Hello Mommyhood !

Mommies need appraisals too!

2011-12-13T15:42:00.000+05:30

This weekend I caught up with a few of my ex-colleagues from one of the companies I had worked for in my corporate avatar, back before I gave it all up to be chief slave to the little tyrant who now rules my home (and my life ) with an iron fist. This particular group of colleagues had also grown to be good friends over the years but it had been a while since all of us had got a chance to meet and I was looking forward to catching up with them. I was therefore a little surprised when my initial excitement at seeing them all together was returned with wan smiles and terse ‘hellos’.

“We had our year-end appraisals today” they explained morosely “And now we need a stiff drink each to forget them quickly!”

It turned out that three out of the four friends I was meeting had been given a rather rough time during the appraisal by their immediate bosses and the fourth friend’s appraisal had been, in his own words, ‘too confusing to make any sense of’ and he had left the meeting with more than his fair share of existential angst!
“You’re so lucky you don’t have to go through these corporate feedback sessions anymore!” one of my friends exclaimed as we reminisced about one joint appraisal we had gone through years ago, when we were still mere rookies in the corporate world. I laughed in response and the moment was drowned in a fresh round of minty Caprioskas brought to the table, but the words came back to me hours later when I was back at home, ensconced in my daughter’s room as we built large teetering towers with blocks and shaped little red butterflies with blue dots out of Playdoh.

True I didn’t have any formal feedback sessions anymore, ever since I had swapped my demanding corporate job for my even more demanding role of mommy, but sometimes I felt I sure as hell needed them as much if not more than before!

Motherhood brings with it a barrage of advice and feedback, and it starts even before the star of the show, the baby, makes its first appearance. Right from the moment you break the ‘good news’, or, if you’re the reserved kind, from the moment the bump begins to show, everyone from your vegetable vendor to complete strangers you run into in the parking lot, consider it their moral obligation to offer nuggets of advice and wisdom. When the baby does arrive, the stream of advice flowing in multiplies manifold and swells incessantly until you’re ready to throw in the oars and make a mad swim for it. Most of the advice is well meaning and can even be helpful of course, but the sheer overload of information coming in can often be overwhelming for an unprepared first time mother. Over time you get used to it and you even begin to discern the good advice from the unnecessary stuff, but one thing remains constant: your new found status as mom ensures that the advice keeps flowing in thick and fast at every stage of your child’s growth.

Given that parenting is one role that doesn’t come with an instruction manual, I’ve often felt that sometimes it might help to get objective feedback on probably what is the most important role I will ever play in my life; that of shaping and nurturing another individual. And so I decided that I would put my business education and my corporate training of many years to good use and give myself a ‘mom-praisal’. My husband decided to play the part of objective third party since my boss was too young to conduct the appraisal and could not be trusted to not throw a tantrum or make ludicrous demands if things didn’t go her way, and we got started. I decided to give my mom-praisal the importance and structure it deserved and created a list of performance parameters against which I rated myself, borrowing generously from the many performance appraisals I had gone through in the corporate world. Here’s a quick peek at what my mom-praisal score card looked like:

1.Displaying a Sense of Urgency:
This is one area where I score hands down, even though it would not be entirely untrue to say that my performance on this parameter is driven more out of fear of failure than anything else. For my boss does not tolerate tardiness at any cost! From a dirty diaper to a demand for food, right from the early days of her birth, my daughter made it very clear that not displaying a sense of urgency when it came to her needs being met would mean retribution of the most severe kind: ear splitting shrieks and mutinous howls. Displaying a sense of urgency soon became second nature.

2.The ability to innovate and think out of the box:
Much as I’d like to gloss over my (many) shortcomings as a mom, this is one area where I’d have to admit defeat. For when it comes to parenting I’ve always found a sense of security in following the text book approach. Parenting tomes of all shapes and sizes occupy pride of place on every conceivable surface in our home now and everything ranging from a tantrum to a refusal to eat the midday snack sees me rushing to consult my trusty mommy manual. Definitely not an example of innovative thinking, though I must say I have invented a pretty nifty technique of speed reading my ‘What to Expect in the toddler years’ while simultaneously entertaining my daughter with a snazzy rendition of ‘Dorothy the Dinosaur’. The husband however is one of those dads who can think out of the box and make it look as easy as shelling peas, so there is hope for me yet!

3.Monitoring and communicating progress frequently:
Another area where I can proudly pat myself on the back. Right from my bai, to my daughter’s playschool teacher, to the hapless husband, to anyone else who cares to listen, I make it a point to update everyone with any semblance of progress. Right from the first utterance of a new word or a particularly complex sentence construction, to a tantrum free day, to successful trysts with the potty, all progress is painstakingly monitored and communicated. The bulk of these communication updates happen with the husband who is given a blow by blow account as soon as he walks through the door. Yes, this is one area where I think I deserve a notable mention or perhaps even some mommy accolades for exceeding performance benchmarks. The husband doesn’t seem particularly pleased about it though!

4.The ability to manage stress with ease:
Now this is a tough one because I am one of those people who tend to get stressed easily. And while I make sure I don’t let my sky rocketing stress levels get to my daughter (mostly), I don’t exactly handle it with ease either. My way out of a stressful situation is usually to stuff myself silly with the most calorie laden food I can get my hands on. Like the time I binged on a pizza the first time my daughter fell ill. Or the walnut brownie with fudge overdose to help me cope with the first day of school and having to let my baby go into the care of strangers for two whole hours. Or the innumerable bars of chocolate to soothe my frayed nerves before her first solo stage performance. I’m getting stressed just recalling all of these instances! Think I’ll just take a quick nibble of some chocolate to help deal with the, er, hunger.

5.Do I strive for constant self development?
Now this is something I haven’t thought about for a while. I’m always thinking about ‘developing’ my daughter, of course. Developing gross and fine motor skills and physical balance and co-ordination are routine playground conversations with other mums. I make a sincere effort to foster a love for reading and am working at developing her socializing skills since she has been displaying marked signs of having inherited the anti social gene from her mother. I try and bring on the creativity by getting the husband to spend time with her while I re-read my book on ‘how to foster creativity in your child’. So yes, I get full marks for trying when it comes to developing my daughter. But me? I guess I never really thought about me. I suppose I’m in a happier place than I was before since my daughter took over my life. I’ve finally become patient and selfless, qualities I always admired in others and sorely lacked myself. I’ve learned to stop, slow down and relax. More importantly, I’ve finally got my priorities right and figured out the things that really matter to me, and that’s made me feel more settled. So yes I guess I have managed some self development without consciously striving for it.

I’ve decided to make my mom-praisal a regular feature to ensure that I don’t stagnate as a mother. Maybe, when my daughter is older she can take over the appraising bit and give me some feedback to make me a better parent. Until then, I will have to make honest and brutal self assessment work for me, I suppose. I have to admit though, that unlike the often dreary appraisals from my corporate past, doing my mom-praisal was kind of fun. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that this time round I am hopelessly in love with my new boss!

Originally written for "The Punekar"

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Manasi Vaidya, Author of "No Deadline For Love"

Break a leg!

2011-12-05T17:19:00.001+05:30

Just popping in to tell you that my short story has appeared in the latest issue of Femina (the December 14 issue, with Asin on the cover)! I love Femina and I've been reading it since I was about nine (hi mom!). It started off as a covert love affair, with every new, minty fresh copy of Mummy's Femina as it used to be in those days, being surreptitiously smuggled into the loo where I'd spend a blissful twenty minutes or so lost between its covers, before my mom started hammering the door down. We lived in Moscow those days, in the erstwhile USSR, with trips to India being few and far between. Once every three months or so, we would get a goody bag of sorts from India, a tangible link to home, with VCR tapes of the latest Hindi movies, mangoes or sarson ka saag or kamal kakri depending on the season, various types of attas and pickles, copies of Champak and Tinkle and sometimes, Target for me and my sister, and a copy of Femina for my mom.

Safe from the ever alert eyes of my mother I would pore over every page of Femina, reading and re-reading articles that I particularly liked. The short stories often featured in it were a huge personal favorite and I still carry deep mental imprints of some of the stories that left a lasting impression, even though the paper clippings that I tried to preserve are long gone. So it was a huge honor when I got an e-mail from Femina asking me if I would like to contribute a short story for the magazine. Its a three part story titled 'Break a Leg' and it will appear in three consecutive issues of Femina starting with the Dec 14 one, so if you get a chance to read it, do please let me know what you think won't you?

In other news, my sister is down from the US for a couple of weeks and I've spent the last few days at my parents' gorging on my Mom's awesome Konkani dishes like batata song and matar chi amti and then spending the afternoons passed out in a food induced stupor, rousing myself only when Nikki, who is not one for afternoon naps, or really sleep of any kind, decided she would play 'horsey-horsey' with me as the horsey, or Red Indians and proceeded to send some eardrum splitting shrieks my way. My sister also got me a goody bag of a very different kind as a gift, and while this one didn't have the Tinkles and the Targets of yore, which I sometimes still miss, it did have a wonderful array of creams and lotions and body scrubs and what-have-you's which saw me spend the weekend steeped in Bath & Body Works bliss. And now its on to my favorite time of the year; family coming down from different parts of the globe, the festive season right around the corner, birthday and anniversary a few corners further down and then a big family wedding. This time I'm planning to go all out and introduce Nikki to Santa and his band of helpers. Rudolph is already a bit of a favorite in these parts ( I suspect it has something to do with the red nose). I'm getting us a tree and decorations and have plans for a traditional X-massy spread if I can manage it. Now all I need is a modern day, Johnny Depp look alike Santa to make the festive season really cheery. And you? How're you planning to ring the new year in?

“Lingerie shopping is good for the soul”

2011-12-03T23:32:00.000+05:30

Many years ago on an overcast Saturday afternoon, I found myself at one of those fancy foot spas that promise to take your worn-out, roughed-up, sandpaper-y feet and turn them all silken and velvety. I’d been gifted a voucher for the spa and since I was in the neighborhood for work anyway, I decided to squeeze in an hour of indulgent pampering before getting back to the grind. It had been a particularly trying week at work and I was glad to lose myself in the luxuriously plush surroundings of the spa for a while and switch off.

The interiors of the spa were divided into semi private enclosures which seated up to five women at a time and I found myself grouped with four other ladies, all engaged in an animated conversation. They got talking with me too as we waited for our respective therapists to show up and I discovered that they were sisters-in-law out for a weekend treat. During the course of the hour long ‘happy feet therapy’ as the spa manager put it, I got a fairly detailed look into the lives of the four ladies as they merrily chatted away. Apparently they were part of a large joint family which was strictly controlled by the father-in-law who ensured that he had a say in everything from the weekly menu to the household budget. With six growing children in the house, a busy kitchen to manage and a fairly hectic social schedule, life for the four ‘co-sisters’, as they referred to each other, was as full as it could possibly be and they often found that they had barely any time to spare for just themselves.

That’s when the eldest sister-in-law had come up with a brainwave; one that would allow the four ladies to step away from their roles as wives, mums and home makers for a bit and get some much needed me-time. Once in a while, whenever they could get a breather in their busy schedules, the ladies would head out together for an activity they all enjoyed: shopping, a trip to the spa or salon or just a relaxed meal at a restaurant. While the mother-in-law and their respective husbands were perfectly okay with this arrangement, the father-in-law didn’t particularly approve of what in his view were frivolous activities. And so, whenever time came for their occasional girls’ day out and they were questioned by the father-in-law, the ma-in-law would just inform him that they needed to go out for some ‘lingerie shopping’! That would naturally put an end to any further discussion and the ladies would enjoy their time off and get back to their routines, no questions asked!

“You know our father-in-law is actually a very nice person” the eldest sister-in-law who was seated right next to me confided “He is just a little old fashioned and given his age we don’t want to get into any direct confrontations with him. Our mother-in-law on the other hand is wonderfully supportive and luckily for us the four of us get along so famously that we have a readymade support system right at home. These occasional sessions really help us bond and rejuvenate and just forget the daily irritants of life for a while and we get back feeling so refreshed. Like I say, lingerie shopping is good for the soul!”

The ‘happy feet’ session ended soon after and bidding goodbye to the co-sisters, I tripped away on my barely recognizable, sparkling new feet, with these words ringing in my ears. In their own way, these four women had found a way to weave some fun into, what seemed to me, a fairly regimented life, by ensuring that they regularly took some time out for themselves. We’ve all read about the importance of ‘me-time’ but very few of us, yours truly included, actually make a conscious effort to make time for it. And yet I find that whenever I do make the effort and take some time out to ‘just be’, as a friend once put it, it makes a remarkable difference. I feel rejuvenated, more focused and often I find that this time helps me cope better with the day ahead.

And so for some time now, I have been making the effort to fit some ‘me-time’ into my routine as well. It doesn’t have to be an extravagant shopping trip or a trip to the spa; it could be as simple as getting some time to yourself in a busy day.
For one girl I know it is the half hour after the rushed morning routine has passed, and the husband and child have been packed off to office and school respectively. She brews herself some tea, puts her feet up and puts the rest of the world on hold for that half hour before heading to her own workplace. For another friend, a hot foot soak last thing at night is what helps her unwind.

I’ve been really lucky to have made some new ‘mommy friends’ since my daughter’s birth. Every once in a while, we leave our toddlers in the care of their baby sitters (dads!) and head off for a movie or brunch. And when the mommies or the baby sitters or both are not around, I like to get my alone time after everyone else in the house is either asleep or doing their own thing. I pull out my favorite treasure, a stash of much thumbed girlie magazines I’ve had since college and give myself up to an hour of bliss.

“Why are you reading that rubbish again?” asks the husband as he wanders past “Haven’t you given that stuff to the raddi chap yet?”

“No and I don’t intend to,” I reply, with (what I hope is) an enigmatic smile “because lingerie shopping is good for the soul!”

Originally written for "The Punekar"

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Manasi Vaidya, Author of "No Deadline For Love"
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Taking care of Mama

2011-11-26T19:37:00.002+05:30

It was a misty, silvery Saturday morning; the kind where the sun plays hide and seek with the clouds and bathes the leaves with a mellow glow. Mama stood in the living room battling a familiar inner conflict: the thick sheaf of tempting Saturday newspapers and a mug of ginger chai or the little girl playing alone in her room? Mama always looked forward to her quiet Saturday mornings with the paper, but this Saturday was a little different. This Saturday Daddy had had to rush off for an urgent meeting at the office leaving behind a very upset little girl who always looked forward to her extended Saturday 'Daddy brunches', and a weary Mama. A massive volcanic eruption masquerading as a tantrum had followed Daddy's departure and now that the dust had finally settled, Mama was wary of provoking any further unrest. Besides the little girl seemed happy now and was even humming to herself...but then again she had looked so terribly forlorn when daddy left...

Just ten minutes. Mama promised herself. And then she would go and build towers with the little girl. And make little pink playdoh pigs with curly yellow tails.
She sank gratefully into the welcoming couch and gave herself up to the thick Saturday newspaper.

Not for long.

"Mama?" The little girl stood beside her with her basket of hair clips and rubber bands and a definitive gleam in her eye. "Your hair looking so funny. Room-it your pony's tail and Nikki make your hair pretty pretty just like Nikki."

"Okay" Mama said meekly. She knew better than to offer any resistance and she also did not think she had the capacity to weather another tantrum.

Besides there was the whole debacle of U didi. U didi who had sidled insidiously into the little girl's life, to help take care of her and who had left just as insidiously without so much as a by-your-leave a few months later. Now U didi hadn't been good at many things but if there was one thing she had been rather proficient at, it was making fancy hairstyles. While Mama had thus far considered it a major achievement to pin the little girl down for a few seconds while she hastily ran a comb through her hair and put a clip or two in place, U didi spent copious amounts of time creating elaborate hairstyles. Right from the simple 'fountain' on top of the little girl's head to hairstyles reminiscent of the fancy bouffants of Bollywood's leading ladies of yore, she attempted several hair-dos and managed to create outstanding results. It almost became a ritual of sorts; the little girl would sit patiently by the large French windows in the dining room while U didi wove her magic, and then much ooh-ing and aah-ing would happen over the little girl's latest hairstyle. And then U didi left one day taking her hair styling skills with her and breaking the little girl's heart. Overnight the little girl didn't want anything to do with her fancy hair clips and scrunchies and hair bands. She refused to entertain thoughts of having her hair styled into even a ponytail despite Mama's best efforts. Even combing her hair seemed to upset her. So when she began displaying an interest in combing Mama's hair instead, Mama was willing to do anything to help her get over that evil U didi who had left without a second thought for a little girl who had thought the world of her (curse her pointy little bouffant-ed head).

Besides after the initial few attempts at 'combing Mama's hair' which had comprised much jabbing and poking and shrieking of the anguished kind (by Mama), the little girl had managed to master the art of putting a comb to Mama's hair without irreparably damaging her scalp and Mama didn't really mind her hair being made 'pretty pretty' any more.

So when the little girl appeared beside her with her basket of trinkets, she obediently loosened the clasp that held her locks at the nape of her neck and settled down on the floor to make it easier for the little girl to wield her comb.

"Very good Mama! You're a good girl. Now I make you look pretty pretty okay?"

The little girl got to work in a determined sort of way and since she didn't seem too inclined for conversation, Mama decided to continue reading. After all this didn't really hamper the reading process at all. Actually, maybe this was a good thing, this obsession with combing Mama's hair. Maybe Mama could use this as an opportunity to stop cribbing about all the unread books piling up on the bedside table and actually get some reading done for a change! The little girl could comb away and Mama could read. Yes, it was brilliant! Mama was so happy she smiled a little smile to herself.

"Why you smiling Mama?"

"Because I'm reading."

"Now your eyes tired. You take some rest. Close your eyes."

"But..."

"CLOSE. YOUR. EYES. Mama."

"Okay. Sigh."

Mama let the newspaper drop to the floor wistfully and closed her eyes. So much for catching up on her reading. Now she'd have to sit here for God knows how long with her eyes closed till....actually it had been a while since she just sat with her eyes closed like this. It felt kind of good. Relaxing, in a meditative kind of way. Actually maybe this wasn't such a bad idea either. After all everyone was always telling her to take a chill pill and learn how to relax, and now that she thought about it, she was beginning to feel a little bit relaxed. Yes, Mama could get used to this. Just sitting here, no unnecessary thoughts crowding her mind, no talking...ahhh, bliss!

"Why you again and again smiling Mama?"

"Hmmm? Oh nothing, just feeling relaxed!"

"Hmmmm."

Short pause.

"Okay Mama. Now you sing. Sing 'Aloo Kachaloo kahaan gaye the'. Start."
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An extract from ‘No Deadline For Love’ (Penguin Books India)

2011-11-23T20:38:00.000+05:30

‘Whoa! What happened, Megha? You look like a fright!’ Vijay had looked a little startled when I’d bounded up to him and I didn’t blame him. I was having a bad hair day and all the running up and down the stairs hadn’t helped matters. It probably looked like a tornado was swirling around my head by now.
I hurriedly explained the situation to Vijay and he told me that I would find Yudi at the little coffee shop in the basement of the building that housed our office.
‘He’s gone there for his daily shot of caffeine,’ Vijay grinned. ‘That guy is a tea-totaler—he can’t stand the sight of tea and there isn’t any coffee served at these high tea sessions! Hey Megha, tell him I’m looking for him too, will you? Oh, and Megha?’
'Yeah?' I turned around just as I was rushing out of the cafeteria again.
‘Tie up your hair, will you? It’s kind of, you know, frizzy,’ Vijay said kindly and I smiled and continued on my way. A comment like that would have normally unleashed my temper but Vijay had said it so sweetly and in the most well intentioned way that it was impossible to get angry. Besides, he was right. I paused to glance in the mirror of the office elevator that was transporting me to the basement and cringed at the sight of my hair. It was in a particularly mutinous mood today and each strand had declared independence from gravity; any more frizz and I would look like I’d been electrocuted. I whipped out a hair band and quickly secured my hair into a tight knot at the nape of my neck. I normally avoided tying up my hair because everyone said pulled-back hair made me look very young and vulnerable, like a little lost soul. I had interpreted this to mean diffident and under-confident and had taken to wearing my hair loose most of the time. I was so used to it now that I felt strangely exposed with my hair pulled back, as though a crack had appeared in the facade of supreme self-confidence that I kept up most times as I lurked behind my gloriously swinging mane. Vile Varun could’ve probably eaten me alive if I’d walked into the appraisal with my hair tied back like this.
The lift lurched to a stop, jerking me out of my reverie, and I hurried along to the coffee shop, my eyes peeled for Yudi. A strong whiff of espresso hit me as soon as I swung the door open and I inhaled huge gulps of it, the familiar smell comforting me somewhat. The Beans Coffee Hut was a popular hangout for the office crowds that worked in GF as well as the surrounding area, and even though the food sucked and the coffee tasted like dishwater, nothing could compare with the fantastic juke box they had in the corner which churned out melodies from as far back as the ‘70s. The owner, Samarpreet, had some ‘connections’ in the Bollywood music industry through which he had acquired this treasure and he took loving care of it, servicing it personally every week and polishing it until it shone. I had spent many a post-work evening there in the reluctant company of Vijay, who was more of a rock music buff, listening to old Hindi film songs and melting my office-related woes away over some piping hot masala chai which was the one thing the Beans Coffee Hut did a reasonable job at dishing out.
I looked around and my heart sank suddenly as I spotted Yudi in a corner, partially obscured behind some potted greens. He was in the middle of an intense discussion with Priyanka who was looking at him devotedly, her hands clasped in front of her. My mind whizzed back to the thousands of times I had seen Yudi and Priyanka together—at work, in Goa, at the restaurant where I’d met Gautam. They were definitely a couple from the looks of it and if not that, they had to be interested in each other given the amount of time they spent together. Maybe Yudi had turned his cell off so they could be alone, I realized, as I remembered the 'not reachable' message on his cellphone. Maybe they wanted to celebrate Priyanka’s success in private and here I was all set to crash the party. Well, there was no going back now—I had no time to lose if that stimulus material was going to make the flight with Yudi. I took a deep breath and approached their table, suddenly feeling terribly self-conscious and acutely aware of my slightly dishevelled appearance. Priyanka could make me feel like a country bumpkin in severe need of a makeover on the best of days, and today was not one of my good days. The recent work overload had taken its toll and I was looking like a dehydrated raccoon with dark circles occupying prime space on my tired face. I had rushed to work that day in my raggedy old jeans and a faded tee, taking advantage of GF’s Friday dressing policy, because I was much more comfortable working in them than the formal work wear I normally donned.
‘Umm . . . Yudi?’ I said nervously, walking up to the table. ‘Can I talk to you for a minute, please?’

