considered at best hurtful and at worst downright treacherous. Getting married hardly helps - the count of near and dear just doubles and that many more hop skip n jump stops now need to be made.

Beaches, backwaters and boat rides may make quintessential Kerala, but for us it is all viewed from the a/c confines of cars or trains as we make our way across the state from one beloved’s home to another. Admittedly the view is a treat to sore eyes especially ones who have just left the arid heat of Hyderabad but to someone like me who finds it hard to keep her eyes open when in moving transport (if I am not driving) the lush greenery just lulls me further into a soothing slumber.

The highlight of the visit this year was a dear friend’s wedding which meant meeting with lots of college friends and showing off my babe in arms to the glee of all my chums whom I have known for more than a decade now and with whom I spent those carefree days day dreaming about the real world and life after college. Little realising that those days which we were in such a hurry to be rid of would be among our most precious memories – to be regurgitated and embellished and remembered always with much fondness and nostalgia.

For little Ria, my daughter, it was delight untold to be reunited with her grandpa and great grandparents and perhaps a lesson in life of the impermanence of it all when we had to say our goodbyes in just a few days. Used to her daily routine with little alteration, I wonder what must have run through her tiny head as day after day she was carted to one strange place (for her) after another in forms of transport that she was travelling in for the first time including an auto and a train. She seemed resigned to this new way of life and decided to make the most of it - being woken up at odd hours, put to bed in unfamiliar cots and being made to bathe in different bathrooms every day. And of course there were a barrage of unfamiliar faces wherever she went; wanting to carry her and kiss her, talk to her and play with her, some of this she took in her stride and with others she let her displeasure known with a shrill cry of protest which sent them all scurrying off like wounded tigers.

After the first week of vacation spent in wedding festivities it was time to visit the ancestral home of hubby dear. More than 300 years old, this historians delight, in true Nair matriarchal tradition is lived in and maintained by the three grand old (well young at heart certainly) matriarch’s of the family. With its traditional architecture which allows for an open courtyard in the house where the rain falls freely in the monsoons, high ceilings and endless rooms it’s among the few remaining ancestral homes in the state. Most of which have fallen victim to modernization where the descendants opt for sterile comfort over the rather overwhelming task of maintaining something so magnificent and yet in so many ways problematic. The upkeep of this ancestral beauty is indeed an odd mixture of pleasure and pain. On one side is the pride of being custodians of a history greatly cherished by the entire family and of a million memories which breathe out of every brick and stone in the house. On the other is the pain which inevitably comes with the repairs and maintenance of such a sprawling place with little help. With most of those who knew the secrets to the ancient plumbing and construction no more now and the new age experts clueless about how to fix problems as they crop up. The house also struck me as a tweens delight where I could easily imagine a 12 year old me losing myself in the mysteries of the many rooms and burying my head in books as I stared out at the greenery surrounding the house. You can climb trees and play with bugs, run up and down the narrow stairways and peek into the well, it’s the perfect summer vacation spot where cousins from all across converge to have a rollicking time sharing secrets and playing all sorts of games that their imagination could possibly think up!

A vacation in Kerala isn’t complete without a trip to its temples and this time we had the pleasure of visiting three!!! First trip was to our family goddess, one that is supposed to be almost a caretaker of the family for generations and where it was the turn of the newest member, my daughter, to go and pay her respects. The next was to the temple which is part of my husband’s home; once again this goddess is extra special as the temple has been in the family for decades now. Ria offered her obeisance and made an offering of a small gold ornament which her Muthashi (great grandmother) had kept ready. The final visit was certainly a unique one for us all; this was to the temple called “Muthappan”, a journey of an hour and a half away from home. Being used to the more traditional temples where the offering and the prasadam are the more innocuous payasams or coconuts it was curious for us to see that it was toddy and fish fry which were the stable of this common man’s God. Muthappan as he is called was established as a form of rebellion by the Harijan community who in yesteryears were not allowed access to the temples dominated by the upper castes. While the deities here are the all-powerful Shiva and Vishnu they actually take human form through their oracles. It is indeed a sight to behold as the two human manifestations of the great gods bedecked in intimidating red attire complete with a huge head dress dance to the drum beats and chants of the temple drummers. Then it’s time for the huge throng of faithful to flock to the human god and ask for his blessings. Blessings are showered on one and all in addition you may ask “Muthappan” the oracle to tell you what the future holds for you. The temple itself is set in a scenic location on the banks of the backwaters crowned with coconut palms. We too lined up for his blessing, my husband gave him our offering of alcohol and was asked to always remember Muthappan and to keep coming again and again!

All good things must come to an end and so did our vacation. All too soon, those precious few days which we and our family had dreamt about and planned for months now, flew past in the twinkle of an eye. It was time to say goodbye to the grandparents and great grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins and all! A new life was waiting for us back home; a new job for me, a new play school for Ria and an assignment abroad for my husband. Farewell it was to Kerala till we met again for yet another family getogether; maybe it would be a special birthday or a wedding in the family but whatever the occasion it would certainly be time yet again to meet all those special people and soak in the love and affection of family, the sightseeing we may need to postpone for later J