Read the rest here!

An extract from ‘No Deadline For Love’ by Manasi Vaidya, reproduced with the permission of Penguin Books India, exclusively for ‘The Punekar’.

Oh boy, oh boy, oh Bai!

2011-11-23T15:36:00.000+05:30

A few weeks ago a visiting aunt who’s been living in the US for over the last twenty years dropped in for tea. As we chatted over some hot ginger chai and crisp samosas, my cook ventured into the living room to enquire if we’d like some more tea.

“Ah what a blessing it is to have domestic help!” my aunt sighed wistfully “Back home in Seattle we have to do everything ourselves and even getting someone to make a cup of tea for you is a luxury! You’re so lucky!”

I glanced warily at my cook who shot back a pleased smile and trotted off to the kitchen looking mighty chuffed. She had finally showed up for work that day after nearly a fortnight’s absence during the course of which she had been systematically dispatching members of her extended family to join the heavenly choir in the sky and subsequently taking leave as a result of the multiple illnesses, deaths and funerals in her family. The month before that it had been a mysterious illness that had afflicted her, before that she’d had a wedding in the family and before that the roof of her rented room had suddenly collapsed one fine night necessitating a week’s leave. Just that very morning, fed up with her litany of excuses (impressed as I admittedly was with her creativity at storytelling) I had threatened to give her the boot and she had miraculously chosen to turn up for work instead of attending her chachi’s mami’s first cousin’s husband’s funeral.

As my aunt went on about the luxury of having domestic help in India I found myself thinking about my unending bai woes over the last couple of years. Back when I was footloose and fancy free, or for that matter even after I had settled for matrimonial bliss and set up my own home, bais had never really figured on my list of worries. A spot of cooking and a dash of cleaning were good enough to fit the bill and on the many days that the bai didn’t show up for work I was only too happy to experiment with some cooking or try out the hip new eatery in town while adeptly ignoring the dust bunnies and the mountainous stack of laundry at home. We existed in blissful oblivion, the bai and I.

All that changed when my baby came into the picture and I began spending significantly longer stretches of time at home with her. All of a sudden managing the home front and ensuring that the domestic machinery was ship shape assumed utmost importance. Grabbing a masala chai and a brun maska on the go was no longer a viable option for breakfast when you had a baby demanding to be fed. Dust bunnies needed to be banished into oblivion and the pile of laundry (now multiplied manifold with baby in the picture) screamed for immediate attention. The bai suddenly became the fulcrum on which the domestic chakra needed to whir without a hitch. And not just any bai would do, it had to be one who was clean, sincere and efficient. And one who showed up for work.

I found myself floundering in the Bai Market as I desperately searched for such a domestic diva. It all began with the Great Bai Hunt, which required you to keep your eyes peeled and be on watchful alert when you were out and about. I found myself carefully assessing the various bais on display in my society. I drew up a list of parameters and must-haves against which I ranked them based on their appearance. Finally, satisfied that I had perfected the Great Bai Hunt to a finely honed art, I approached the top choice on my list of prospective bais with what I thought was a suitable job offer.

“I’m not a bai, I live here!” barked the lady in question turning a delicate shade of green and shooting me a poisonous look that turned my intestines into jelly. She marched off to another group of ladies nearby and began speaking to them in an aggrieved tone while simultaneously throwing more poisonous looks my way.

“Please find me a bai!” I whispered in desperation to the watchman as I sped to the safety of my apartment, deciding to abandon any further plans of the Great Bai Hunt.

The watchman rose to the occasion rather admirably and I soon found myself facing round two in acquiring a bai; the Bai Interview. Prospective candidates began streaming into my house in response to the job vacancy. The interview process itself was mercifully short. I would open the door to find myself being given the once over by a pair (or sometimes two) of beady, knowing eyes.

“What is the work? How much time? How many people? How much money?” the bai at the door would bark out the questions in a series of staccato bursts before shaking her head disdainfully and marching off.
Many bais came and went but no one seemed remotely interested in taking up the job. My confidence sank to an all time low and I began seriously doubting my ability to hire, let alone retain any help, when one fine day in response to my meek answers to the standard interview questions, a bai actually acquiesced to take up my offer.

“I will only work for two hours, accept X amount of money, take Sunday off and have two cups of tea with four teaspoons of sugar each, if you want me to work here” she declared walking in and looking around with an air of detached contempt.

“Fine, as long as you do the job well” I said meekly, too dispirited to negotiate.
“When can you start?”

And so began my tryst with round three, the most complicated round of them all: Hold On To Your Bai For Dear Life! For after months of painstaking training, supervising and offering a variety of retention incentives, just when you thought that things had finally fallen into place and when you least expected it, the bai would quit for the flimsiest of reasons and vanish into Bai Oblivion, setting into motion yet again the Great Bai Hunt for a new bai.

After many years of handling the process of searching for, hiring, training and losing bais, I have finally reached a happy place where it really doesn’t bother me anymore. Unlike old times when I would go through a despairing cycle of shock, anger, regret and what-ifs, the disappearance of a bai now merely gives me cause to shake my head with a reproachful tut-tut and with steely determination I venture forth yet again into the Bai Market. Of course there are stories (not mine, I seem to have been blessed with more than my fair share of bad maid karma) of the faithful retainer who’s been loyal to the same family for years at a stretch and I live in constant hope that I too will one day find such a domestic goddess. Until then though, I make do with what I have and keep a watchful eye on the clock every morning as I pass through the dreaded hour between 7.00 and 8.00am during which the course of my day will get decided; will the doorbell ring heralding the arrival of my bai or will it be the phone call instead informing me that Sopu Kaka’s maushi’s brother has had a heart attack and there will be no bai in the foreseeable future.
And when the bell does chime and the bai walks in and later as I sink with gratitude into my first cup of tea for the day, I realize that for better or for worse I am stuck with my bai, and all said and done having her around does take the bite out of daily domestic drudgery a fair bit. Here’s to all the bais (or the lack of them) in our lives then, all those formidable ladies who are a daily and integral part of our households and who still have the capability to make all the visitors from abroad go green with envy!

Originally written for "The Punekar"

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Manasi Vaidya, Author of "No Deadline For Love"
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The 'happy party'

2011-11-16T23:06:00.002+05:30

So its been a while since I posted here last. Not counting the Punekar posts which were written some time back and which I decided to put up just to fill in the increasingly growing gap between posts. The last three months have been far from rosy and for a while I had just given up on everything, blogging included. It all started with P falling ill, followed in close succession by Nikki, which I blogged about here. Just when life seemed to be limping back to normal and things were getting back on track, Nikki fell ill again. Except that this time round it wasn't the routine fall ill- go to the doctor-take a dose of antibiotics jig that we had kind of gotten used to, given the number of times she's been unwell ever since she started playschool. No, what happened this time round made the whole go to the doctor- take antibiotics routine seem like a faraway, rosy dream. It was a complete nightmare from the word go, comprising a week's stay in the hospital, two days of which were spent in the ICU. My first and only visit to a hospital before this was when Nikki was born and that was something I had prepped for, for over a year. This time round it was unexpected and scarily so. Its been well over a month, nearly two, since this happened but even now just the thought of that hospital stay gives me nightmares. The only good thing that came of the entire episode, even though I wouldn't have thought such a thing possible at the time, was that the short, harrowing hospital stay helped me get a lot of things in perspective. They say illness always gives you a new, sometimes improved perspective on life. Very true in my case. This episode happened at a time when I certainly needed some perspective and I got it by the cartloads. And cliched as it may sound, I think somewhere it has left me a wiser person. I can handle any shit Mr Murphy (he seems rather fond of me) chooses to throw my way now. Having said that, an illness of this magnitude for Nikki is certainly not something I want to undergo ever again. I would much rather happily go under a truck. Even a multitude of trucks. Its one thing to be ill yourself or even watch another adult suffer. Its excruciatingly difficult when its your young child and its not something I think I have the fortitude to bear again. Food for thought that, considering I've always considered myself to be a rather strong person otherwise, but this episode left me shattered. For weeks after we'd got back home and even after Nikki was back to her usual naughty little chatterbox self, I was moping around wallowing in self pity, feeling quite fed up with life.

Life, meanwhile, went about her business with nary a care as she is wont to. The maid vanished into thin air a few days after we got back from the hospital without so much as a by-your-leave. The dhobi continued to delight with burnt shirts and mysteriously stained collars. The people who live on the floor right above us carried on with their all year round home renovation program which gives one the constant impression of living under either a bowling alley or a hammer wielder with a particularly nasty temper, or on some particularly good days, both. All delightful little reminders that the show must go on and you really have no choice but to pull up your socks and get on with it. And eventually, time will heal all wounds even if it doesn't necessarily erase all memories, and life will seem less miserable even with the bais who don't show up and the errant dhobis. (I draw the line at the people on top though, they really are a a royal pain.)

In other news, in all of this general chaos and turmoil, my beloved book was launched. I really couldn't give it the attention or the time it deserved, much less blog about it but I hope to be able to do that now. All in all, it has been around for a couple of months now and by the grace of God its doing well. The reviews have been very encouraging, its made it to the Landmark best-seller list two weeks in a row(Woo Hoo!) and readers have written in to me with very ego boosting kind of stuff which could have potentially gone to my head if it hadn't been for the able support of my family who've taken it upon themselves to keep me grounded.In their own special ways, of course. A couple of months ago when the book had just been launched, an impromptu get-together was organized at my aunt's home. "Read from the book!" someone shouted.
I blushingly obliged. Surrounded by a gaggle of aunts and cousins, heart thumping so hard in my mouth I could barely get the words out, I nervously read from what I hoped was one of the funnier bits in the book. A frozen silence ensued. Baffled looks were exchanged.
"Erm, are we supposed to laugh now? That was the funny bit was it?" inquired a bewildered voice.
Yep, don't think there's any danger of my developing a swollen head anytime soon. They help me stay grounded, my family, they do.
************************************************

I was chatting with my mum on the phone about the last three months the other day and I told her I was fed up with all the worrying and the fretting and that 'the pity party was over'.
"What is a pity party Mama?" chirped an inquisitive little voice at my elbow.
"Umm, a pity party is when you're feeling sad Nikks. But Mama has decided not to feel sad anymore."
"So Mama will be happy now? Have a happy party?"
"Yes."
And a happy party it will be. Let the good times roll.

The Little Things That Matter…

2011-11-07T23:47:00.000+05:30

Last evening Nikki and I attended a Hannah Montana themed birthday party. There was a large Hannah Montana cake, Hannah Montana balloons, goody bags, paper plates and cups, Hannah Montana streamers on the walls; by the end of it I pretty much had the effervescent Hannah coming out my ears. The party was rather nice, if a little impersonal, and it was probably just me, but I found the sight of several little three year old girls dressed up as Hannah Montana clones a little disturbing. I told the husband about it as we trudged home bearing a large (Hannah Montana, naturally) goody bag and we found ourselves reminiscing about the vastly different birthday parties of our own childhoods. The simple, do-it-at-home affairs where you would plan the party games yourself and spend the afternoon of the party feverishly making chits for the passing-the-parcel planned for the evening while your mother worked in the kitchen to provide the few guests, each of whom she knew by name, with homely fare.

There are very few, if at all, of these parties anymore and you can’t really blame the parents. It’s a little difficult to explain to your young child, after having attended a Winnie the Pooh themed birthday party complete with the Hundred Acre Woods, that she should be happy with a simple party at home. Having given in to one of these themed parties myself for Nikki’s first birthday however, I’ve emerged from the experience weary but wise, and with a rock solid resolve to try and pass on to Nikki the simple but soul satisfying birthday parties of my childhood.

This got me thinking of a few other things that I would like to pass on to Nikki from my childhood. The simple, little things, that you could easily overlook, but when you really think about it, went a long way in making your childhood special.
A love for reading and books would most certainly top the list of these. There are very few experiences in life that can surpass the joy derived from a good book and a rewarding and enriching relationship with books is something I definitely want to pass on to Nikki. A lot of people scoffed when I began reading to Nikki when she was just about three months old, but when I peek into her room now and see her little head bent in rapture over a book, and when we bond over the adventures of Silly Sally or Bubbles the Monkey at bedtime, I know that with books, it is never too early to begin (or for that matter, too late!).

Next on the list would be the family dinners my parents imposed on us when we were kids and whose value we realized only years later. Every evening, come hell or high water, or to be more apt, exam or new TV soap, all of us were required to show up at the dinner table to have the evening meal as a family. The television and phones were strictly off limits during this time and we were all required to participate in some dinnertime conversation. It was a simple, routine thing to do, something that we did every evening without really thinking too much about it, but when I look back now I realize that back then, no matter how much I overtly resented this intrusion into ‘my space’, subconsciously I looked forward to these dinners as a time when I could just switch off from the rest of the world and connect with my family, and those shared meals helped us grow closer.

And so in my own little family now I try and recreate those family dinners of yore by putting Nikki firmly into her highchair at the table and dragging the husband there as well, and insisting that all phones and the TV are turned off. It can get challenging at times with Nikki insisting on using the rotis to play Frisbee with and the husband twitching nervously with severe BlackBerry withdrawal symptoms, but we manage to emerge unscathed from most meals and feel only the better for the time spent together. As the years pass and Nikki grows older I hope we can use this time to strengthen the bond we share and practice the fine art of conversation and the finer art of listening.

Which brings me to the next item on my list; the art of listening- really listening, to other people and taking a genuine interest in their lives. I’ve met so many self obsessed people in the last few years that I can almost sense it when a person genuinely interested in others walks into a room. I’d like Nikki to be one of these few, increasingly rare, but precious people, something that I’m sure will go a long way in developing her personality and helping her forge real, lasting friendships.

And lastly, I’d like to teach Nikki the ability to be comfortable in and to enjoy her own company, because at the end of the day, no matter how large your circle of friends, you are alone with your own thoughts.

There are many other things I’d like to pass on to Nikki as well, and like every other parent if I had to list them all out I’d probably end up with a compendium in several parts. But if I had to list just a few, I would choose these. Little things yes, but things that will help build a rewarding childhood, filled with the simple pleasures of life, the way childhood should be.

What about you? What are the things from your own childhood that you would like to pass on to your children? And if your kids are all grown up already, what are the things you think you did well to pass on?

Originally written for "The Punekar"

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Manasi Vaidya, Author of "No Deadline For Love"
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The Lost Art of Doing Nothing…

2011-11-05T09:35:00.000+05:30

I was first introduced to the concept of summer camp for toddlers the summer my daughter turned two. I was blissfully day dreaming about the long, lazy summer days ahead on the last day of what had been quite a hectic school year (getting a two year old to preschool is no easy feat!) when I was accosted by another mum who was part of the mother toddler club that I attended with my daughter.

“So which summer camp are you signing up for?” she asked me urgently, while waving a few brochures that screamed ‘Summer Camp!’ in bold letters in my face.

“Eh?” I answered in my customary eloquent manner.

“Summer Camp!” she snapped impatiently “There are just a few days left before seats fill up everywhere. You have to act fast if you want to get in!”

“Really?” I was quite horrified “And you think this stuff is necessary for our kids? I mean, they’re only two!”

“Of course it’s necessary!” said the woman looking at me as if I was a particularly slow species of the human race “It’s an important part of their educational base! You don’t want your daughter losing out in the long run do you?”

I headed home suddenly feeling a lot less happy about the lazy summer vacation I had been looking forward to. What if that other mother was right? Maybe summer camp was an integral part of toddlers’ early education these days! After all, the times our kids are growing up in are very different from our own, relatively simpler childhoods. I took a few deep breaths and decided to tackle the summer camp issue in a calm and rational manner.

“We need to send Nikki to a summer camp!” I shrieked like a banshee the minute the husband walked in through the door that evening “It’s an important part of her educational base! She’ll lose out in the long run if we don’t enroll her right away!”

“What nonsense” said the husband without batting an eyelid, “There were no summer camps when we were kids and we turned out fine!”

“However,” he added quickly seeing that I was about to get into the wailing banshee mode again “You can always take a few trial classes and check them out. See how you and Nikki like them.”

And so a few days later, armed with all the research I had done on summer activities, I set out to attend a few trial classes with Nikki. I had identified a summer camp which had a variety of activities for toddlers, designed to hone their gross and fine motor skills, sensory abilities, cognitive behavior, speech development and every other skill a young person is supposed to be equipped with these days.

Our first stop was a yoga class for mothers and toddlers, which aimed at getting the tots introduced to fitness while the mothers improved their flexibility and mental well being. A matronly looking woman greeted us as we entered a room where a few mums and their babies were already perched on yoga mats.
“We will begin with some basic exercises” she announced “Please lie down on the floor and stretch out your arms and legs.”
I obediently lay down and stretched out my arms and legs as instructed. As I took a few deep breaths I felt a feeling of calm envelop me. This was brilliant; I would soon be relaxed and supple and I was introducing my daughter to the benefits of yoga at such a young age!
“We will now begin the deep breathing” the instructor called out “Please inhale deeply and exhale with an Ommmm”
I took a deep breath and began to exhale slowly “Ommm….OW! Owwwwwwwwwwwww!”
Nikki, seeing me lying prostrate on the ground with my arms akimbo, had assumed this was some sort of new game and had clambered up on me.
“Horsey horsey Mama?” she asked brightly and began bouncing up and down on my tummy like it was a particularly springy trampoline.
“Ommmmmmmm” said the instructor, quite oblivious to my predicament.
“Owwwwwww” I yelped in agony, desperately trying to get Nikki off.
I saw the instructor shoot me an irritated look from the corner of her eye. Thankfully the stretching exercise was over soon and we got ready for the next posture. This involved balancing on gym balls and doing some more stretching.
“Look Mama, beeeeeg ball! “ Nikki said delightedly and made a lunge at a bright red gym ball on which a plump woman was precariously balancing herself. I grabbed her in the nick of time and deciding that slip disc surgery would probably be the outcome if I tried any stunts on the ball with Nikki around, beat a hasty retreat.

Our next activity was art where I hoped we would fare better since Nikki enjoyed doodling. The room itself was lovely with a multitude of art and craft materials strewn around, and Nikki grabbed a handful of crayons delightedly and began scribbling away.
“Do you know how to draw a circle?” a teacher came up and enquired. Nikki obligingly drew a squiggle.
“No, let me show you” taking the crayon from Nikki, the teacher drew a perfect circle. “Let’s try a triangle now” she went on.
“I want to draw!” Nikki took another crayon and drew a few more squiggles.
“No, no, no!” the teacher looked vexed “That’s not a triangle!”
She tried taking the crayon from Nikki again who decided that enough was enough and began flinging the crayons on the floor like a missile bomber on a combat mission.
“That’s enough drawing for today Nikki! Maybe we should try something new!” I took Nikki out again and looked around for another activity. Music! Just the thing we needed to calm down. I walked into a room strewn with musical instruments where a few parents and babies sat in a semi circle around the teacher, a kindly looking elderly gentleman, who was explaining to the group that he would now introduce the kids to the concept of ‘sur’ and ‘taal’.

“Mama I don’t like this uncle!” Nikki announced.

The teacher took a deep breath and broke into a ‘sa re ga ma’. With near perfect precision Nikki threw her head back and burst into a loud howl matching him perfectly in pitch and crescendo. The elderly gentleman, now looking significantly less kindly, was beginning to give me pained looks so I gathered a bawling Nikki and headed out to the garden, dejected. I sat down on a clump of grass and contemplated the summer camp debacle. Beside me Nikki sighed contentedly.

“Mama, I so happy now.”

“What?” I gaped at my daughter. She hadn’t been remotely close to happy in the state of the art yoga class, art class or the music class and here she was sitting around, doing nothing and proclaiming great joy. “You’re happy Nikki? Why?”
Nikki gave me a look of infinite wisdom “I so happy Mama, because I do nothing.”
And I finally got it. It was all quite simple really, just the way my childhood had been, until I had tried to over complicate it with my own misplaced zeal and paranoia that my child would get ‘left behind’.

We didn’t sign up for any camp that summer, Nikki and I. Instead we spent a lot of time in the park, counting birds, chasing butterflies and watching the clouds make funny shapes in the sky. We pottered around at home in the kitchen and baked a cake. We went shopping for vegetables and fruits. We made up games and wove imaginary stories out of nothing. And when we got bored we thought of ways to amuse ourselves. It was a happy, contented summer. And at the end of it I really didn’t feel like Nikki had missed out anything or lost out on building her educational base. Because you learn a whole lot more when you are just doing nothing.

Originally written for "The Punekar"

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Manasi Vaidya, Author of "No Deadline For Love"
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New Mum on the Block

2011-11-01T23:25:00.002+05:30

In my pre-mommyhood days, what sometimes seems like a lifetime away now, I used to be a very different person. I was a driven career woman, climbing up the corporate ladder; laptop bag in my hand, stars in my eyes. I met deadlines, dealt with demanding bosses, thrived on coffee-fueled early morning meetings and late night presentations. On weekends, I enjoyed lazy lie-ins and luxuriated in bed with a book and the papers. I experimented with food and dined in exotic places. Long lazy brunches and quiet dinners during which I mulled over the little perplexities of life. I took pride in my appearance and indulged myself with lazy soaks in the tub and frequent trips to the salon. My clothes were impeccable, my hair shiny and blow dried. I went dancing and to the movies and the theatre when the whim struck me, curled up with a good book at home when I preferred a more mellow way to unwind. I travelled often, to far-flung exotic destinations, at times long trips, sometimes short ones, embarked on an impulse. They were rather nice, those pre-mommyhood days.

All that changed when my daughter first announced her appearance in my life with an ear splitting shriek. “Mother” that shriek seemed to say “I am here now. Get ready for your life to change. Big time.”

And change it did. I went from being the driven career woman to perpetually harried first time mother, grappling with the new found challenges of motherhood. The laptop bag was replaced with the diaper bag. The stars in the eyes remained, but they were borne more often than not of a sleep induced haze. Coffee continued to be my best friend. Except it wasn’t to handle deadlines and meetings anymore, it was to keep up with a sleepless infant. Lazy lie-ins became a thing of the past. The child arose each morning at 5.30am sharp. Except weekends of course, when it was 4.30am sharp. My appearance now was the last thing on my mind. I was usually just grateful on the days when I made it to the shower. I had cereal in my hair. The lazy soaks in the tub were quickly replaced with two minute dashes in and out of the shower, in the middle of many of which I often emerged dripping wet with my heart in my mouth because the child had let out a blood curdling yell (which as it turned out was because she was just imitating ‘Oliver the Monkey’ on television). I still danced, but only while entertaining the child at mealtimes. Mealtimes themselves were quick shove-the-food-down-the-gullet affairs for me, and more elaborate ones for the child, stretching on for hours while she mulled over the little perplexities of life and I mulled over what I would serve for the next meal that she might eat faster. I rarely went to the movies anymore and the few times that I did, it almost felt like a surreal, magical experience and I felt like a child at the candy store looking at all that Pepsi and popcorn. I still travelled but only to child friendly places and with luggage enough to make people wonder if I was considering a permanent move to a different planet. Naturally, ninety nine percent was the child’s luggage.

And yet, in spite of all these changes, I was the happiest I had ever been now than before my daughter was born. Motherhood is a transformative experience. It was for me. The most life changing, gut wrenching, overwhelming experience of my life. Yes it is tough and challenging and oftentimes frustrating. But it is also hugely rewarding and satisfying and capable of filling you with a fizzy, warm happiness that touches your soul. Those little arms wrapped around you, that little head trustingly resting on your shoulder and that little voice that says “I love you Mama”. The eager little eyes that search for you in a crowd and, when they find yours, the way that little face lights up with radiant joy. The discovery each day, of a new wonder, seen through those innocent, hopeful eyes, something you would never have caught with your own jaded and cynical ones. The experience of watching that tiny bundle you got home from the hospital grow up, the gradual shaping of that little personality, the understanding of what unconditional love means.

Yes I do think of my pre-mommyhood days sometimes. I even miss little bits of them. But I wouldn’t want to trade my mommy days for anything in the world; not even the ones where I have cereal in my hair. For I know that nothing can compare with being my daughter’s mother.

Join me then, dear reader, as I walk through first time motherhood with my daughter, sometime stumbling, sometimes waltzing along. For all the parents out there, especially the mothers - new mothers and old ones, mothers to be, those who’d like to be mums someday, those who value their own relationships with their mums, and those who like a good laugh. This column will take a tongue- in-cheek look at everything that has anything to do with mommyhood. And about being a mum in Pune. And also a little bit of life on the side as I see it. Until the next column, then.

Originally written for "The Punekar"

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Manasi Vaidya, Author of "No Deadline For Love"
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For my other two year old

2011-09-10T16:26:00.000+05:30

Two years of doing something I thought I would never be able to keep up when I first started. I used to write a diary (at one point of time I even had three different diaries!) but that was different. Nobody ever read my diary, I guarded it fiercely and never let anyone so much as peek at it. The pesky younger sister was often given an earful when she was snooping around my stuff, as younger sisters are wont to (yes you are, admit it!), because I was convinced she wanted to read my diary even though it was far more likely she was just scouting around for a bar of chocolate. I found it incredibly difficult to fathom how people could blog about themselves so easily, put themselves out there just like that. I was convinced I'd never be able to do it. Then I was introduced to the wonderful world of mommy blogging and I wanted to be a part of it too. I've written about that here before; wanting to have someone who would listen, understand without judging,like I saw all the mommy bloggers doing. And so I took the first tentative steps. Without revealing my identity because I really wasn't sure about the whole thing and I really wasn't comfortable with people I knew reading what I wrote. It was incredibly comfortable to write as 'new mum on the block'. There was this strange sense of freedom. I could write what I wanted, experiment as much as I liked, be who I really wanted to be without thinking about being judged or evaluated. I miss that sometimes, writing from that safe comfort zone now that I have revealed my identity, but it couldn't have gone on forever and I knew that when I started. I'm glad I started like that though because even though 'new mum' doesn't blog anymore I still remember how I felt when I had the freedom to blog as her. And that really helped me overcome my initial hesitation at writing in a public forum and to write without any of the mental barriers I am otherwise rather good at imposing on myself.

Today morning I was out with friends and someone mentioned my blog and someone else 'oohed' and 'aahed' and said it was so cool that I had a blog, and I found myself sharing her amazement. Yes, I had a blog, me the 'guard what she writes with her life' girl, and I found that I was really proud of my little, woefully neglected in recent times, blog. Happy second birthday, blog.I'm sorry I nearly forgot your birthday and it had to take that chance conversation to remind me, that two years ago on this date I first met you. You're one of the best things that's happened to me in the last two years. And next year, I'll throw you a proper party to celebrate your birthday. For this one, lets just go out for a drink tonight, just you & I.

P.S. I wrote this post yesterday! Just had to keep it languishing in the drafts till now, because we did do a celebratory dinner for HM after all and by the time we got back it was wayyy past midnight!

Paranoia and chocolate cake

2011-09-09T14:56:00.000+05:30

The title for this post is fully inspired by a book I read many years ago; the delightfully titled 'Prison and Chocolate Cake' by Nayantara Sahgal. Much like the author of the book, who came to associate chocolate cake with prison because of an incident in her childhood, over the last month and a half I've developed a morbid sort of paranoia for chocolate cake myself. It all started with a trip to Nikki's pediatrician around the same time, when I decided that waiting for the doctor in his clinic was probably not such a good idea given that Nikki, who now recognizes the doctor's clinic rather well and associates it with jabs and other unpleasant things, is given to start bawling her head off anytime we're near it. There's a cheery looking cake shop right under the doctor's clinic, specializing in chocolate cakes, so I decided to wait there instead and distract Nikki with the assorted goodies on display till the doctor showed up. It seemed like a good idea then, but thanks to a series of illnesses that saw us going back to the doctor again and again and, would you believe it, yet again and then a few more times, beyond a point that cheery cake shop just made me want to barf. There's something quite tragic about sitting in what should be, and is for other people, a happy place, a place where they come to treat themselves, when all you can think of is that next report from the pathology lab or what the doctor is going to say and whether your poor little sick child is going to have to take another dose of nasty antibiotics. Of course Nikki was quick to associate the cake shop with the doctor soon enough and the whole thing just blew up in my face, so I was back to waiting at the clinic again.

Anyway, so we've been battling a series of illnesses over the last month and a half. Nothing major, but its just been one thing after the other. Poor little Nikki was the worst hit, because she also ended up missing a lot of playschool and then when she was fully recovered she didn't want to go back. Anyway things are back on track now and life is slowly limping back to normal, even though the slightest sneeze, or the hint of a cough is enough to make me start shaking like an aspen. Oddly enough the advent of any new illness was always on a weekend. By the end of it I had become so paranoid, I had come pretty close to sitting in the prayer room fingering beads each time a fresh Friday dawned.

In the meantime, life went on as usual as it is wont to, and even though I realize I've been painting a pretty gloomy picture (you always knew where Nikki gets her drama queen genes from, didn't you?)there have been other cheerful things that have been happening as well. For one, my book finally saw the light of day, erm, bookstores and its already been around for nearly a month now. The initial response has been pretty encouraging and lets just say I don't have to spend the rest of my life sniveling under that cover anymore. You can read some of the reviews here, and I will post other updates soon. Have any of you had a chance to read it? Let me know what you think!

In other news, all this illness made me re-think my own fitness levels and I realized a drastic pulling-up-of-the-socks was in order. Too many late nights, cheese loaded pizza binges and not enough working out was simply not on anymore. Since it had mainly been Nikki and P who were ill, and I was the sole caregiver, I'd also begun to feel rather Florence Nightingale-ish what with all the late night bedside vigils and administering of medicines. With cries of 'I must be a hundred percent fit! I owe it to my family!' ringing in my mind, I threw myself on the treadmill in a bout of misplaced zeal and began to workout like I was training for a marathon. The tryst with fitness lasted only a couple of days because in my enthusiasm to nullify many weeks of living slothfully in just a few days, I ended up straining a muscle and found myself laid up in bed for a change. Thankfully both P & Nikki were well on their way to recovery by then so no major harm done, except to my ego and my dreams of being super fit. Just when I had pretty much memorized the 'how to max your treadmill workout' primer, the doctor has advised me to, in fact, stay as far away from the treadmill as possible. Oh well, at least I'll have more time to blog.

The Boss From Hell

2011-07-13T16:57:00.000+05:30

That evil smile, that sadistic smirk

He’s out to torment you while you work

Every move of yours he’ll spy on and check

You can bet he’s always breathing down your neck

Get used to feeling trapped, like a fish in a bowl

He’s going to suck the joy right out of your soul

He’ll grudge you that long lunch, that coffee break you crave

You better know he thinks you’re his personal slave

Very soon you’ll want to tear your hair out and yell

Coz honey, you’ve got the BOSS FROM HELL.

Vile Varun. Boss from hell. In ‘No Deadline For Love’…. Coming soon!

No Deadline For Love: More Updates!

2011-07-05T16:34:00.001+05:30

Another long overdue post. But I have been busy you know. There's the school drop off every morning, and since school is only for one hour for now, I spend the time hanging around outside, plotting ways by which I can be one up on Nikki's teacher....erm, I mean contemplating the various intricacies of the Indian education system. Then there are play dates on weekday evenings, birthday parties on weekends for which I am the officially designated chaperone, trips to the zoo and the park and the library....well you get the picture. Clearly I need to get a life. Of my own.

Okay, so before I go even further away from the original point of this post (you've forgotten haven't you? See title!)and start ranting about the house help (there is always something there), let me get back to the post at hand. Right. So, the book! It is finally going to see the light of day, or rather the light of bookstores. The good people at Penguin have informed me that it is only a matter of days now before the book is in stores, and they're also sending me a few advance copies so I can finally, finally see what it looks like instead of wistfully sighing over my much thumbed manuscript.

Here's a preview of the cover spread:

Right, so much for that. Since you can't read a word of what that says in spite of all the trouble I went to (darn you, Blogger!), here's what it says on the back:

All her life Megha has diligently done what was expected of her: the graduation in economics, the MBA in marketing and now the straitlaced job in a high-profile FMCG company. But lately, she’s been wondering if this unending routine of juggling late hours and unreasonable deadlines is really her life’s calling. Her mother’s desperate attempts to put her on the ‘marriage market’ are not making life any easier. And to top it all, Megha’s latest project has been bogged down by a complete dearth of creative ideas, giving her nasty boss the perfect excuse to disregard the blood, sweat and tears she’s poured into her job so far. The last thing she needs is having her suggestions trampled upon by the team’s new creative consultant, Yudi—gorgeous, sardonic and only too eager to disagree with Megha. And so the stage is set for a quirky battle of wits and some unexpected romance.
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For all of you out there who think this is the kind of book you'd like to read, do read it and let me know what you think. I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned it on this blog before, but I started writing my book before I started blogging and I had no plans to ever start my own blog till I discovered the wonderful world of mommy bloggers, and then I desperately wanted to be a part of it too. I mean I could always write about Nikki's first steps in my personal diary or rant about the mealtime tantrums, but where else would I get a friendly virtual hug or a 'don't worry, you'll get through this' in return? I was convinced no one would ever read my blog though, and the husband was routinely subjected to the middle of the night crises of confidence and waves of self doubt about whether starting the blog was a good idea. That is of course when he wasn't being subjected to the routine crises of confidence and waves of self doubt about whether writing a book was a good idea too.

Anyway I started the blog, unsure and tremulous, and was convinced it would just sputter out eventually and no one would notice. But someone did, and that someone was kind enough to leave a comment! And then there were more comments, and people told me that they liked the way I wrote! And it was the most amazing feeling ever. I still remember reading that first comment just before leaving for an evening stroll with Nikki and chugging along delightedly in the park with a goofy grin on my face, attracting strange glances from passers by and even a few from Nikki herself. But the point is, it really means a lot to me that some of you out there read what I write, and like it and your comments help me cope with those routine crises of confidence and waves of self doubt that I still suffer from quite regularly. So thank you. If you do read No Deadline For Love, tell me what you think, won't you?

We have a Facebook page up and running now too, you can join it here. I did try and get a plugin on the blog to make it easier to join this, but its sort if gone and died on me and there's only so much a technologically challenged person like me can deal with. (Darn you, Blogger! Yeah I know I said it once, but darn you!)Oh, and its available on Flipkart and Amazon and a couple of others places too, links to which I will try to upload in the sidebar shortly, provided the Cyber Gods are kind to me.

Playschool Ahoy!

2011-06-29T21:23:00.000+05:30

The first day of school. I'd been dreading it all summer. For weeks before school re-opened I'd been feeling like I used to before a major exam for which I was ill prepared and when the first day of school finally dawned I woke up with clammy hands and a queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Naturally I couldn't let Nikki cotton on to how anxious I really was, so I valiantly kept up my dual faced act of quivering with dread at the thought of school in private and acting all jolly and gung-ho about it when Nikki was around. I was really beginning to feel quite schizophrenic about the whole concept of playschool at the end of it. It didn't help that the week before school opened I went shopping for school supplies with a bunch of Equally Paranoid and Hyper Over Protective Moms who spent the entire time discussing all the horrible things that could happen to a hapless two year old, left alone to fend for herself in the big bad world of playschool. Or the Assorted Pesky People I met at the park who'd earlier ask 'What?! She's not at school yet?' and who had now coolly switched to 'What?! You're sending her to school so early?!'.

The whole thing was really beginning to get to me and I couldn't help feeling a pang when the day finally dawned when Nikki would have to go to school all by herself for the first time ever. As we arrived at school, I couldn't help feeling wistful and a little envious of all the mothers with younger kids who were happily trotting off to the Mother & Toddler class together. This was the same school where I'd first come with Nikki when she was just a fifteen month old baby, just about beginning to take her first wobbly steps. This was where we'd spent a whole year together attending the Mother Toddler program ourselves. And now I was expected to just leave her there by herself!

Nikki herself was seemingly unaffected by this momentous occasion and even seemed happy to be back at her beloved school. That was till the teacher showed up and tried taking her from my arms, when she promptly let out a belligerent howl and demanded that I go in with her. The teacher whisked her off nonetheless, after repeatedly reassuring me that Nikki would be absolutely fine once I was out of sight and left me at the gate feeling bereft. I took myself off to a nearby bench and sat counting the minutes feeling more and more like Cruella de Ville with every passing second. What kind of a mother was I, to have just left my baby in the wilderness like that? I mean it wasn't the wilderness strictly speaking and we had been coming there for a year, so Nikki was familiar with the place, but still! She was not even two and a half yet! My baby! I was just about to call P to tell him we were making a horrible mistake with this whole playschool thing when I saw the teacher re-emerge with a familiar looking little figure in her arms. Nikki! She was back! Was it just my imagination or did she look a little pink about the eyes? She'd probably been crying her eyes out inside, poor little angel! I rushed towards the gate as a high pitched Bollywood-esque 'haai mera bachha!' rang out in my mind and reached for Nikki.
"She was absolutely fine!" the teacher informed me with a beam.
"Oh no! Haai....Eh? What? She was fine?" I gaped back at her.
"Oh yes, she had a great time. See you both tomorrow!" the teacher gave me another bright smile before turning to another anxious mother.
Nikki had been fine by herself! She'd managed perfectly well even though I hadn't been around! Right. So that was all fine then. Except that I wasn't feeling bereft anymore. I was feeling dispensable.

I brought up the matter gently with P that evening.
"Nikki doesn't need me anymore!" I screeched "Two years of spending every waking moment with me and now she trots off with that beastly teacher without so much as a second glance, the little ingrate! She had a good time at school today! What am I going to do?"
"Er, I'm sure you'll get used to it eventually honey" P smiled weakly before suddenly remembering an important official dinner for which he needed to leave that very instant, leaving me alone in my misery.
Get used to it indeed! Bah! I was not going to just let that teacher steal Nikki from me while I stood by the sidelines cooling my heels. No sir, I was going to fight right back and show that teacher how indispensable I really was! Hadn't I been voted the most enthu mommy dancer back at the mother toddler class? Hadn't my moves for 'Dorothy The Dinsosaur' been emulated by all the others? Get used to it! Pshaw!

So I was ready for the teacher when she showed up at the gate to take Nikki from me the next morning.
"Maybe I should accompany you till the classroom?" I suggested in a gentle but firm voice "Being her Primary Care Giver, it may help alleviate her separation anxiety."
"Oh that's not required" the teacher replied equally firmly, "It might upset the other children. Besides Nikki has settled in pretty well, she's fine without you inside."
"But she'll have so much more fun if I come too!" I was desperate now "It says on the activity sheet that you have the Wiggly Woo dance activity planned for today and I'm an ace at Wiggly Woo! Why back in the mother toddler class I...."
"Er right, I'm sure you were wonderful!" the teacher interrupted nervously "But we really must go now and Nikki will be fine! Don't worry!" she shot off like a rocket with another nervous glance at me as if I was going to start doing the Wiggly Woo right there! As if! That little twitch I'd given when I was talking to her was just a muscular spasm. Or something.

I spent the rest of the time kicking up a dust storm and pretty much achieving my targeted calorie burning for the quarter as I anxiously paced up and down outside the school building, till a worried looking teacher came out to offer me a cup of coffee and a magazine and told me to 'please just relax'. Nikki came out soon enough with the teacher, beaming and looking as happy as could be. And then, instead of jumping into my arms, she turned around and gave the teacher a high five and a flying kiss! I must have turned a visible shade of green because the teacher took me aside and patted me kindly on the arm "I understand that this is a worrying phase for you but don't worry! This is a settling in phase for the parent as much as the child. And Nikki is doing well, she's with us for just half an hour now but she's settling in so well that we can increase it to an hour next week onwards!"
Yeah right! First an hour and then two whole hours! And before I know it she'll be leaving for college and telling me she needs her space! But I'm damned if I'm giving up without a fight! For starters I showed Nikki who was the real ace at Wiggly Woo with my live stand-up act at dinner last evening. And there was really no reason for P to get all upset. Okay so maybe I did go a little overboard when I asked Nikki if the teacher could do the Wiggly Woo as well as me (huh? huh?)but I mean, she was the one who started it with the high five-ing and the flying kisses all over the place! Still, P insists I need to learn how to let go and stop behaving like a sap and I should be happy that Nikki is bonding with her teacher at school. Hmph. What does he know? He has no idea about the kind of pressure teachers put on the kids nowadays- I heard some horror stories from the Equally Paranoid and Hyper Over Protective Moms just the other day. In fact some of them are even considering homeschooling for their kids so that they don't have to....Hey! Waitaminit. Homeschooling! No more sending your child away for two whole hours. No more high-five-ing and flying-kisses and 'Oh I love my teacher'...no more having to work my butt off (quite literally) to perfect my moves at Dorothy The Dinosaur. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...

Coming Soon!

2011-06-18T12:34:00.000+05:30

Coming real soon, to bookstores near you! You remember I'd told you about it, here? Well the endless wait (for me!) is finally over, and it is going to be out in bookstores by early next month. Will post more updates once it is finally out there!

And now, I'm going to go back to curl up under my duvet to snivel and chew away at my finger nails and continue being a hopelessly nervous wreck.

On an unrelated note, did you notice that I've put up TWO posts in the same day? Prolific, eh? On a blogging spree, what? Yeah, I thought not. Its probably the first and last time this is ever going to happen.

Now back to sniveling.

Lessons from mommyhood

2011-06-18T00:02:00.036+05:30

Okay, so I am bursting at the seams (metaphor, metaphor!)with all the stuff that's been going on and that I want to tell you, but first I have to do the 'lessons from mommyhood' tag that the delightful Noor had tagged me with a while ago. Strangely enough before this tag started doing the rounds I'd been thinking of doing a post along similar lines, a post about all the stuff that I've learned since I became a mom. Being my usual efficient, brisk, get-down-to-the-job self, the post in my mind grew and brewed and would have probably got pickled, if it hadn't been for this tag which has served like a timely kick in the posterior. So here goes; here's some of the stuff I've learned since I became Nikki's mommy:

1.I've learned that it pays to start the day sunny side up. That bit about getting off on the right side of the bed? It works! Before I had Nikki I don't really remember waking up in the morning all raring to smell the roses and soak in the sunshine. Maybe the fact that all I could really look forward to smelling was my evil co-workers' coffee breath while soaking in the artificial glare from my laptop had something to do with it, but the point is I was invariably grouchy first thing in the morning on most days. Except Mondays, when I was positively depressed. Then Nikki came along and every morning I'd be greeted by a little bundle of cooing and squealing delight. Nikki wakes up every morning super thrilled to just be awake, raring to take on a new day, chattering non stop about all the million things she simply has to do right away and her cheerful enthusiasm is infectious! My blue funk vanishes and I grin right back at her and it makes all the difference to the rest of my day as well. The bai who fails to turn up doesn't throw me into a tizzy, the gloomy weather outside doesn't make me want to curl up under my duvet and die and the million little daily irritants that earlier made me want to howl like a banshee just make me want to say tut-tut. Sounds simple really, but it took Nikki to make me realize how important it is to start the day with a smile and what a difference it can make.

2.I've learned to stop, slow down, relax. When you have a child who takes approximately one hour and thirty seven minutes to eat one aloo paratha, you can use the time to figure out what WH Davies really meant when he wrote all that stuff about leisure.You also learn that it can actually be fun to just slow down while you make funny shapes with that aloo paratha and observe the swirls it makes when you trail it in a bowl of yoghurt. And that there's nothing more relaxing than a summer afternoon spent in the park with a two year old, watching the clotted cream clouds drift past above, or make up stories about apples that dance and grasshoppers that sing.

3.Motherhood has made me an infinitely patient person. Patience was not something I listed among my virtues earlier but now I can deal with the worst of the temper tantrums and the nuclear meltdowns and the mealtime battles and then some with an abundance of calm. I just hope it lasts.

4.I've learned that I can be Superwoman when I have to. Ten years ago, if someone had told me that I would survive one long road trip with an infant, during the course of which keeping said infant well fed, clean, safe and in good humour would be my sole responsibility no matter how many times the infant pooped (and boy, did she poop!)and that I would come back home at the end of it, bone tired, to cook up a batch of khichdi and sterilize a few bottles, I would have laughed hysterically. Then I would have keeled over and died. But I did do all of these things. And then I woke up three times at one, three and five am to rock and sing the same infant to sleep. And I did not howl like a banshee. At least not out loud.

5. Most importantly, I think becoming a mother has helped me learn a whole lot of things about myself. About what makes me happy, about the things that really matter to me and the things that don't. And, cliched as it sounds, it has helped me become a better person, because the thought of that little person whose life I am responsible for shaping, at least in some ways, makes me want to be someone she can always look up to.

The whole world and its sister has probably done this tag by the time I've got down to it, but I'm going to go ahead and tag some mommies I'd like to hear from anyway. Go for it Priyanka, Divs, Sonia, MRC (hope this gets you to blog again!) and Beks! You're IT!

The thing about beauty...

2011-06-03T00:33:00.003+05:30

I always thought I had a pretty standard perception of beauty. Smooth skin, pretty eyes, shiny hair, a pleasing face. Being nicely put together and well groomed just added to the overall picture. Then I got to thinking of all the times I’d felt beautiful myself. Really beautiful. It wasn’t the day I got my first terribly expensive haircut in preparation for an important job interview. It wasn’t the day I got dressed to the nines for my wedding. On both of these occasions I’d made sure that I had ticked all of the right boxes. My face was perfectly made up, my hair was straight and silky, and you couldn’t have found a fault with my attire and make up. But I didn’t feel beautiful. I felt cosmetically correct. Actually, to be honest, on the day of my wedding I felt like a cross between a chandelier and a Christmas tree in my heavy lehenga, overtly made up face and chemically straightened hair. But my eyes were shining. And it wasn’t because of the mascara and the three inch thick eyeliner, it was because of the overflowing happiness that I felt inside. And this got me to thinking of all the times in my life that I had felt really beautiful. The day the boy I loved held my hands and told me that he loved me too. It was a windswept, rainy afternoon and we were on a trek with a bunch of friends. We’d been caught in two showers already and a third loomed menacingly, imminent in the brooding, dark clouds hovering above us. I was drenched through, my hair looked ratty and fell in limp strands across my face and in my heavy and wet trekking gear I was probably as close to looking and feeling like a (wet) sack of potatoes as I ever would be. And yet, when I received that declaration of love I felt beautiful. I felt like the most beautiful girl in the world.

I can remember too, in vivid detail, the moment when I saw my daughter for the first time. For nine months before that moment I had dreamed of seeing my baby for the first time ever. For many months before that moment I had thought about and imagined this baby, falling in love with my own creation of her in my mind. Always, I imagined a chubby cheeked, cute little cherub with bright sparkling, mischievous eyes and a pert, impertinent smile. The baby that the doctor brought to me was nothing like that. Eyes tightly shut, fists clenched, a facial expression of immense displeasure at being hustled out into the world like that, taken away from the welcoming cocoon of the womb that she was hitherto accustomed to, my daughter was as far from the mental impression I had had of her as a real, newborn baby is from a touched up, photo shopped Anne Geddes model baby. And yet, at that moment, there was nothing more beautiful to me than the sight of my newborn baby girl and all I wanted to do was revel in her innocent beauty.

When I urge my mind into the past I remember some of the images of everlasting beauty that have stayed with me. My grandmother, with her silver hair and her warm, grey-blue eyes will always be one of the most beautiful women to me. I remember one of my friends in school being slightly disappointed when she first met my grandma. Having heard countless tales of her ‘beauty’ from me in the past she had probably expected to see someone along the lines of Maharani Gayatri Devi when she first came over to meet her and I think she was a little let down with the frail, slightly stooping old lady she met instead. But if she had seen my grandma through my eyes she would have understood what real beauty means to me. To me that very same frail old lady was beauty personified. I saw beauty in those loving grey-blue eyes that had waited eagerly for me to come back home from school every day since the very first day I started going to school, in the smile that lit up her face as I’d turn the corner on the last stretch of the path that led up to our doorway, in the wrinkled hands with which she would insist on feeding me herself, in that tinkling laughter and soft voice that never failed to enquire after my day, even many years later when I’d started working and she probably couldn’t understand exactly what it was that I did, and in that silver hair that I had loved playing with as a child and that had born testimony to years of loving and nurturing her children and then their children after them.

There are other little vignettes that flash through my mind when I think of what beauty really means to me. A face in the crowd that captures my eye and, oftentimes my imagination, that is beautiful in that moment, because of those shining eyes or that serene smile, reflecting an inner spirit and contentment that no cosmetic makeover could ever hope to achieve. Sometimes it is a beauty that reflects character and resolve, sometimes a quiet contentment, sometimes it is just a moment of pure joy. Real beauty then, is something very personal, unique to each of us and our perceptions of it, slightly elusive and a little indefinable, and all the more beautiful because it is so!

Quite honestly I don’t understand the whole brouhaha over looking good, to feel good, especially when that looking good entails confirming to certain norms and predefined standards. And that’s probably why I’ll never colour my hair or get it artificially straightened, because I’d never feel beautiful if I do. But I do know that I will find beauty in the silver of my hair, a beautiful, visual reflection of a life that’s been hopefully well lived. I find it a little hard sometimes to express or even fully understand the reasons behind those occasions when I feel beautiful. It could be after a great workout, or after a great head massage, when I feel beautiful even though my hair is dripping with oil! Maybe it’s the feeling of well being that comes from within, the feeling of caring for myself that makes me feel beautiful at these times.

Someday I want to sit my daughter down and try and tell her, as best as I can, what real beauty should mean. It shouldn’t be about fitting in or standing out. It shouldn’t be about short skirts or long legs or poker straight hair. And it shouldn’t matter what everyone else thinks it is. But it should be something that has meaning to you and resonates with you. It should feel right. And it should come from within. And as long as it does, it will be real.
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This is my entry for the 'What does real beauty mean to you?' contest on IndiBlogger. Read more about real beauty at http://realbeauty.yahoo.com/ Aaaaand vote for me, do, here.

The Book Predators

2011-05-25T13:32:00.000+05:30

We've all met them. The Book Predators who borrow your books and never return them. I was introduced to them fairly early in life, probably because the collective love for books that ran in my family had ensured that I had a massive collection of wonderful books from a very young age. At first I had no problem lending my books to people I knew. I'd derived several hours of pure joy thanks to a particularly wonderful book that I had chanced upon at a friend or relative's house and that they had been kind enough to lend me, and I knew only too well the thrill one gets when one feels that instant connect with a book, the blissful feeling of losing oneself between its covers, savoring the moment when one can get back to it after a break and basking in that warm feeling after a delightful read, reliving the high points and knowing that you could reach out to savour them all over again.

'Anne of Green Gables' was one such find, I'd come across it at a family friend's house where we'd been invited for dinner and had spent the evening devouring it, much to the chagrin of the other kids who were one player short for a detective game they wanted to play. 'What Katy Did Next' was another. 'A Suitable Boy' was read over the course of a weekend at my aunt's, hidden under the duvet by my cousin's bed so the adults couldn't find me and send me packing to the club for swimming lessons with my cousins.

And so I lent my books as well, to friends who asked, hoping that this would be the start of a wonderful relationship between them and my beloved book. And that's when I encountered the Book Predators. Those heartless souls who steal your books without a second thought, with no intention of ever returning them. I had no idea how to deal with them then and the years haven't made me any wiser. If at all, it was easier when I was a child, I could just impose the 'House Rules' on them, namely, direct them to my parents for permission before borrowing a book or simply state that I was not allowed to lend books. This backfired quite often, especially if the parent in question was my mother who tended to have a rather liberal, 'ah, these things happen' outlook when a book went missing, and who in general felt that I read way too much anyway and would be better off being out of doors instead. Still, there were times when I was able to save my books thanks to the 'House Rules'. However the problem with house rules is that they tend to become redundant after a point. That point is typically reached when you find you now have a house of your own, and worse still you are now the parent and the figure of authority, so you can't exactly tell that beady eyed female spectre eyeing your beloved Wodehouse that you have to check with Daddy first.

I have no problem lending my books to someone who I know shares my love and respect for books and who I know will return a borrowed book in good condition eventually. But what does one do with a predator? The new acquaintance who borrows a book and promptly forgets all about it. The relative who forgets that it was your book they'd borrowed and lends it to someone else and then loses track of it. The sister in law's friend who moves to a new country taking three of your precious books along and proceeds to completely lose touch with both you and the sister in law.

What does one do? Taking a cue from a friend, who's lost several books of her own, I began to write 'STOLEN FROM MANASI' in large, bold letters on the front page of all my books in an attempt to dissuade potential book predators. It didn't work. A friend's wife borrowed one such book three years ago and it vanished into near oblivion. This was one of my favourite books and it had been gifted by a dear friend, so it had that much more sentimental value attached to it. I tried asking for it politely after a longish time period had passed, definitely enough for the friend's wife to have read it three times over.
"I haven't even read it yet!" she laughed breezily.
"In that case, why the hell did you borrow it in the first place?" I asked. In my head of course, as I smiled politely and told her to take her time.
I asked again after some more time had elapsed. And again, the reminders getting less polite each time. I never got the book back. They moved to another city some time later and we lost touch. A few days ago I happened to be in the same city they were in and my friend invited us over for dinner. And there was my beloved book, bang in the center of the arty looking bookshelf, ensconced between a film magazine and a trade journal, gazing at me beseechingly. What happened next was bizarre. I politely asked the friend's wife if it was the same book she'd borrowed from me. She flatly denied it and said it was her own. What's more she had no recollection of ever having borrowed such a book from me. I asked if I could look at the book and opened it to the first page where my own handwriting and the words 'STOLEN FROM MANASI' awaited me. The friend's wife found this hilarious. She'd forgotten that she'd ever borrowed this book, forgotten that she'd ever had it all these years. The worst part? She hadn't even read it.

P doesn't get my frustration with the Book Predators. His attitude is, you can't really refuse point blank if someone asks to borrow a book. So you lend it and hope for the best. If you don't get it back, you can always buy it again. I disagree. It's not just about buying the book again. It's all the memories and the special moments associated with that one particular book. The book that accompanied you on your first train journey alone. The book that you bought to celebrate getting into b-school and that spent that first year with you in your hostel room. The book that you discovered, and later fell in love with, on a crowded, dusty shelf in the airport bookstore of a seaside town as you waited for a long delayed flight, while the rain Gods unleashed their torrential fury outside. A newly purchased book clinically bought as a replacement can never bring those memories back.

Its not like I don't fight for my books. There are some people to whom you can lend your books without a second thought. Then there are the others, who fall into the grey category; some of these people could be predators. I've been rude and refused to lend my books point blank. I've laid down conditions and told them the reason why. I've had to follow up and remind people to return my books. Sometimes it works and other times it doesn't. But it's always painful. People get offended and relationships get strained. And books still go missing. And until I find that elusive perfect solution I guess I must suffer. What about you? How do you guard your books against the Book Predators?

Summer Holiday

2011-05-17T15:26:00.000+05:30

School's out! Well actually it was out almost a month ago, but the point is I'm writing about it now and not after the next school year has begun. Which, if you consider my track record, was not entirely an impossibility. The thing is, what with all the recent bai woes and the daily school run, life had become pretty darn hectic. Nikki's mother toddler group which we started when she was about fifteen months old had progressed from an hour, thrice a week, to one and a half hours, all five days a week and the timing had also shifted from a leisurely 11.30am to 10.00am, which is a whole lot more demanding when you live a good half hour away and have a toddler who likes to ponder on the various intricacies life throws up while chomping away at the morning meal for a couple of hours each day.

Most mornings thus saw me scrabbling though the two hours I had at hand after Nikki woke up to get self and child ready for school at breakneck speed, get aforementioned breakfast down Nikki's gullet at a pace that would put the most steadfast snail to shame, and cram some toast down my own throat before whizzing off to school. Needless to mention, Nikki would choose exactly half past nine, designated we-need-to-leave-NOW time, to bless her diaper, necessitating operation clean up and ensuring that we reached school just in the nick of time. Since the program we'd signed up for was a mother-toddler one, the one and a half hours we spent there everyday demanded equal participation from both me and Nikki and much vigorous moving-to-the-music and building sandcastles later we'd go back home to bath, lunch and nap time for Nikki and about two hours of downtime for Mommy. Except that the two hours downtime tended to bear an uncanny similarity to weekends; Sunday evening strikes before you've properly begun to savour the beginning of Friday night, and before I could park myself on the couch to vegetate or open that latest book, Nikki would be up, bright and chirpy and raring to go to the park. Some days there would be play dates or birthday parties to go to, and all in all, my post baby life was beginning to get almost as demanding as my pre-baby corporate one. Except, of course, that this time round I have a boss who is wayyyy more demanding!

I was quite looking forward to the onset of the summer holidays therefore; glorious, lazy days filled with endless hours of doing nothing and I was quite unprepared for the summer camp frenzy that routinely strikes most mums this time of the year. I got my first taste of it on the last day at school where a bunch of mums were earnestly exchanging notes about different summer camps and poring over brochures of the same. They were aghast when I told them I wasn't planning to enroll Nikki in one, with reactions ranging from 'you're compromising on developing a strong educational base for your daughter' to the more pragmatic 'you'll go nuts with her in the house all day', but I resisted the impulse to go check out the summer camps in the neighborhood. Not that I have anything against summer camps, I don't know enough about what goes on in them to really have a strong opinion for or against them, but I'm home this summer with Nikki and I don't see her losing out on anything by just enjoying the holidays at home, the way I used to when I was a kid. Besides she's just two years old and there's enough time for summer camps later, even though the average age for summer camp where I lives seems be to thirteen months, so going by that her educational base seems to be compromised quite a bit already!

We've had fun so far too, Nikki and I. Apart from a few weekend trips we haven't really gone anywhere so most days are spent in and around home. We spend the mornings either in the 'big' swimming pool or in Nikki's smaller baby pool at home, with her toy ducks, fishes and her paddling dog Pogo for company. If Nikki's not in the mood to be a water baby, we bring out the paints and shaving foam and play dough and muck around in the balcony creating various works of art. The only person who doesn't seem too happy about us honing our artistic skills is the maid who gets to clean the balcony when she comes around every afternoon. No surprise then, that she's recently announced a ten day trip for some 'sudden' wedding in the family. No problem, coz cleaning-up is Nikki's new found passion! Give her a sponge and a bucket and she can keep herself occupied for hours. We'd gone out for lunch recently to a bistro which had a little fountain in the seating area and it took all my persuasive efforts to keep Nikki from ripping off her tee and mopping the tables with the fountain water!
Evenings usually see us headed out to a nearby park or the zoo or a play date with some of Nikki's school friends and before you know it another glorious summer day is over and another one has begun.

All too soon summer will end and it'll be time for Nikki to go to school on her own, as she 'graduates' from the mother toddler program to playgroup. Time for me to let go a little. And so, this summer I just want to enjoy every little bit with my baby while she's still a baby. Enjoy the feeling of waking up in the morning with nowhere to go and nothing to do, soak in the early morning sun in the balcony while Nikki makes me a cup of tea in her kitchen set, go for an impromptu picnic to the neighborhood park when the mood strikes with banana chips and nutella sandwiches, luxuriate in long afternoon naps and spend hours in the mellow evening sun studying the interesting shapes clouds make. Here's to summer holidays then! How're you spending yours?

A 'once upon a time...' with a very happy ending!

2011-05-08T08:33:00.000+05:30

Once upon a time, long long ago, in a far away land there lived a Young Girl who loved to read. Well, maybe it was 2003 and the land was Gurgaon, but the point is this girl really, really loved books. She also loved to write and in a distant past had written reams and reams of prose and poetry, but that love for writing had sort of got overtaken with a million other seemingly important things-to-be-done that had crowded up her life. Things like building-a-career and getting-ahead-in-life and climbing-the-corporate-ladder.

Once in a while the Young Girl did stop however to smell the roses. Or rather, in her case, since roses weren't that abundant in Gurgaon at the time, she stopped to read some books. Lots of books. For long hours into the night and whenever she could catch a quick break during a busy work day. In lunch hours and on the road and sometimes, when the book was particularly unputdownable, even in the office loo (just don't mention this to anyone okay? thanks). And on weekends. Oh those glorious, languorous weekends filled with hours and hours of reading.

At the end of one such particularly happy weekend, the Young Girl, feeling quite inspired by some of the tomes she'd read, said impulsively to her husband: "Someday, I want to write a book."
She half expected him to laugh off her statement but to her surprise he turned around and said, "Yes, you should. You write well. Why don't you do it?"
"I will...someday", the Young Girl laughed and went on with the rest of her life. But somewhere in her head the thought had firmly planted itself. Someday she would write a book. She had a very good idea of the sort of book it would be. It would be a funny book, but it would also be very romantic and it would capture several nuances of the corporate life the Young Girl lived and breathed every day. The Young Girl began to look at life with a different perspective. Every experience became a vignette that she could capture in The Book. A batty boss screaming because the font size in the sixteenth presentation of the day was light green and not deep purple stopped becoming a source of frustration and became an inspiration instead.
"I will write about this batty boss in The Book" she'd tell herself as she modified the font colour.

The Young Girl had a close friend at work and she confided her plans to write to her too. The close friend was most encouraging.
"You must write!" she urged "Sometimes when you speak, you're so animated, it's like watching a real-life version of Tom & Jerry! What fun if you can put some of those thoughts down in a book!" The Young Girl was most encouraged and her dream of The Book became stronger and stronger.

A few years later the Not-So-Young Girl had moved to a different city and a different job. A lot of things in her life had changed but some things remained the same. She was still busy with building-a-career and getting-ahead-in-life and climbing-the-corporate-ladder. She still had a Dream for The Book, and often, this dream helped her cope with some of the less than rosy realities life often threw her way. Then the Not-So-Young Girl went through a big life changing experience. She had a baby. Her life, or what remained of of it that hadn't turned topsy-turvy as lives often do when you bung a baby into the picture, began to revolve around the baby. She took a break from building-a-career and getting-ahead-in-life and climbing-the-corporate-ladder to focus on the baby. And that's when her husband reminded her about her Dream for The Book.
"Why don't you write the book now that you're on a break?" he asked "You may never get the chance again."

The Not-So-Young-Girl knew he was right. Now was the best time to begin. And so the Dream began to become a reality. She started writing her book. She wrote when the baby was asleep, in the afternoons, for long hours into the night, on weekends and holidays when her husband took care of the baby. And she realized that she was happier doing that than she had been for a long time. Suddenly, building-a-career and getting-ahead-in-life and climbing-the-corporate-ladder didn't seem so important any more.

She had her days of course. Days of self- doubt, severe crises-of-confidence, of feeling like a lost ship with the lighthouse nowhere on the horizon.
She would often wake up her husband with cries of "I don't know what I'm doing! What if I'm not a writer! What if nobody likes what I write! What if I don't even know how to write? What am I doing?!"
"Just write your book" her husband would tell her. "You're doing great. But I'm going to have to move to the guest room to catch up on sleep if you're going to make these 4am conversations a regular feature."

One day, at long last, The Book was finished! The NSYG (I'm getting carpal tunnel syndrome with all this typing, and I guess you're not exactly thrilled with reading that over and over are you?)was ecstatic!
"I've done it! I've written The Book!" she exulted.
"Fantastic!" said her husband, who'd read every single word himself and suffered inordinately through all her "I've written five more words! Read, read, read! What d'you think? Huh, huh, huh?"
"And now to get it published!" he said with a smile.
"Published" squeaked the NSYG "The Book you mean? I have to get it published?"
"Unless, of course, you want to get it pickled or bottled?" asked her husband wryly.

And so the NSYG, resisting the strong urge to curl up under a corner of her duvet, began the long drawn out task of getting The Book published. She approached a publisher she had dreamed of being published with, in some of her many wild day dreams, and sent them a synopsis of The Book. And waited. And badgered the husband with more whiny 4am pleas "D'you think they'll get back? D'you think they might be even remotely interested? Huh? Huh? HUH?"
"Relax, lets wait and see how it goes" her husband always replied calmly, even as he eyed the guest room earnestly.
A couple of weeks later the publishers replied. They liked what they saw, and could the NSYG please send the complete manuscript as soon as possible?
The NSYG promptly turned into an absolute nervous wreck and spent two feverish all nighters reading and re-reading and refining The Book. Finally, with her eyes feeling like buttons and fingers like jelly she sent out her manuscript.
And waited again. And waited some more. And had nightmares about the chief editor hating her manuscript at the end of which she'd wake up her husband on the verge of a near nervous breakdown. And had dreams about the chief editor liking the manuscript at the end of which she'd wake up her husband in a happy haze.
"Do you think she'll like it? What if she hates it? What will I do? My life will be over. Waahhh!!!"
"Hey you know what, she liked my book! She LIKED it! Oh crap, it was a dream! Oh crap! Waahhhh!"
And on and on. Her husband held her hand, and wiped her tears and assured her all would be well. He also moved into the guest room.
One day she got a call from the chief editor. She liked the book, would the NSYG like to sign a contract with them?

At this point the NSYG went into a happiness-cum-hysteria induced near-coma and the husband had to be roped in to take things further.
The NSYG could only think of one thing. The dream had come true. The Book was going to be published. Her 'once upon a time' had a happy ending. And she was the happiest girl in the world!

P.S. Er, P, do you think you might want to move back into our room from the guest room anytime soon?

The never ending story...

2011-04-28T22:57:00.001+05:30

The mellow rays of the early morning sun gently caress her face as they filter in through thin cracks in the drapes, waking her up. For a moment she lingers in that sometimes merciful state of amnesia that comes with being only half and only just awake. Not for long. All too soon she is wide awake and remembrance strikes with a painful jolt. She is alone. All over again. All too soon.

Forcing herself to get out of bed she wanders out and surveys the ruins around her. They seem to be mocking her almost, painful reminders of an all too fragile relationship that has finally snapped. She sighs as sudden waves of weariness wash over her. It is more a feeling of being overwhelmed that she has to deal with, rather than physical exhaustion. She asks herself the question she has been asking over and over again, or so at least it seems, "Is it me? Has it always been me?"

There is no answer. There never was. This wasn't the first time it had happened. It has been so many years now and she has seen it all so many times before. The early days bringing with them hope, a promise of better times to come. Short lived bliss. Then the ambiguous middle phase; sometimes good, sometimes full of confusion, sometimes rocky and painful. She always told herself this was the worst phase of them all, that if you could get through this, you could face anything that was to come. But yet, each time when the decay began to set in it never failed to upset her, to throw her off balance. She would cope of course, she had no choice, but each downward spiraling struggle seemed to make her a little more jaded, a little more weary. And when it would finally end, like it unfailingly did each time, she would invariably find herself just a little bit bereft.

Like she had this last time round. This last time round had not been like the others, she had got into it with her eyes open. Or so she thought. Still when it ended she had felt that same feeling she always did; of having lost her moorings, of having been cheated, used, by someone who could never hope to understand her. She hated feeling like this and yet she knew these feelings all to well, they came with an easy familiarity forged over time. It was the same cycle each time round; anger, hurt, confusion and finally the irrevocable realization that try as she might, she could not go the distance alone. She would have to put herself out there, one more time. And maybe, just maybe she could force herself, yet again, to be brave. To hope. Surely, somewhere out there, there would be the right maid for her...

We were there! Along with Nikki and her loaded diaper...

2011-04-21T11:31:00.002+05:30

I HAD to blog about this before it is too late. With my dismal record of updating this blog of late it wouldn't have been surprising if I finally managed to write about this by when it is time again for the next world cup to roll around. So yes, we were at the world cup finals! In Wankhede! With Nikki!! If anyone had told me last year this time that a year from now I would have attended the Bryan Adams concert and the world cup finals I would've laughed hysterically. From not seeing the inside of a restaurant or a multiplex for over a year, to going for concerts and cricket matches I sure have come a long way. Or maybe I've just been propelled down the path by an intrepid P but it's the result that counts!

So anyway, back to the world cup. It was the most awesome, amazing, mind blowing experience and coming from a cricket non enthusiast like me that's saying a lot! I used to be a cricket fan many years ago, more because I had a massive crush on Hansie Cronje, the then South Africa captain, than for any real love for the game and I used to watch all the SA matches so I could drool over him. Since then I have caught the occasional match, even going for one of the first IPL matches thanks to the cricket crazy P, but I've never avidly followed the sport. So when it came to the world cup this time round, I had never really planned on even following the matches on TV let alone going for a match! I did watch the India Pakistan semi final because, you know, it was the India Pakistan semi final and I was planning on catching the final in Bombay with friends, since we had already planned a trip to Bombay over that weekend to catch up with an old friend who was in town. Now this friend in question had planned a trip all the way from Hong Kong for the sole purpose of watching the match in Wankhede and he'd been set for this a whole two months in advance.
"What a cricket crazy guy!" I scoffed to P the night before the finals "Imagine coming all the way just to watch a match! So what if it's the world cup and India is in the finals? Who wants to sit through a full match out in the open when you can catch it in the comfort of your own home?"
"Er there is a slight possibility that I may get two tickets as well" said P meekly "I didn't mention it earlier because I wasn't sure if I would, but there seems to be a good chance of it happening. Would you want to go?"
"Tickets for the match? THE match? Live? In Wankhede?" I screeched, my eyes the size of cricket balls "Do I want to GO? Yes! YES! YESSSSSSSSS!!!"
The next door neighbor, enjoying a leisurely gin and tonic in his balcony nearly choked on a slice of lemon as my screeching ricocheted off the walls and all around the colony and I beat a hasty retreat indoors to plan the logistics of the trip with P. The match was slated to begin at 2pm and could go on till as late as 11pm or thereabouts. We had no babysitting options in Bombay which meant that we could either take Nikki along for the match or just one of us could go for it.
"You go" I said to P, sighing heavily, as the inner Mother India in me rose up to the fore in full melodramatic form. "I can hang out at friend X's house with Nikki while you watch the match live in Wankhede."
"We'll all go." said P switching on the TV.
"And maybe you can spare a thought for me sitting at home, with the baby, while you....eh? What did you say?" I goggled at P.
"We'll all go" P repeated patiently, flicking channels.
"What?" I screeched again, Mother India having given way to the Kiron Kher-esque mommy from Dostaana "We'll all go? With Nikki? Are you nuts?"
"It'll be fun. And I'm sure she'll enjoy herself. And if she gets tired we can leave" said P, calm as ever.
I spent the rest of the evening dithering and worrying and finally decided he was right. Saturday morning saw us headed to Bombay, me brimming over with an equal measure of worry and anticipation. By the time we began nearing the stadium I was tremendously excited and was seriously considering buying one of the multicolored clown wigs and getting the tricolor painted on my face like the hundreds of people thronging to the stadium around us. Only the paucity of time and the possibility that Nikki might fail to recognize her mother stopped me. We alighted at the stadium and I bounded up to the ladies entrance with Nikki, a happy smile on my face.
"Where do you think you're going?" said the singularly unpleasant policewoman manning the entrance.
"To watch the match of course!" I told her indignantly.
"And where do you think you are taking that suitcase? Do you really think you will be allowed to enter the stadium with that monstrosity?" She pointed a mean finger at Nikki's cute little diaper bag, which has replaced all my favorite handbags since the day she was born, and which I now carry with me everywhere.
"But..but..but I have a baby with me" I sputtered "This bag has all her basic stuff that I'll need. I can't possibly get through the next couple of hours without it!"
"No bags allowed" said the policewoman without batting an eyelid. "No exceptions. Who told you to get your baby? You should have left her at home."
A cheer rose from the stadium as the opening ceremony kicked off and I fought the urge to just jump over the turnstiles with Nikki and make a run for it.
"But I've come all the way from Pune for the match!" I yelled "And this is just some basic baby stuff! I have to take it in with me!"
"What's going on here?" said another voice as a slightly groggy looking senior policeman walked up. He had just finished a long argument with a lady who had been trying to persuade him to let her carry her 'lucky charm' perfume into the stadium with her and seemed a bit disoriented.
I explained the situation to him as best as I could given that my mind was already in the stadium doing the mexican wave with the thousands of crazy, cheering fans whose voices were reverberating in my ears, and appealed to his better judgment to let me in.
"Let me have a look at this bag" he sighed heavily in a resigned sort of way. "What's this?" he asked, pulling out a diaper.
"It's a diaper" I explained, by now desperate to get in, as the cheering touched a new crescendo "For when my daughter does potty. That is, if she does potty, I will need to change her into a fresh diaper. And these are the wipes for wiping the potty, and this is the hand sanitizer for me to clean my hands after I've cleaned the potty." I took a deep breath and looked hopefully at the policeman who seemed to have turned a faint shade of green.
"Fine" he said in a strangled sort of voice. "Take it all. Please go."
"Oh thank you so much!" I beamed at him "Oh just one last thing" I added as I noticed Nikki's bright yellow muslin square peeking out of the bag "I forgot to show you this..this is the towel with which I'll wipe my daughter's bum after she's finished doing her pott...."
"Just GO!" barked the officer suddenly sprinting off in the opposite direction at top speed.
"What a strange man" I said to myself as I finally walked through the entrance with Nikki, where P was waiting for us.
"Let's go!" I said enthusiastically to P, but he was looking at Nikki with a strange look, slightly wrinkling his nose.
"Er..has Nikki blessed her diaper in the recent past?" he asked wrinkling his nose again.
"What?" I screeched as I bent down to check. "Yes she has! What are we going to do now? I TOLD you this was a bad idea!"
"We'll find a place to change the diaper, and then we'll change it and watch the match" said the indefatigable P.
Easier said than done though. One look at the restrooms in the stadium was enough to dissuade us from even contemplating Operation Clean Up there. After taking several rounds of the stand, and walking up and down the four levels with an increasingly stinky diaper we finally found an isolated counter on the last level which looked like it would serve the purpose. After taking permission from the lone security guard in the vicinity we got down to (dirty) business. Within three and a half seconds a vague looking chappie popped up out of the blue.
"Are you serving water?" he asked hopefully.
"We're not serving anything except a stink" I snapped back, rather unnecessarily, but I was itching to finally go and watch the match!
He'd been gone for precisely thirty seconds when another guy appeared.
"Water counter? Gimme five bottles and one Pepsi" he barked. I didn't bother replying. The delightful aromas from the open diaper swiftly assailed him and he passed out in a dead faint. Nikki, meanwhile, decided that she'd had enough of this nonsensical behavior and started bawling lustily. The security fellow started shooting us wary looks.
"I TOLD you this was a bad idea" I barked again at P who was busy changing the diaper while I did the all important task of supervising the general proceedings. Seven minutes and fifteen water counter requests later we were done. I felt a surge of excitement as we walked past the pile of bodies around the counter (OK, FINE, I exaggerate, but seriously, you should have seen their faces!)and finally headed to watch the match.

Nikki cheered up considerably on seeing the general festive atmosphere all around and joined the rest of the spectators in cheers of 'Indeeeyaah! India!' We settled into our seats with the boxes of scrummy food and drinks provided by the organizers and proceeded to have one of the best evenings of our lives. There were a fun bunch of people sitting around us along with a couple of kids and Nikki had a blast with all the cheering and the whooping all around us. She thoroughly enjoyed all the music (and there was a LOT of it, even during overs!)and could be seen shaking her booty with all her might.
"There's Kohli and Yudi" P said in an awed voice as the afore-mentioned cricketers took fielding positions close to where we sat.
"Yawn. Whatever. I'm not one of those cricket crazy fans who go berserk at the sight of a cricketer." I said in a lofty voice.
"Then I guess you wouldn't be interested in getting a glimpse of Sachin" sad P looking over my shoulder.
"Sachin?" I squeaked in a small voice.
"Yeah. He's so close if you reach through the grill you may be able to touch him...." I didn't catch the rest of his words because I was too busy climbing over the people ahead to get to the front so I could get a picture of Sachin. I was feeling a little sheepish when I headed back, unable to understand the strange adrenalin charged cricket lover that the match seemed to have unleashed in me but the husband remained impressively straight faced and continued to be so even when I made a spectacle of myself by whooping loudly during the multiple mexican waves, jumping up and down in my seat, and at one point even standing on my seat,and generally behaving like a complete dork.

The weather was playing along with the upbeat atmosphere, it was a pleasant, breezy, beautiful evening and there was a palpable buzz in the air. I never thought one of the nicest evenings I'd have with Nikki would be in a cricket stadium with thousands of screaming fans, but there we were, the three of us, having an absolute blast. Nikki certainly had the time of her life and was quite disappointed when the whole thing was over. The sight of ecstatic fans spilling over the pavements to dance on the roads, processions on bikes holding aloft replicas of the Cup and the general party atmosphere seemed to cheer her up on the drive back, even though she was a tad disappointed when we went back home instead of heading straight for another cricket match!
And now, several days later, even though memories of that wonderful evening are fast fading, on many a mellow summer afternoon a tiny little voice pipes up 'Indeeyaahh! Indiyaaa!' and it never fails to bring back a smile to my face :)

A day with my little chatterbox

2011-03-12T10:24:00.003+05:30

Scene One:
Early morning in the Nikki-Mommy Woman-Papa Man household. The Mommy Woman is fast asleep having been woken up several times by young Nikki with her demands for 'Water! Want water! Waaaant!' Nikki on the other hand is up at the crack of dawn and only too eager that the Mommy Woman rouse herself and share in the pleasures of a delightful new day.

Nikki: Goo Mornin Mamma! Goo Mornin!
The Mommy Woman: Gah
Nikki: Wake up sleepy-head! Time to wake up! Ding Ding Ding Ding! Mornin bells are ringing Mamma!
The Mommy Woman: Go to sleep...zzzzzzzzz
Nikki: Thwack thwack thwack
The Mommy Woman: Ow ow ow! Okay okay, you win!
******************************

Scene Two:
Nikki and the Mommy Woman are at the mother toddler group where a music and movement session is in progress. All the babies and mamas are dancing enthusiastically to Wiggly Woo. All except Nikki. The teacher looks expectantly at Nikki and the Mommy Woman.

Teacher: Nikki's Mama, maybe you should dance with Nikki and get her to dance too!
The Mommy Woman: Er..sure. *Shakes her booty obligingly* Wiggly Woo! Wiggly Woo! That's how we do the Wiggly Woo!
Nikki, with a disdainful look: Nikki not dance. Nikki bad mood!
Teacher: Try again!
The Mommy Woman, shaking like a jelly: Wiggly Woo! Jiggle Jiggle Jiggle! Nikki, please dance sweetheart!
Nikki, lying down on the floor and stretching arms above head: Nikki reyaxing!
******************************

Scene Three:
Time for the afternoon nap. A well fed and bathed Nikki is all ready for nap time. Or so the Mommy Woman thinks.

The Mommy Woman: Nap time Nikki!
Nikki: Nikki not sleep! Nikki go outside!
The Mommy Woman: No Nikki its nap time. Mommy and Nikki will both sleep, okay? *Lies down and pretends to sleep*
Nikki: Nikki singing! Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall, Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall....
The Mommy Woman:Honey, its time to sleep.
Nikki: Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream....this and that thing...merrily merrily merrily merrily... la la la la la!
The Mommy Woman: Nikki....time to sleep....
Nikki...Are you sleeeeeepy? Are you sleeeeepy? No No No!
The Mommy Woman, sternly: Nikki! Its time to sleep!
Nikki: Wahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
The Mommy Woman: Oh dear....
******************************

Scene Four:
The Mommy Woman and Nikki arrive at the park. The Mommy Woman is exhausted after singing 'The Wheels on the Bus' approximately 4684 times in the auto on the way to the park. Nikki on the other hand is all sprightly. Another mother with a young baby that's bawling lustily passes by.

Nikki: Shee Mamma, smaw baby crying waa waa waaa!
The Mommy Woman: You're a small baby too Nikki!
Nikki: Nikki not smaw baby, Nikki big gurl. Shee Nikki do walky walky, not sit in pwam like smaw baby.
The Mommy Woman...Errr well okay, you're a big baby then. But you're still a baby.
Nikki, getting a nasty glint in the eye: Mama...wheels of the pwam?
The Mommy Woman: Er Nikki look at that lovely fountain! Wowie! Splish Splash!
Nikki: Mamma! Sing!
The Mommy Woman: Ok Nikki you're a BIG GIRL! Ok? Not a baby anymore! Hahaha!
Nikki, menacingly: Wheels of the pwam go round and round! Sing Mamma! SING!
The Mommy Woman passes out.
******************************

Scene Five:
Its bedtime. The Mommy Woman is exhausted after reading 'Shilly Shally' Nikki's favorite book of the moment over and over again at dinner, and is looking forward to a relaxed evening after Nikki has gone to bed.

The Mommy Woman: Bedtime Nikki!
Nikki: Okay Mamma. *Lies down obligingly on the bed and shuts her eyes*
Nikki: Sheep Mamma. Reyax.
The Mommy Woman: Er..okay. *Lies down beside Nikki and pretends to sleep*
Nikki: Mamma, big boogah in Nikki's nose! *Fishes out imaginary booger*
The Mommy Woman: Throw it away Nikki.
Nikki pretends to throw away the big booger.
Nikki: Mamma, want hug!
The Mommy Woman hugs and kisses Nikki.
Nikki: Mamma, I love you!
The Mommy Woman: I love you too!
Nikki: I love you one!

After throwing out fifty five imaginary boogers and giving seventy one hugs, Nikki finally falls asleep. Unfortunately for the Mommy Woman and her plans of a relaxed evening with a book or a movie , she's fallen asleep herself!

Around 2 am.
Nikki: Hiii Mamma!
The Mommy Woman: Gnmphtr
Nikki: Mamma water. Want water. Waaaaaaant!
The Mommy Woman: Aaaaargh!

And so it begins again :)

Play it again, Mom

2011-02-09T20:22:00.002+05:30

Again and again and AGAIN. All day long.

This was just supposed to be ONE of the gazillion things that went into Nikki's potty training*. Pauses to wipe away tears of hysteria. And no, it isn't laughter. Now the child insists on watching it all day long and as soon as I turn it on, proceeds to do a merry jig while she perches on her Fifi Flower Tots pink potty**. Pee and poop on the Fifi Flower Tots pink potty? Pish tosh!

*No of course she's not potty trained yet. *Goes away gnashing teeth*
**Which cost us close to a fortune as the good man and husband unfailingly reminds me time and again.

Video courtesy You Tube. When the child is finally potty trained- pause for fervent prayer and roll of the eyes heavenwards, yes, yes the day will come!- I will highly recommend this as a very effective potty training tool. Until then, balle balle my child, go potty go!

Parents' Night Out

2011-01-31T15:18:00.000+05:30

Many many moons ago, when Nikki was still a relatively young baby and not the fiercely independent toddler she seems to have turned into of late, the husband and I attempted an evening out without her. I had just stopped nursing Nikki, correction, I had been brusquely weaned with many an imperious shove and ear splitting shrieks by the child who was clearly more interested in the fascinating world of solids and other beverages that did not involve the mater and my indispensability quotient was at an all time low. To save me from the depths of misery in which I abjectly wallowed, P suggested we attend a friend's party cum art exhibition at an upscale restaurant that was also conveniently located quite close to our home. After battling several inner demons I finally took the plunge and decided to go. Careful arrangements were made to handle the most important part of our evening, namely babysitting Nikki. My parents who happened to be in town kindly agreed to look after Nikki for the evening and accordingly arrived at our house a couple of hours before we were to leave for the party. Our erstwhile maid S (a thousand curses on her pointy little head) was instructed to feed Nikki and ensure that she was sound asleep in bed before leaving for the day, since Nikki was used to be being put to bed by her. With all arrangements seemingly in place, we left while Nikki was having her dinner after kissing her goodbye. Or rather, P kissed her goodbye and then dragged me out the door as I threatened to turn into a clingy, sobbing mess. (Don't even ask me what I'll do on the first day of big school. Nikki, I'm sure, will be fine.)I still remember the panicked visions I had as we drove out of the society gates, of Nikki tearfully weeping for her mother who was far, far away. Fifteen minutes into the party and seven panicked phone calls later (yeah, I know I'm THAT mother.sigh.)my parents assured me that Nikki was absolutely fine and could I please put a lid on it and just enjoy the evening. There had been no tears when we left or thereafter and after devouring her dinner, Nikki was now cheerfully engaged in poking the eyes of her doll out, her favorite activity at the time (the chappie who said that stuff about sugar and spice and all things nice sure would've changed his mind if he'd met my little girl).

"I think YOU are the one with separation anxiety", a friend who was with us at the party announced as she watched me gaze anxiously at my phone for the umpteenth time. "Try to relax will you!"
And so I did. I had a drink. I ate an canape. I began to enjoy the music. And I was finally beginning to rid myself of the clouds of worry that had hovered miserably over me all evening when my phone rang. It was my dad.
"What is it?" I yelped as I answered, the canape turning to ashes in my mouth.
It was Nikki of course. She had been absolutely fine till that dreaded hour of the day, or rather, night: bedtime. Apparently, S, conveniently forgetting my laboriously spelled out instructions had vamoosed as soon as Nikki was through with her dinner and instead of going to bed soon after her meal as she was used to, Nikki had continued playing for well over an hour post dinner. As a result she was overtired, sleepy and cranky by the time my parents finally tried putting her to bed and not seeing either P or me around she decided to let them have it with a series of high pitched wails and cries for her mama and dada. Distraught with her crying my poor parents took her down to the park and took turns walking her up and down where she finally calmed down albeit temporarily. Several failed attempts to get her to sleep later, they finally called us. We rushed home only to find that Nikki had finally cried herself to sleep just minutes before we reached and was curled up miserably in her cot. She didn't sleep well through the night though, and woke up crying quite a few times with a tortured look on her face, refusing to be comforted by either of us. I wore my own tortured look for the next full week and needless to say, that was the beginning and end of any fanciful notions we may have had about being super cool parents cum party animals.

We took to going out in the day since Nikki was absolutely fine being left in the company of her grandparents then and took turns going out in the evenings. Or we planned evenings in child friendly locales so that we could take her along as well and life went on an usual. Until the weekend before last when we found ourselves in the possession of passes for a rock concert. P, the eternal optimist, suggested we try taking Nikki along, after all she was old enough now and our concerted efforts to avoid repeated replays of Rythmic Rhymes From The Animal Kingdom by getting her to listen to our music had ensured that she was developing an ear for rock too. And so we went. And had a blast! The venue was a well spaced out open air amphitheater with sprawling lawns all around interspersed with cobbled pathways and little tinkling fountains making it an eminently child friendly venue. We found ourselves a grassy spot, not too close to the speakers and settled down to enjoy the evening. Only to find that we were being quite outdone by our little headbanger who'd really gotten into the groove and was dancing around shaking her booty and thoroughly enjoying the music. She even got hold of some empty beer cans halfway through and was jumping around with them looking for all purposes like she'd just swigged down the contents, making another couple nearby give us incredulous, shocked looks.
"People nowadays, they just don't pay any attention to their kids!" I heard them mutter as they threw me a disapproving look. Which in a perverse sort of way made me feel like a REALLY cool mom. Because, you know, I'm SO not one.
And then after she'd had her dinner, Nikki obligingly went to sleep right around bedtime and stayed that way, enabling us to stay on till the very end when this amazingly talented band from Shillong played some of the best rock I've heard in a long long time. We were so kicked we actually considered going for the after-party post the show but then decided not to push our luck and went home instead.

The next weekend saw us at another concert, Gary Lawyer live this time round, paying a tribute to Elvis. And guess who turned out to be the biggest rock aficionado of all? Even though it was well past her bedtime by the time the concert ended, the youngest Elvis (and Gary) fan at the venue was enthusiastically clapping and going Woo-Hoo! after every number! She enjoyed the music so much that we dusted off some of our old Elvis CDs the next day and had our very own rock and roll party at home. I guess 'The Wheels on The Bus' are going to have a wait a while for their place in the music system!

Much encouraged with these recent successes, we're now seriously considering venturing out more often in the evenings with Nikki. Outdoorsy venues with great music work beautifully. Nikki as it turns out is quite the party animal and likes nothing better than hearing that we're going 'out in Nikkkkki's car!' as opposed to 'its bedtime!'
The quiet dinners and plays of yore are going to have to wait a while though. Not unless I can convince the parents to babysit again!

Back from hibernation!

2011-01-06T15:02:00.000+05:30

Hola from Nikki-land! Yes I'm still alive and well, and more importantly (for me that is!) still blogging! I guess I ended up going on an unannounced blog break thanks to the myriad events that have happened over the last month or so. Even so, I hate these long blog breaks and I wish there was a way I could discipline myself to be more consistent when it comes to regularly updating the blog. Well there's hope yet since the New Year fever hasn't quite subsided and its not too late for some resolutions eh?
You've ALREADY resolved to blog more regularly- and TWICE at that, you say? Er, well I'm trying to get there. I am too! I actually wrote out no less than six drafts in the last couple of weeks but my attempts at publishing a post were always thwarted by that not-so-friendly neighborhood Mr Murphy who's been hanging around a little too often in my backyard of late. Two nights in a row this last week, as I typed out a post, the child and joy of my life who has been sleeping well for the last several months now, decided that sleeping through the night was passe and imposed bedtimes of 8.30 pm were strictly to be frowned upon. Its party time I say, she proclaimed accordingly, and went on to do just that resisting all attempts at walking, patting, rocking and singing her to sleep. And today, just a few minutes ago as I sat here typing during the nap time break that I get every afternoon, she woke up howling from her sleep and continued in that vein till I was a likely candidate for slip disc surgery from all the rocking. The terror remains with me still and even as I write now the tiniest wail (we live in a building teeming with sleepless kids) from an adjoining apartment sends shudders up my weakened spine.

Anyway its time to ring Mr Murphy out with the old and herald the new, which will hopefully see a whole lot more happening in this space. We've been up to a whole lot in this break, which thankfully, unlike the last long blog break was not due to any crises but more because of a whole lot of happy happenings :)Soon after Diwali we headed off for a much awaited vacation to God's own country and on our return jumped right into the pre-shaadi frenzy that preceded my sister's wedding. The wedding itself followed soon after and we buzzed into the New Year in a happy post wedding haze which continued right up to my birthday which I also celebrated this week. The post party glow still shimmers since January also sees us celebrating our anniversary later this month and I hope to be blogging about all of this and more as the month goes by. On that resolute (but cheery) note wish you all a Very Happy New Year! Hope had you great festive season and here's to a fabulous 2011 ahead for all of us!

And a very happy Diwaala to you too!

2010-11-08T15:49:00.003+05:30

Hello there peeps! Its me again, here to wish you all a very happy Diwaala! That's how I've been greeting people on my second Diwaala and it never fails to send them into peals of laughter. The life and soul of the party, that's me! I thought I'd stop by The Mommy Woman's blog and spread some festive cheer around here as well. Besides the poor Mommy Woman needs a helping hand with her blog now and then, given her dismal track record at being regular with updates starring me and its been a while since I've dropped by so what better occasion than Diwaala to grace the blog with my super cute presence!

I've just had a wonderful second Diwaala and I celebrated it with loads of friends and family. I thought The Mommy Woman would be happy to note that I've more or less outgrown that little stranger anxiety thingie I went through in between but no! Really that woman is so hard to please! Take for example my encounter in the elevator with the friendly grandpa who lives right above us. Now I've always made it a point to studiously ignore any friendly overtures by said grandpa in the past but I decided Diwaala is as good a time as any to make amends and so when we happened to be in the elevator together and I happened to be standing right behind him I tried to be chummy by casually giving him a friendly swipe in the seat of his pants.He seemed quite amused too and I'm sure it would have been the start of a beautiful friendship if it hadn't been for that pesky Mommy Woman who suddenly started apologizing for some weird reason and totally ruined the moment. Or take that day in the restaurant where I was having a blast playing a new game with The Papa Man. The restaurant had these groovy chairs with big gaps in the backrest and I discovered this fun game where I would poke The Papa Man through one of the gaps and he would act all startled and make funny faces. We were having so much fun that I thought I should treat some of the other chappies in the restaurant to this fun game as well so I trotted off to the neighboring table and gave a jolly poke to a tubby looking fellow stuffing his face with some soup. He must have really enjoyed it coz he let out a strangled yelp and nearly swallowed his soup spoon and I was going to rev up the fun a few notches higher with another poke, when I noticed that The Mommy Woman had turned a delicate shade of purple and was doing that whole apology thing again. Really that woman can be such a ditz! First she was worried about my whole stranger anxiety phase, and now when I'm going all out to make my debut, as it were, on the social scene, she has a problem with that as well. Hmph! The other day that pest control chappie had stopped by and I was doing my best to keep an eye on him by following him around and giving him encouraging pats for a job well done and trying to get my hands on that goop he was sticking on the walls to see if it was A-grade material, and she got all hysterical and had me removed from the scene! I ask you! The woman has no appreciation whatsoever for a friendly helping hand around the house.

Take the other day when I saw her handing some vegetables to the cook and, deciding to offer my services, I took out some potatoes and onions from the vegetable basket in the kitchen and stacked them up on the counter, just in case the cook required them. Now how was I to know that poor chump of a cook would assume that The Mommy Woman had kept them there and chop them all? Next thing I know The Mommy Woman is doing the headless chicken act all over the kitchen, demanding to know what is to be done with 2kg each of extra chopped onions and potatoes. Really, how am I to know! She'll be asking me to look up recipes on Google next! I decided that the kitchen is probably not the place for me and went looking for that nice bai who does the jhaado pocha in our apartment and who always has a kind word for me. I love helping her out with the pocha and the dusting and I thought I'd lend her a helping hand by attacking a particularly nasty looking dirt stain on the floor with a soft cloth I found on the bed. I was happily scrubbing away (I SO love doing pocha!) when I heard a shriek and saw The Mommy Woman turning that familiar shade of purple (someone tell the woman that purple is so passe!)and then she grabbed the mop from my hands and started moaning about her beloved silk sari. I tried telling her that if she wants to avoid these misunderstandings she really shouldn't leave her things lying around like that but I don't think she quite got my point. She can be so obdurate sometimes, really. I must make some time to hop across to Landmark next weekend and get my own copy of What to Expect with The Mommy Women in the Toddler Years. I hope they have a section on the Terrible Thirties, because with The Mommy Woman behaving the way she has been these last few days, I'm going to need all the expert advice I can get!

As it is I have my hands full trying to keep The Mommy Woman busy in some constructive activities all day long so that she doesn't waste too much time idling away in front of the laptop. I try and put in an hour of reading with her everyday where I point out various objects in my picture books and make her tell me what each object is. Or I make her sing songs by telling her exactly which song I want with some innovative actions, and I get her to repeat each song a few times so that she gets each nuance perfectly right.
I even tried setting up a play date for her last week with a friend who has a Mommy Woman of her own, the same age as mine, but that didn't go so well. The thing is, being my usual helpful self, I thought I would help The Mommy Woman out with some of her household chores. I'd heard her cribbing about how she never gets enough time on weekends to do her grocery shopping, and there seemed to be a lot of groceries and stuff lying around at my friend's place, where we were having the play date so I thought I'll pick them up for The Mommy Woman and save her some time. I thought she would be happy at my thoughtful gesture but I should have known better. There were a range of emotions that flitted across her face when we were back home from the play date and she opened the diaper bag to find six teaspoons, one packet of sugar, a slab of butter and one tea cake in there, but happiness was not one of them.

Really, pleasing The Mommy Woman is next to impossible, I'm beginning to think. "I'm having a particularly tough time with The Mommy Woman these days" I said gravely to The Papa Man that evening "I don't think I can handle the pressure anymore."
"Ooh my little chatterbox, you've started talking so much these days! Chutter putter, chutter putter all day long! Soooo cute!" he gushed, cooing with delight and going into a complete mush overdrive as usual. Really is it too much to expect these people to at least try and understand what I'm trying to say for a change, instead of babbling like idiots every time I try and make a few statements? I guess not. Anyway, enough ranting for one post. I'm off now to spend some time with Chintu, my new friend and next door neighbor. He's been helping me make some delightful new additions to my vocabulary. Like that new phrase he taught me last week, "Abey Chup!" I'm not sure what it means exactly, but it must be something wonderful because The Mommy Woman went into a near dead swoon when I tried it last on that aging relative we'd gone to meet for Diwaala. Ooh I can't wait for Diwaala holidays to end and school to begin so I can try it on my teacher. She'll be impressed all right! Maybe then The Mommy Woman will finally be happy!

Mommy Manners 101

2010-10-16T21:53:00.000+05:30

Its that time of the day again. A freshly blessed diaper awaits The Mommy Woman to come over and do the honors. As she goes about doing the needful, she asks the help to stand guard as a preemptive measure against a possible attack from The Fingers That Squish. As she cleans, she glimpses a swift movement from the corner of her eye and looks up in alarm. Too late she realizes that the curse of The Fingers That Squish has struck again!! The help, busy examining a particularly fascinating spot on the wall examines her nails and yawns.
"Oh shit!" says the Mommy Woman in despair. And then as The Fingers strike again, "Oh F***!"
"Sheet!" squeals the child with unconcealed delight "F***!!!"
"Gaaahhh!" gasps The Mommy Woman in dismay."Nooooo!!! No, No, No, No! Nikki, sweetheart, please don't say that. You can say 'Oh No!' instead. Ok? Oh No, Oh No, Oh Nooooo!!!"
The child looks at The Mommy Woman with a diabolic smile. There is a definitive gleam in her eye.
"Sheet!" she trills again displaying a brilliant grasp of previously unheard of words "F****!".
The Mommy Woman collapses on the floor in a dead faint.

******************
A few hours later, the battle weary Mommy Woman is enjoying some solitude and her afternoon cuppa. The doorbell chimes announcing the arrival of The Grandparents. Nikki falls on them with squeals of delight and they reciprocate with equally high pitched squeals. The Grandfather in particular is eager to spend some quality time with his beloved granddaughter, having been out for a few weeks on a work related trip.
"Oh how she has grown!" he exclaims fondly "So what is she up to these days? Has she learned anything new?"
"Yes!" says the help who likes to display her marked lack of common sense at the most opportune moments. "Didi taught her some new words today and she has been repeating them all day! She picks up words so fast you know!"
The Grandparents beam with pride. "What are the new words Nikki?"
A strangled cry emanates from the corner as The Mommy Woman's cuppa makes contact with the floor. She tries to speak but can only manage a few squeaks and gasps. The child looks at The Mommy Woman. She has that familiar gleam in her eye.
"Sheet" she says crisply to the part eagerly awaiting, part horror struck audience "F***". Dramatic pause. "Sheet! F***! Sheet F*** Sheet F*** Sheeeeet F********!!"
The Grandparents stop beaming. They exchange looks. The Mommy Woman sighs and looks down at her cuppa wishing it had something more potent in it.

****************************
And on that happy note, here's wishing everyone a very happy festive season! We seem to have kicked it off in our very own Nikki- Speshul style, and I'm going to need the rest of the evening to recover. Today isn't a dry day is it?

The one where I have nothing to blog about and so I shall ramble

2010-10-14T14:28:00.006+05:30

Right, so just after I'd gotten myself all pepped up with all those noble intentions of blogging every week, I've discovered that the creative juices seem to have all but dried up. One minute I have a million ideas buzzing through the mind like Nikki on a sugar high (have you seen what a slice of birthday cake can do to an 18 month old, whose paranoid mother otherwise carefully monitors her sugar intake? *shudder*), the next minute my mind is a staggering blank. This is what happens to me when I don't blog regularly. I dunno if you've experienced this as well? When you're blogging regularly, you get so caught up in the enthusiasm of it all that as you write one post there are a million others brewing in your head like fresh espresso. And the writing flows easy, like a blob of butter meting on hot toast. And then you take a break and bam! It gets harder and harder to write and there are millions of unfinished drafts until you're convinced the blogging part of your brain has sort of fossilized because of the lack of use.

Of course in my characteristic organized and disciplined way, I regularly fail to jot down the inspiring thoughts that flit through my mind a thousand times a day providing much needed blogging fodder. Instead I just let them whir around in my head like windmills and when its finally time to sit down and do the actual writing bit it gets a tad tough dealing with all the cacophony that's flying around inside. The domestic woes that have plagued me of late haven't helped any. But its all going to change for the better soon I hope because I have finally found someone who is willing to share in the domestic burden and she will be coming on board soon. In fact she was here yesterday for a few hours and I felt rather proud as I took her down to the park with Nikki, like a coy bride, showing off her macho, rich husband.

Strange how much havoc lack of domestic help can wreak in your life. Specially when you've gotten used to them and life has fallen into a comfortable pattern and then they suddenly hit you with the disappearing act. I was quite indignant about the whole thing initially and declared to P that I was never going to depend on a bai again.
"Cooking and cleaning and child care, I can do it all on my own!" I screamed vehemently. " I don't need any of these nasty bais. What's more I'll be a super mom and a yummy mummy and a domestic goddess to boot!! I'll show 'em all!"
"Right" said P in a resigned sort of voice and went off to order pizza while I collapsed on the couch at the sheer exhaustion of thinking of it all.
Anyway things seem to be back on track now and hopefully they'll stay that away. Anti jinx chant, anti jinx chant, anti jinx chant. Dear Goddess in Charge of Bai Karma up there, I've had my share of misfortune, please bestow your blessings and goodwill on me now, thankyouverymuch. While we're on the subject of domestic help I also have to mention this fabulous dhobi I've found! Yeah, see how exciting my life is? I'm devoting a whole post to the bai and the dhobi, it doesn't get better than this! I wonder what the girl I was seven years ago would say to me now, as she toiled in a swanky office with corner office dreams in her eyes. That being as it may, this is the way life as I've chosen it seems to be panning out at the moment and I can't say I haven't enjoyed the ride so far. So anyway, getting back, this guy, the dhobi is absolutely fabulous! He's punctual and regular, does a fabulous job with the clothes quite unlike Rajkumar The Rascal and get this- he smiles and wishes me with a polite 'Good Morning Madam' when I open the door. Oh yes, life seems to be getting back on track all right. Hopefully the weight loss wagon, off which I'd fallen so long ago that I don't even remember what it looks like anymore, will get back on track too and I'll leave it at that. (Note to self: Consistency is going to the gym everyday, not once in six months). There, now that I've put it on the blog I'll have to hit the gym! Then again, I have mentioned the battle of the bulge earlier haven't I and it didn't really shame me into doing anything about it. Oh well. Onwards ho to the gym then, I'm sure that gym instructor whom I'd earnestly assured that I would be terribly regular at my last visit a few years ago is going to want to have a word with me.

Random ramblings from my shatteringly mundane existence

2010-09-30T23:02:00.000+05:30

Yeah, its been one of those days. You know. One of those where everything seems to go wrong and Murphy is disturbingly all pervasive and at the end of which you just want to kill somebody. The last couple of weeks have been a series of one unmitigated domestic disaster after another. At last count, one maid was yet to recover completely from an attack of dengue, the other was seen merrily traipsing off to explore greener pastures without so much as a by-your-leave and the friendly neighborhood rogue, otherwise known as the dhobi, burnt some of P's best shirts and promptly vanished into thin air leaving us dhobi-less and with a drawer full of burnt shirts.

The making of 'Oh boy, oh boy, oh bai!- The Sequel' is currently underway and our life currently, minus the tenuous support of domestic and other peripheral staff is in a state of gentle disintegration . In other words it is an unholy mess. The mornings start with several rounds of interviews with aggressive women in the locality masquerading as bais. I open the door with a deep feeling of dread, akin to that faced by the meek spirited job seeker when faced with the nail-chewing-for-breakfast prospective employer to find Petulant Padma or Sulking Shanta at my doorstep. You recognize them instantly: the flared nostrils, the knotted brow, the ferociously clenched jaw and the beady look in the eye. The lark that sang merrily on many a gay,dewy morning certainly never made the acquaintance of these formidable ladies.
"Bai chahiye kya?" barks Petulant P or Shady S, as the case may be, and so begins the interview.
"Er yes" you meekly submit.
"Kaam kya hai?" continues PP/SS and then goes on to ask minute details of the work involved, the timings, the pay, only to shake her head in the manner of a displeased bull disappointed with the performance of the matador in the ring, before strutting away. Some, of the less forthright variety, promise to get back only to vanish into oblivion thereafter.
I shouldn't be surprised really, given my many years of bad maid karma (right up there with the bad boss karma that affected me quite regularly back when I was working), but I continue to live with that faint glimmer of hope that someday a gentle, loving, matronly sort of woman will land up at my doorstep to lovingly share in the domestic chores. Until then I will continue being afflicted by the Petulant Padmas and Sulking Shantas of the world.

The recent hobnobbing with these unfriendly sorts has made me wonder whether the world has become a ruder place in recent times. Last weekend we were at a sports shop trying to buy some badminton rackets when the shopkeeper trotted up and barked at us to expedite our shopping immediately because the shop closed at 1'o clock sharp. On being asked why on earth the shop needed to close in the middle of the day on a Sunday we were curtly informed that 1pm to 4pm was siesta time for the owners and the shop downed its shutters come rain or a deluge of customers. He was rather aggressive about the whole thing, unscrewing the shop shutters even as he spoke and we beat a hasty retreat for fear that he might decide to guillotine us with the shutters if we lingered too long. The entire neighborhood seemed to be a fan of the 1-4pm siesta and all the other shops were downing their shutters as well so we popped into a nearby, busy restaurant for a quick bite. Frenzied crowds were thronging the place and as we searched for a place to sit or a waiter who might help us with the waiting system, a crusty old waiter affronted us with indignation oozing out of every facial feature.
"Kyaa chahiye?" he barked, swinging the menu he was holding in his hand like he'd like to swat me for crowding his space.
"Ooooh I was thinking I'd rather like to have a bath with some of that lovely mineral water you have on that tray there!" I said, only, of course, I said it in my mind.
"We'd like a place to sit" I said to him as politely as I could manage.
"Jaga chahiye to dhundo! Yaaha pe khaali peeli khada hone ka nahin mangta!" he rapped out sternly, turning on his heel as I gaped after him. Taking the levels of customer delight to new pinnacles and all that.

Then there's the afore-mentioned dhobi, the charming Rajkumar, who in times gone by would land up at our doorstep with a becoming scowl and his trademark "Kapdaa hai kya?" A reply in the negative would unleash a series of under the breath mutterings and grumblings as he sulkily stalked away, and a positive reply would get you a long suffering why-can't-these-slops-iron-their-own-stuff sort of look accompanied by an overwrought sigh. Really makes me miss my good 'ol society in Bombay where I had overcome my bad maid karma to get some wonderful staff and a happy and non shirt burning dhobi to boot. Sigh. Well, man, or in this case, woman lives in hope and we shall, hopefully, overcome these minor domestic glitches soon. Aah and now I must rush, for the doorbell has chimed as I type these words...onwards ho with the interviewing of maids then. The heavy breathing and gentle grinding of teeth I can hear from the other side of the door seem to indicate that Raging Rekha, or possibly, Depressed Devki, may be at the door,

Happy Birthday Blog!

2010-09-21T14:49:00.002+05:30

Right, so I'm back after a full twenty days, right after having passed that breezy remark of trying to blog every week! Well I guess a house full of guests, the house help down with dengue (uncanny how this ALWAYS happens when there are guests at home!) and a baby octopus masquerading as a toddler who tries to defy gravity at any given opportunity do not a prolific blogger make. Not that it means I'm going to stop trying though, I fully intend to blog as often as I can, but I guess right now taming the domestic fires that blaze untempered must take priority in my getting crazier by the day life.

Anyway the point of this post, just in case you're wondering, and you would be fully justified in doing so, given that the first paragraph and the heading of this post have not the slightest connection, was to wish my blog a very happy first birthday! For as the hands of the clock slowly crept upon midnight on the 8th of September, Hello Mommyhood turned one year old! And I found myself in the same state of semi wondering, semi amazement as I had on Nikki's first birthday a couple of months ago.
I still vividly remember that quiet September night in my somewhat lonely at the time, stay at home mum's life , when I finally quietened those gazillion misgivings and doubts and published my very first post. And the joy and elation I finally felt at seeing that post up on the blog. More than a year later, blogging remains just as exciting, with every new chronicle of Nikki's childhood captured, every warm memory shared and the fabulous interaction with fellow bloggers giving me the same frisson of happiness it did when I first started blogging. Blogging also helped me reconnect with an old, long lost love: writing. I've always enjoyed writing and used to be an enthusiastic writer back in school and college, but with time, as other seemingly more pressing matters began taking up more and more of my time and attention, my once near passion began to fall by the wayside, until I was doing less and less of it and finally was down to just jotting random musings in a tattered old notebook. Then came motherhood and along with it some other life altering changes. Suddenly I had a lot more time on my hands and a lot less to do (I'm not discounting the many demands of motherhood here mind you, but sometimes in those early weeks, when you get lucky and they do fall asleep after three hours of rocking and lullabies, and stay that way for a couple of hours, you suddenly have the luxury of time again!). I'd also discovered the world of blogging by then and was reading many many wonderful blogs and sharing in the joys and tribulations of the authors. And just as suddenly, that night of 9th September I was struck by a flash of inspiration. Here was a chance to reconnect with that long lost friend again, to rediscover that passion, the embers of which still glowed deep down in my heart.

So here I am one year later, and so much the happier for it. It's been a fabulous journey so far, I've connected with some wonderful fellow bloggers, made some friends, shared my stories with you and shared in yours, and learned some life lessons along the way as well. For those of you who like dropping by here, thank you for your comments, your words of encouragement and your interest in the snippets I share from my often times crazy world! And as we go forward into year two, do drop me a line telling me what you'd like to see more of or less of, or maybe even none at all of in the blog as we go along! Oh and the stuff you like too! Do join me then as I raise a toast to my blog, a dear friend and a wonderful reminder of a very special period in my life. Happy birthday HM and here's to many more!

Some more update-y snippets

2010-08-31T15:45:00.002+05:30

It's quite shameful how I've been neglecting my poor little blog these days. It's even more shameful when one gets round to thinking that this blog is the only productive thing that I do with my time. That and the all important task of examining the contents of Nikki's diaper with a hawk eye. Right, now that I have successfully put off the last of my remaining readers I suppose I can go all out and elaborate on the details of the diaper and its contents just so I can bring things to a logical conclusion. Alright, not really. Come back, I was just kidding! Pretty please? Thanks. The thing is, Nikki had a recurring dash of that tummy infection she'd had earlier and that explains the ongoing obsession with diapers and their contents. And just while we're on the topic, what is it with kids not chewing their food these days? Nikki can chew, I know she can by the proficiency with which she wolfs down cookies and chocolates and jelly jujubes and other such stuff which she really shouldn't be eating but wheedles out of her hapless mother anyway, but give her some rajma chawal and she bounds into the 'I will swallow everything' mode. I sit in front of her, showing her how to chew till my teeth are clattering in my head and she nods her little head wisely and smiles. And swallows, as is evident from the contents of the diaper after the aforementioned rajma chawal meal has been consumed. But I don't suppose I should really be worrying about her masticating habits because she really isn't a fussy eater (pause for quick anti jinx chant). I hear horrifying tales from friends about how their toddlers will refuse to eat anything save a small bowl of curds for the entire day or take hours to consume one tiny piece of paratha and I thank the Lord for his Mercy that we haven't reached that stage yet. And now that I've gone and written about it on the blog I suppose I will spend the next three weeks paying obeisance to the high chair.

No, but Nikki's eating habits are the least of my worries, really. Mainly because I am much too busy worrying about her sleep, or to be more precise the amount of time, effort and energy one (the one in question being, mostly, yours truly) needs to spend in getting her to take a nap. With the added addition of a new born baby on the floor directly above us and a three year old with a proclivity to burst into song at nap times (always at nap times) accompanied by her two sonorous pet dogs on the floor below and the picture is complete, even though the nap may be far from it. And on the really bad days we also have the friendly neighborhood motorcycle man, curse his pointy little head, who revs up his bike for seven and a half minutes before screeching thorough the neighborhood on that infernally noisy contraption, ensuring that the last vestiges of sleep are wiped out from an already resistant to sleep child's mind. Even the warm bath, which of late had begun to work its magical powers in inducing a soporific state seems to have lost its charm. Speaking of which, after having gone on and on about how Nikki hates water, it is quite ironical that I now find myself in a situation where I wish her new found love for all things aqua would get tempered if only just a little bit.
'Bath taaa!' is a constant refrain heard in our house, indicating that the little diva is ready for bath time ALREADY, even if she's had a nice long bath just 0.75 minutes ago and could the mother please get to it quick. Bath taa itself is a frantic struggle to lather, rinse and scrub Nikki clean while she tries to jump headfirst into the water or rush to stand under the shower or the tap. The end of the bath sees much screaming and kicking as she is forced to leave the bathroom and toweled dry and she makes her displeasure loud and clear by banging the door down when I'm in the shower myself with indignant cries of 'Mama!!! Bath taa!!'.

Thankfully she usually gets distracted by her other favorite activity, which is standing on the grilled in ledge in the large french windows in our living room and observing the activity in the park below. Loud cries of 'caa' (car), bow wow (dog), meeeeeeowwwwwww (er, this is all kind of obvious right? Right, so I'll just stop with the brackets already) rent the air as Nikki's daily observations are bestowed on the world. S or I usually sit with Nikki while she's at this to ensure that she doesn't topple off the ledge and to point out a passing butterfly or a bird that she may have missed as we watch the world go by. It must be a strange sight for an observer; a toddler and her mum sitting by the window, getting tremendously excited by the sight of a passing dog or a bumble bee. And sometimes, the mum rapping the window or the grill and scolding it with a stern 'take that, you naughty window!' to placate the toddler who's happened to bump her head against it. Come to think of it, I've gotten so used to being in constant toddler speak mode that I'm quite likely to talk in a high pitched falsetto even in adult company. P seems to find it cute but I don't think any dinner guests will be terribly charmed if I ask them to try the risotto because its so yummy yummy in their tummy. Sigh.

August has been a busy month so far; my in-laws are visiting for a week and P's brother, his sister and her husband were here for a few days too. Nikki seems to have overcome her stranger anxiety a great deal now and while she didn't exactly welcome our guests with open arms, she didn't scream blue murder like last time either. In fact she got quite friendly with her Bua and insisted on getting all her toys from her playroom one at a time and piling them in a heap in her lap as Bua tried eating her dinner. Don't think Bua will be visiting again in a hurry.
Playschool is also on a one week break now and its been raining relentlessly so we've been doing a lot of stuff at home over the last few days. A trip to the zoo and an upcoming carnival at school over the weekend will probably ensure that the coming days are going to be busy as well, but I have resolved that I'm going to become a supremely prolific blogger and try and blog at least once a week if not more. Ta on that note then and here's hoping I stick to that resolve!

An update-y sort of post

2010-08-13T15:36:00.002+05:30

Perfect Posture, PERFECT POSTURE
Sit up straight, Sit up STRAIGHT
Grow up to be pr-e-e-ty
Grow up to be h-a-aa-a-ndsome
Do not slouch
DO NOT SLOUCH!

Just in case you've been wondering why I haven't been blogging of late (yeah right, I know), its because I've been spending every waking moment singing the afore mentioned 'Perfect Posture' song to Nikki. Well, not entirely true, we do take a break now and then for 'Baa Baa Black Sheep' and 'Do you have a Sunshine Smile?', but mostly its 'Perfect Posture' All.Day.Long. I guess this is her way of making me pay for all the times I made her listen to Dekha Tujhe Dekha, my all time fave song from Billu Barber when I was pregnant. At the time I used to think the baby was enjoying it too, considering all the activity that would start inside whenever the song came on, but now it only seems to make her angst-y so I'm thinking maybe not. So anyway, Perfect Posture is one of the many many (sigh) songs they sing at the mother toddler group and observant little Nikki likes a replay at home with the accompanying hand movements and all.
"Good Morning Nikki!" I'll say in a tremulous voice as she opens her eyes at the crack of dawn. "Shall I switch on some nice jazz for you? Or Yanni perhaps?"
"Hah, nice try!" snorts Nikki fixing me with a beady look. And then she slaps her knees in a commandeering way, signaling that it is time to start with 'Perfect Posture', the first rendition of many to come during the day.It has to be sung with the right intonations and accompanying hand gestures too, else some angry shrieks thrown my way demand that I start all over again. She remembers ever single nuance, just the way the teachers sing it at school. Of course all these brilliant powers of observation are kept on hold while we're at school where she refuses to display any of her many talents.
"Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" the teacher will say "Show me your stars children!"
Most of the other kids around immediately oblige with the appropriate hand gesture bunching up their fingers like twinkling stars. Young Nikki examines her nails and gives a bored yawn.
"Nikki? Where are your stars darling?" asks the teacher hopefully. "Where are Nikki's stars? Oh okay, where are Nikki's fingers?"
Nikki's fingers are promptly stuck up her nose and a particularly obdurate glance is thrown at the teacher.
"Oh all right" says the defeated woman "Maybe she doesn't like this song, ha ha!"
Yeah right. Even the auto wallah who ferries us to school everyday can sing it verbatim by now. With the accompanying hand gestures too, considering how Nikki metamorphoses into her "Let's revise everything we did in school today" mode the minute we step out of the school premises. This also means that while we are in the school she refuses to participate in most of the activities mom and baby are supposed to do together. Most of the other mom baby groups sit in nice little pairs with the mom manoeuvring baby's hands as they sing along to the song of the day. That looks cute. In our case, Nikki flings my hands away and trots off to a corner if I so much as try to touch her, while I do the whole song and act jig on my own. That does not look cute, I can assure you.
"Roly-Poly, Roly-Poly, Up, Up, Up!" I sing hopefully, rolling my hands around like a circus clown who's forgotten how to juggle.
"Get a life mother!" Nikki seems to say as she glowers at me from a corner.
Oh well. The good part is she really is enjoying school tremendously and is learning loads of stuff. Like she now lets me brush her teeth instead of screaming blue murder whenever I approach her with her toothbrush because that's something the teachers show at school. And she's also learning to self feed with a spoon and a fork. Speaking of which she's majorly into pretend play these days and likes to pretend feed all her toys. She has become rather attached to a large doll, almost as large as Nikki herself, which my dad had gifted her and insists on having her around at mealtimes. She then attempts to feed the doll with a little bowl and spoon, making pretend munching sounds herself :) When we read books together, Dolly is always around too to listen to the story. We take Dolly with us when we go to the park, even though all she does is sit dolefully in the pram while Nikki runs amok pulling out flowers and leaves and clumps of grass. And we even put Dolly to bed before Nikki's own bedtime, Nikki pats her to sleep herself while I sing a lullaby. Inspired by all this, I thought it might be a good idea to involve Dolly in the all important Project Potty Training which we have embarked on these days. A few attempts of "Look what Dolly does when she wants to poop Nikki!" and "Oooh when Dolly wants to poop she sits on the potty!" have followed which don't seem to interest Nikki in the least bit. Any tips on how to go about potty training are most welcome!

In other news, Nikki seems to be going through some bit of separation anxiety these days, so its Mama! Mama! all day long. If I try going for a longer than usual shower or a bit of a lie in on weekends anxious cries of Mama! begin to resonate through the house. When she first started displaying this behavior I was quite overcome at this hereto undisplayed show of affection. So the first cry of Mama! would see me emerge sopping wet from the shower of spring out of bed with an eager "Yes Nikki? Mommy is here!", only to be met with a dismissive "Oh there you are. Run along now, just stay where I can see you so I know you're still here." Then there is this other new thing of getting stuff from all over the house to me and insisting that I hold it. It won't be uncommon for random visitors to my house to find me sitting at the dining table, trying to eat my lunch with Nikki's entire collection of soft toys piled up in my lap or on the couch trying to read a book with the day's newspapers, car keys, kitchen towels, bath mats and floor cushions for company. Any attempt to dislodge this carefully selected assortment is met with instant and earth shattering shrieks so I prefer to just stay put. Nikki's also become more demanding of my time now, wanting me to actively engage in activities with her as opposed to earlier when she was quite happy to potter about on her own. She does spend a fair bit of alone time too but just when I think she's quite happy playing with her shape sorter or her doll, a tiny, red faced little person will attach herself to my hip making it quite obvious from her expression that she's rather miffed at this blatant lack of attention. And now Her Majesty is back after a (rather short) nap and its that time of the day again. And if you don't know what I mean just go right back to the beginning of this post.

Of saying goodbye and savoring life's special stuff

2010-07-22T15:31:00.000+05:30

We've spent the last two days hanging out with my sister, Nikki's C Paachi, who flies out to the US today for higher studies. While I restricted my goodbyes to a semi hug and a rather eloquent grunt in my characteristic expressive style, I'm sure C knows that we're all going to miss her lots. What makes this whole going away business a little better is that she's going to be back in under six months to get married (hurray!), an event everyone in the family is quite looking forward to. Nikki had a fun two days spending time with C Paachi and her grandparents which got me around to thinking about how important it is for kids to spend time with family growing up, to know that there are other loving, dependable adults they can confide in and look up to, apart from their parents. I'm hoping Nikki gets to spend a lot of time with close family as she grows up and have been making an effort to get together with family I have in and around town whenever I get the chance. It is specially fun and also a little touching to see Nikki bond and thoroughly enjoy herself with my little nephew R, who's a couple of years older than her. I have a photograph of C Paachi with R and Nikki in which C is holding Nikki and R is standing next to her. The snap beautifully captures R grinning mischievously at Nikki while she grins right back with an equally saucy, exhilarated expression on her little face, a testimony to the fun times they've shared. We're lucky that P also has a large extended family, with lots of kids close to Nikki's age and even though she was too small to really interact with them the last few times we met, I'm sure she'll enjoy her time with them as she grows older.

I shared these thoughts with P last evening as we drove back home after saying goodbye to C and we got around to talking about what we'd like Nikki to grow up with, the important stuff, the stuff that really matters. We were both agreed on the importance of family and close friends; I hope Nikki has a wonderful, loving set of friends she knows she can rely on and turn to anytime as she grows older. Growing up, we were always moving cities and I would often be the new girl in town or in school or in the park, the girl who was left out of birthday parties and sleepovers and movie nights because nobody knew her well enough yet. Sure I would settle in eventually, get to know people and make friends but it was always difficult those first few days when everybody was comfortable in their own little groups and you were the only outsider who didn't fit in any where. In retrospect though, I feel this has always made me appreciate my friends more and I am truly thankful today for the wonderful group of friends I have.

A love for books and reading is another thing I hope to pass on to Nikki, followed closely by a love for music. There is no greater joy than losing yourself in the wonderful world of a beloved book, retracing the adventures in an old favorite, the thrill you feel when you connect instantly with a new book or the quiet anticipation of an evening tucked up in bed with a mug of hot chocolate and a good book left half way. Except perhaps, the joy of waking up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the strains of a ballad by Richard Clayderman on a Sunday morning. Or some smooth jazz or perky funk beats on a Friday evening as you wait for dinner guests to arrive. Or the instant mood lift as you listen to an old favorite on a rainy afternoon or on a long drive back home. So Nikki gets a generous dose of Floyd and U2 along with Wiggles Dorothy the Dinosaur and she seems to enjoy both equally well! Of course The Papa Man ensures that there's a generous dollop of 'Tere Liye' and 'Singh is King' thrown is as well and both those numbers have little Miss Nikki doing a vigorous shake-that-booty each time!

I am hoping to celebrate all of the major festivals in a big way now that Nikki is here. Before we had Nikki, festivals were equated with days off, a chance to get away from the stress and pressure of daily life but now I look forward to spending these special days in a leisurely manner with Nikki. Enjoying the beauty of colors on Holi, basking in the warmth of family and togetherness on Diwali, always a gala family event, discovering the magic of Santa Claus at Christmas, making modaks together for Ganesh Chaturthi and beautiful jhankis for Janmashtami. Festivals, also mean holidays and holidays are another important part of growing up happy! Long and lazy summer holidays, short winter breaks, even weekend getaways, I want to ensure we take some time out every now and then to get away from our regular routines and travel the world and spend time together, sometimes to meet new people and do different things, sometimes to just enjoy a slice of solitude.

Which brings to me to the importance of enjoying your own company and being comfortable with yourself. That wonderful place where you know you can step out and have a great time over coffee with friends knowing equally well that you can go right back and have just as wonderful a time all by yourself. I hope I can teach Nikki that. Along with the power of dreaming big, beautiful dreams, believing in them without being afraid of failure and taking risks. Living the most exhilarating life and being the best person she possibly can be. And always knowing that two people, mom and dad, will always be there for her no matter what.

This list could go on and on so I thought maybe I'd leave it at this. Or maybe I'll keep coming back and adding to this if I feel I've missed out on something that really should be here. What about you though? What are those special things you know you want your children to grow up with?

A smelly sort of irony

2010-07-16T16:32:00.000+05:30

Your little girl shows no sign of blessing the diaper in spite of your best efforts to help Mother Nature along: well timed meals, plenty of water, careful positioning of the pink potty, gentle coaxing. The minute you're out the door and on the way to playschool, you hear a gentle rumbling, signaling that the diaper has now been freshly endowed and will require cleaning in the car or, even worse, the auotrickshaw.

Happens without fail, week after week. Sigh. This is my contribution to the tag started by Rohini. I have many more instances to narrate of course, in fact they'll fill up a book, but we'll leave that for another day.

A tag by any other name...

2010-07-15T11:02:00.001+05:30

Blogging has been a bit slow lately thanks to the internet connection (hello you!) which has been acting more mercurial that the Rain Gods themselves. It had reached a stage where I'd become quite superstitious about switching the blasted internet switch on without an elaborate 'switch it on' ritual, you never know when the Internet Gods decide they are displeased after all and go on the blink without so much as a by-your-leave. Matters have been resolved since thankfully, and I can finally get down to the tag on gender stereotypes that Piper and Momo's Ma had tagged me to do some time ago. I've had great fun doing this tag, though I'm not so sure if it conforms exactly to the popular notion of gender stereotypes. From what I can see around me, not conforming to a stereotype is fast becoming a stereotype in itself these days, but I'm going to give it a shot anyway so here goes:

1. I DETEST shopping, and am completely hopeless at buying stuff for myself. P on the other hand loves shopping and can spend HOURS even at the local mom and pop store, shopping for household groceries. Most of our joint shopping expeditions end with me having to drag him kicking and screaming back home, when I reach the end of my tether and am on the verge of collapsing into a shopping induced dead faint. P is an excellent shopper though (I think Becky Bloomwood could take tips from him) and can be counted on for finding excellent picks in all sorts of stores ranging from high fashion to hardware.

2. I'm a pretty good cook, even if I do say so myself, but my culinary skills fall short when it comes to making rotis; for the life of me I just can't get it right. The dough is either too lumpy or too gooey and on the rare occasion that I get that right the rotis themselves decide that they would much rather masquerade as maps of assorted continents. Only once in my life did I manage to make perfect looking, almost circular rotis and I stored them away carefully to show them to P. When I unveiled them proudly later that evening I found, much to my horror, that they had hardened into completely inedible, rock solid slabs that would require a hammer if one were to attempt breaking them into bite sized pieces. Its all rather sad, because I really do love cooking and roti making is an art I would love to master.

3. Like a lot of other bloggers I read who've done this tag, I'm not into make up at all. Way back when we were just friends and P didn't know me too well, he'd fondly bought me a (really nice, come to think of it) state of the art makeup kit as a birthday gift from one his trips abroad, which had stuff I'd never even heard of before(eyelash tip darkener anyone?). Eight years later the make up kit occupies pride of place; in my special keepsakes basket where I've stored stuff from the past that has sentimental value. Needless to say and much to poor P's chagrin it is completely untouched. Not that I have anything against makeup, in fact I'm rather awed by its power, but most days I just can't get myself to do more than run a comb through my hair and put on some lip gloss. Also I guess the older you get the more difficult it is to break old, entrenched habits; the one time I was coerced by a well meaning friend into wearing some lipstick and kohl at an office party, I spent the evening feeling hideously pan-caked and couldn't wait to go home and wash my face squeaky clean. The friend hasn't given up since and I'm nothing if not open to change, so you never know, I may just metamorphose into the next fat mu pro yet.

4. I love traveling, and mostly alone. I find traveling alone the best way to recharge my batteries, get my thoughts sorted and connect with myself. I haven't traveled alone for leisure for a very long time now, but back when I was working I'd enjoy even the solitary work related trips. I'd like to do a back packing trip on my own some day, though with my newly developed tendencies to get panic attacks about what might happen to Nikki when I'm in a 1.5 minute shower I don't see that happening anytime soon.

5. I'm excellent at packing and unpacking stuff and am the designated packer (and un-packer) for vacations, short trips, weekend getaways and even moving home. In fact after our relocation from Bombay last year when Nikki was under three months old, with minimal help, I think I can single handedly manage any kind of move now.

6. I'm a whiz at ironing clothes and can easily put the local dhobi out of business if I try (not sure if this is a gender stereotype but have you noticed how the local dhobi is almost always a man?). I have a half a mind to do so too considering the local dhobi in question has been trying to fleece us out of home and hearth by his money laundering ways.

7. The other thing that I'm a whiz at is giving a good head massage *Brief pause here to make a quick plea to The Lord. Dear Lord, while I truly am grateful for my blessings, do you not think in the next round you could bless me with some more conventional and infinitely more useful skills? Like singing and maybe strumming the guitar for example?* So yeah, the local champi wala is the other guy I can easily put out of business.

8. I'm not a terribly maternal person, and for the longest time I wasn't sure if I would be a good mother. Having Nikki has changed all that, though I have to say P is a whole lot better than I am at most things when it comes to her as well. I hope he doesn't read this post.

9. I don't particularly enjoy and am terrible at multitasking. The image of the super mommy who brilliantly manages home, work, social life and a gazillion other things does inspire awe but also scares me a little bit. Give me one thing to focus on any day and I'll do a much better job than if I'm trying to manage fifty other things at the same time.

10. I rather like gymming, even if I'm not the most terribly regular person around, and have constant visions of myself in a size zero avatar, dressed in the latest Juicy couture gym attire as I effortless power my way through a grueling cardio and strength training routine like a sleek powerhouse of energy and grace. In the meantime, I'll settle for plodding along on the treadmill huffing and puffing away in my current size 86 real life version.

I think the whole world and its aunt has done this tag by the time I've finally gotten around to doing it so there really isn't anyone left to tag. Guess I'll settle for the blue pants, I prefer 'em to the blue skirt any day :)

Activity Schmactivity

2010-07-05T16:13:00.001+05:30

The monsoons are here and Nikki's daily trips to the park have become few and far between what with the weather playing truant on most days. In order to keep boredom at bay I decided to try some of the myriad 'fun activities to try with your toddler' I keep reading about on various websites and in the gazillion newsletters I subscribe to. Besides Nikki seems to enjoy similar activities at the mother toddler group, and so last week, bursting with the naive enthusiasm of the uninitiated, I decided to try some new stuff with her myself. First up was messy play, having gone through a detailed newsletter extolling the numerous benefits of the same. "We're going to make some play dough!" I announced cheerfully as I marched into the kitchen, startling S out of one of her daydreams. The newsletter had conveniently included some do-it-yourself playdough recipes and it sounded reasonably simple. All I needed was some flour and water and voila! Stir them well together and your very own simple playdough is ready. Easy peasy. I helped myself to some flour and water from the kitchen and trotted off to find Nikki, with a curious S in tow. "Let's make some playdough Nikki!" I screeched excitedly, catching sight of Nikki in the balcony and setting my supplies down. Nikki looked up briefly from her detailed perusal of the drain pipe and marched off in the opposite direction. "Look, WHITE, POWDERY flour!!" I persisted, not one to be discouraged easily. "See how nice it feels?" Nikki poked an uninterested finger in the proffered bowl, yawned and turned away to the unexplored delights to the drain pipe. "Okay, fine. Let's make the playdough, that should be fun!" I made a great show of pouring water slowly into the flour, while simultaneously stirring it into the flour. Nikki didn't budge from the drainpipe. No matter! She would probably perk up once she saw what fun it was to play with the playdough after it was ready. I stirred vigorously for a couple of minutes and poked an experimental finger into what should have been some super soft, pliable playdough. What I got instead was a stringy, gooey mess that clung to my fingers like there was no going back. "Kya didi!" smirked S, who had been lurking in the corner all this time "Aapko to atta goondna bhi nahi aata!" "The recipe must have been messed up" I informed S coldly. Just who did she think she was with her superior atta goond-oing skills? Bah! "I will make the rotis for today evening's dinner" I continued with the best cold hauteur I could muster. I would show her too! Just how difficult could it be?! Besides I had kneaded dough and made rotis in the past, even if my efforts hadn't exactly yielded rotis that you would put up on Kitchen Champions. Still they were edible and that's what mattered. I mean its not like rotis needed to pass any tests on aesthetic appeal. S just shrugged and went off to the kitchen and came back with some atta leftover from the morning. "Here Nikki play with this!" she said making a big show of handing the atta to Nikki. Hmph, the little show off! Much to my chagrin, Nikki displayed an interest in the atta too, took it from S's hands and began rolling it around and squishing it. Regaining my enthusiasm I quickly got out the little rolling board and pin my mom had got for Nikki some time back and gave it to her, but she kicked it away and then proceeded to plaster the atta all over the sofa at supersonic speed. By the time we were done scraping it all off, nobody had any energy left for any more activities so we decided to call it a day.

The next day I decided to try a different activity: painting. After carefully assembling Nikki's new, non toxic paints, some brushes and water for fun and large sheets of white paper, Her Highness was summoned to the venue and I eagerly tried to show her the many wonders of color. She seemed a bit bored with the whole thing at first, making me look like a bit of an ass as I finger painted circles and squiggly lines with loud and exaggerated enthusiasm while she looked on disdainfully from a corner. Oh and did I mention that this spectacle was taking part in our generously open-to-public view balcony (we have to do most messy play type activities here, since it is very convenient- great play area and easy to clean afterward) , with a bit of an audience in the other balconies? No, it was not one of my finer moments. Mercifully, after about ten minutes of "Oh look Nikki! A RED circle! Look! The blue line goes up and down, up and down, side to side, wheeeeee!", she did get a bit interested and came up and started dabbling in some painting herself. My happiness lasted for precisely three and a quarter minutes after which Nikki decided that all this smearing of color on paper was b.o.r.i.n.g and paint could be put to other uses as well. One paint smeared hand promptly went into her mouth followed just as swiftly by the other one. After my various and multiple attempts at dissuading her were met with a swift but firm rejection and after I managed to dislodge her brightly purple colored foot from her mouth, I finally gave up and the painting activity came to an end as well.

"Maybe you're pushing her to try things she's not ready for" advised The Papa Man later that day. "Why don't you try something simpler? Like crayons?"
Crayons! Now why hadn't I thought of that before?! Sure she was ready for crayons! In fact if her previous artistic escapades were anything to go by she was a regular Da Vinci in the making. The following day saw me in the balcony, yet again, with some more sheets of paper and crayons. In my new, non pushy avatar I made sure Nikki was around first before casually getting on my with my crayoning and pretending I was having great fun. Luckily for me Nikki took one look at the crayons and came scampering up right away. She let out a squeal of delight and heading straight for the crayons, picked them up and began examining them with a happy look on her face. I let out a sigh of relief and was just about to discreetly edge a sheet of paper her way when she swiftly went up to the balcony railing and speedily tossed out the crayons one by one like a stealth bomber on a final combat mission. The next several minutes consisted of one very angry security guard, several displeased passers by and a few tickled-to-death neighboring balcony viewers.

We have now unanimously decided that we will a) no longer conduct activities in the balcony and b) leave the more adventurous of the activity lot for the experienced beings at playschool. However in my indefatigable enthusiasm I will continue in my attempts at engaging Nikki in more such educational and fun activities. That is, as soon as I emerge from my self imposed hibernation after recovering from the twin attacks of the Crayon Missiles and the Angry Bystanders.

P.S. And for those of you observant readers who were wondering, yes I did make the rotis that day and two things happened. First, I discovered that a roti can actually be a very useful educational tool. Especially when it come to rotis. Map of Africa anyone? I can roll it out for you! Secondly, even though some rotis may not be edible, after allowing for a couple of hours of hardening they can be very useful Weapons Of Self Defense. I can put those Pepper Spray guys out of business, I tell you.

Cloud Nine

2010-06-25T13:42:00.000+05:30

This morning Nikki was up as usual at the crack of dawn and merrily prancing around on our bed, as P and I lay there, caught between that state of deep slumber and impending wakefulness, trying to grab those blessed last five minutes of shut eye before the child decided to attempt her standard early morning deep dive off the bed stunt. Suddenly Nikki bounded over to my side of the bed and began peering at me closely to see if I was awake already. I opened one eye groggily, bracing myself for a possible nose tweak or a punch in the eye, our daily morning 'let's wake The Mommy Woman up' greeting. Instead Nikki suddenly bent over, gave me a soft kiss on the cheek, then put her arms around me in a hug, buried her face in my neck and babbled something softly in my ear. I just lay there, stunned initially, then overwhelmed, holding her, wishing I could hold on to the moment forever too.

Guess who's been walking around the house with a beatific smile plastered on her face today? :)

If The Mommy Woman is not alert AT ALL TIMES.....

2010-06-24T09:59:00.001+05:30

......she may find herself drifting into gentle slumber as little Nikki plays nearby, only to awaken to the feel of some strange sort of scraping on her posterior. On closer examination she may find that the source of the gentle scraping is little Nikki herself, busy doing up The Mommy Woman's posterior (in need of renovation, yes, but this may not quite have been what The Mommy Woman was thinking) with The Mommy Woman's favorite lip gloss. Further inspection may reveal that little Nikki is quite the budding artist and has generously given of her talent to paint the bedspread, the pillow covers, several patches of the floor and The Mommy Woman's new handbag as well. Just as The Mommy Woman is recovering from the effect these startling sights are bound to have, the doorbell may ring to announce the arrival of the not so friendly new neighbors, stopping by to ask some questions about the neighborhood. The Mommy Woman may ask them inside and offer them a cup of tea but as she walks into her living room she may hear some strange sort of squeaks and snorts and the new neighbors may quickly excuse themselves citing that all important purchase of groceries as the excuse. The Mommy Woman may feel a little perplexed at this strange behavior until she catches sight of herself in a mirror as she turns a corner and sees that her posterior, encased in white tracks, is now a brilliant, shiny, glossy PINK. Did you know that on a pristine white background pink stands out really well? Well it does. Vivid.

And to think this is a child who eschews crayons unless it is to generally toss them around.

First week at playschool and other assorted tales

2010-06-22T15:08:00.000+05:30

We've finished our first week at the mother toddler playgroup and Nikki seems to be settling in rather well. She was a little wary of the general proceedings on the first day, keeping a keen eye on me to ensure I didn't wander off too far, but the next day on it was like she'd been doing this all along. She's already made a couple of friends and has even gotten herself a little admirer who has taken quite a fancy to her, insisting on hugging her hello and goodbye every time they meet. Nikki is quite scornful of all this attention though and brushes the poor little chap off disdainfully each time, but he is nothing if not persistent. The sessions at the playgroup are divided into motor skills, language skills and drama and no prizes for guessing which is Nikki's favorite! Its drama all the way; I knew I was being prescient when I christened her the little drama queen. She has an absolute blast in the drama class and is quite the life and soul of the music and movement party that is an integral part of each session, with her little 'balle balle' jig and general shake that booty baybeh happening in full flow. At one of the sessions there was a puppet show and Nikki was beside herself with excitement at all the animal puppets that made an appearance. At first she was content to sit at the foot of the stage and wave a cheery 'hi' to each puppet that made an appearance but soon she figured out, from some clever peering under the screen, that there was someone back there making all the action happen and she made a beeline for the poor teacher-puppeteer's foot. I was quite enjoying the sight of the teacher hopping around to avoid her, when I noticed the other teacher glaring at me and quickly moved Nikki away. The other big hit with Nikki has been an activity where all the babies get to dress up like monkeys and prance around. Nikki took to her little monkey headgear and tail immediately,and spent a good ten minutes preening in front of the mirror, even giving herself little kisses in the mirror!

The motor skills class, with its fun educational toys is another hit with Nikki, its the language skills class with its rather large dose of structured activities that she likes the least. For this class requires the kids to sit down and go through a series of quiet-ish activities, and that doesn't go down too well with Nikki. She likes doing things her way and any attempt at doing otherwise is met with instant and ear shattering mutiny.The teachers are finding this out the hard way. At one of the sessions a variety of toys were laid out in different corners and the mothers were supposed to spend a couple of minutes playing with one toy and then move on to the next. Some of the toddlers didn't mind being moved around once their time was up at a particular toy, but not Nikki. She insisted on playing with the toys she wanted to, and moving on to the next toy at her own time and pace. When the teacher tried to direct her to a particular toy she promptly turned up her nose and marched off purposefully in the opposite direction to another toy just to make her point. Personally, I think its fine if she wants to set her own pace and choose the toys she plays with, as long as she's not bothering any of the other kids but the teacher seemed to think otherwise. After a few more failed attempts at getting Nikki to play with toys in a particular order, the teacher finally decided she would try and teach Nikki to play with the toys the 'right' way instead of using her own creativity. The toy in question was a large bowl of colored rice and a shovel and the activity consisted of shoveling the rice into another empty bowl. Nikki was enjoying playing with the rice, feeling it slip between her fingers, scrunching it up in her fist, when the teacher tried showing her how to use the shovel. At first Nikki continued playing the way she wanted to, but soon she was done with the interfering and the bowl of rice was emptied unceremoniously in the teacher's lap. Next, another teacher tried being helpful when Nikki was messing around with some colored play dough. She had been given a little rolling pin and board and was 'expected' to roll some chappatis with the dough. Nikki had turned the board upside down, placed the rolling pin in it and converted it into some sort of boat which she was busy decorating with bits of the dough. Pretty innovative, I thought! But the friendly teacher again interrupted her play to show her how to roll chappatis the proper way. Last seen, she was observed desperately trying to scrape off the dough from the seat of her pants where Nikki had plastered it. Overall though, its been fun so far and I think Nikki quite enjoys the entire experience. Yesterday, when I announced that we were off to 'school' she even got out her little bag and got S to pack a little box of raisins and her sippy cup of water to take along :) The other great thing about this school, like I've mentioned before, is the wonderful collection of books they have. We've been borrowing one every week and Nikki has been having a wonderful time with Spot The Dog's Big Touch and Feel Book and Itsy Bitsy Spider, which has brought her favorite rhyme wonderfully alive.

In other news, Nikki's artwork at school now occupies pride of place on our refrigerator, proudly displayed for all to see. Speaking of the fridge, Nikki seems to have developed a strong fascination with it and all that lies within it. She comes scampering up whenever the fridge is opened and trots off at top speed with whatever object catches her fancy. She's also lost interest in the collection of toys we had amassed for her playing pleasure and now insists on playing only with random household objects; kitchen utensils and fruits and vegetables being the favorites. We've had to write off many a mangled banana or a squeezed into inedible mush cucumber, after Nikki's done with them, all in the name of the greater good of learning. The Papa Man's empty beer cans are another hot favorite, but can have unfortunate consequences as I discovered recently. I walked into our balcony where Nikki and The Papa Man were playing last evening only to find our new neighbors giving us strange looks as Nikki, in an effort to imitate her daddy, pretended to take long swigs from the empty beer can while The Papa Man chatted on his phone!

The sleep files continue to be tempestuous and unpredictable with the latest development being an abject revulsion to sleeping in the cot. Every night at 8.30ish, I put Nikki to bed in her cot. Every morning at 4am she wakes up screaming blue murder and insists on being transferred to our bed where on good days she nods off almost immediately, and on bad ones, frolics around for an hour or two. On the really screwed up days, we just give up, go with the flow and head out for an early breakfast to any place that serves extra strong, knock your eyeballs out coffee so that we're fit and fighting for the day that lies ahead. We went through a phase recently where Nikki took resistance to being put down for a nap or for the night to new levels. The Papa Man and I would take turns on the battle field before finally flopping down in weary surrender on the bed while Nikki would continue playing gleefully before tiring herself out and eventually retiring for the night. Thankfully that phase didn't last long else we would have made the dehydrated raccoon look a new fad in these parts. The resistance to sleeping in the cot has been on for a while though, thanks to which anyone who wanders into our bedroom anytime between the hours of 4 and 8 am will be spectator to the strange sight of The Papa Man and I lying at perpendicular angles on the two open sides of our bed to preempt any attempts at diving off the bed, which Nikki is wont to do every time the thought strikes her fancy.
The other thing with Nikki is that because she resists sleep with such admirable tenacity, she often finally falls asleep in a strange pose resembling a long distance runner with her body all hunched up over the starting line. The fact that she also resembles a baby Spiderman with her newly tonsured look (although the hair is growing back at quite a brisk pace now, thank the Lord) makes this a strange sight indeed. And when she finally wakes up, oh joy!, she sits up with a great sense of urgency like she's running late for an important business meeting and starts chattering at top speed, to make for all the lost time when she was forced to sleep.

And now, since this seems to have turned into another one of those long, rambling, all over the place kind of posts ( I seem to be doing that a lot these days) and also because Nikki has deigned to take a nap, I think I will stop and catch up on some sleep myself (those 4am jaunts are TOUGH!). Will be back with bath tales 101, food fetishes, current fave activities (all I can say now is they involve cars and much shrieking) and other things Nikki!

A special rainy day recipe

2010-06-17T11:09:00.001+05:30

Ingredients: A large helping of torrential rains, some blustering wind, one weary adult and one cranky toddler

Preparation time: Take as long as you like!

Serves: Enough to knock out an army!

Method:

1. Take a generous helping of a toddler who wakes up at 4 a.m. and promptly attempts to careen headfirst over sleeping parents into the fascinating abyss that lies beyond the bed, thereby causing parents to snap out of slumber pronto with near panic attacks.
2. Stir in some wailing and crying and resisting all attempts to go back to bed, deigning to finally do so only at 6.30 a.m. when it is time for the hapless parents to rise and shine, all bleary eyed.
3. Sprinkle some shrieking like the mother-is-an-axe-murderer when attempts are made to lather/ rinse/ wipe or any other such activity that takes away from the all important task of playing and splashing around in the bath water. Ensure that you add at least one teaspoon of getting the hapless mother soaking wet in the process.
4. Gently fold in some more screeching and prancing around on the bed immediately post-bath, wriggling out of the mother's grasp and making it a point to stay in the middle of the bed which she can't get to because of afore mentioned soaking wet status.
5. Briskly whip in a couple of kilos of the stuff babies make, making sure the diaper is freshly blessed only after the help has left the house so that there is no one to aid the defenseless mother from The Attack of The Fingers That Squish.
6. Deftly add The Fingers That Squish to the mix, making sure you use them for other purposes like touching all objects that the eye can see, thereby necessitating Operation Clean Up No. 1.
7. In the micro nano second that it takes the mother to slip on a fresh diaper, stir in the wriggling-out-of-the-grasp act again and pee in at least three empty spaces. Stir briskly to a smooth consistency.
8. Add some relentless wailing and being a general crank to taste.
8. Add some finely chopped messing around in the freshly peed in spaces, necessitating Operation Clean Up No 2.
9. Repeat Steps 3 & 4. This time make sure to add a generous helping of shrieking and relentless wailing as mother attempts to put on a fresh diaper and change of clothes.
10. Whip to a smooth consistency, stirring in some of throwing up of the dinner, necessitating Operation Clean Up No. 3.
11. Add a generous smattering of taking approximately one hour, forty five minutes and 15 seconds to go into a state of gentle sleep insisting only on the finest patting and rocking to get there, ignoring the fact that mother now looks and feels like a sixty year old on the brink of senility. Wait for the flavors to infuse.
12. Garnish with waking up at the sound of the slightest peep for at least thirty minutes more, drifting off finally into a resigned sort of sleep. We have a 4 a.m. appointment to keep after all.

Serve cold on a rainy day.

Tip: Works best in the absence of that fine ingredient, The Papa Man. Be sure to try when this ingredient is out of town, working late or is otherwise missing in action.

Of playschool hunting and stalking innocent maids

2010-06-09T16:29:00.001+05:30

My little girl is growing up! My baby is a baby no longer *sob*, for come Friday, she will be off to playschool for the very first time! Alright, so I'm going off the deep end as usual when it comes to melodrama because its not really a playschool, its a mummy baby group and I'll be accompanying her as well but I just wanted my moment. And it is a milestone in any case; my baby's first day at schoo...er the mummy baby group. I'd been toying with the idea of signing up for a mummy baby group for a few weeks now and last week I finally decided to take the plunge.

Flashback to a few months ago when I noticed that Nikki really enjoys being in the company of other children. From being completely oblivious to their presence, to slowly graduating to parallel play and then actively engaging with other kids, I realized that it would do her good to spend some time every day with kids her own age. I began by attempting to socialize with the other kids who live in our apartment complex. We live in a large society with multiple parks and there is a profusion of kids in Nikki's age group. I guess most of these kids have working parents because they're always accompanied by maids who're usually too busy cultivating their own social lives to really bother about their wards. Most of the times the kids are cooped up in their prams while the maids take endless rounds of the park, with their mobile phone or latest arm candy glued to their ear or hip, as the case may be. Anyway I decided I would make an attempt at socializing with some of the kids who looked like they were Nikki's age and with this noble intention in mind I approached one of the maids who was wheeling a little boy around in his pram and unlike the others, had neither mobile nor boyfriend attached to her. Now this is a maid I see everyday, I vaguely know the mother of the little boy and Nikki and the little boy have even played together a few times when the little boy was let lose in the garden as opposed to being wheeled around in his pram. I approached the maid, M, from behind with Nikki in her stroller. As I neared I saw her dart a quick glance at us over her shoulder and speed up. I quickened my own pace, hoping to catch up with her, but this just seemed to invoke mild panic in her because she started a semi jog, jiggling the pram in front of her.
"Hey!" I yelled surprised at this strange behavior, and then a more polite "Excuse me!"
M cast a resentful look over her shoulder but slowed down and glared at me. " We just wanted to say Hi to S(the little boy's name)" I said a little breathlessly, catching up with her."Nikki doesn't have too many friends here, so I thought it would be nice for S and Nikki to play together, they're almost the same age" I proffered by way of explanation but this just elicited more resentful glares. By now however S & Nikki had discovered each others presence and were beginning to babble interestedly and swat at each others prams. S had a stuffed camel in his hand which he handed to Nikki with a benign smile. She grabbed it excitedly and said a shy 'thankoo' followed by an excited "Hi!" as an afterthought. It was the start of a beautiful friendship.
"Do you want to put S down in the lawn for sometime?" I asked M "They'll be able to play together better there."
"You want me to go with you in the garden?!" she asked in a horrified voice, casting a few more alarmed looks over her shoulder.
"No!" I replied feeling a little alarmed myself "We can let S and Nikki play there for a bit, while we watch over them."
She mumbled something incomprehensible under her breath but dumped S unceremoniously in the garden anyway. He looked super excited at this unexpected burst of freedom and delighted to be out and about began scampering around happily. I plonked Nikki down in the garden as well and watched as she and S began playing a little game of what looked like catch the camel with each other amidst much delighted giggling. It took me a while to realize that M had suddenly disappeared into thin air, taking the pram with her. Surprised I was scouring the park for her when she reappeared just as suddenly, with S's mother in tow. S's mother approached me with a frosty smile. "Hi" she said coldly "You're Nikki's mom right?"
"That's right" I smiled back at her.
"Actually M just told me that you were trying to offer her a job at a higher salary than what I'm giving her now" S's mom went on in a bitter voice. "Look please don't try to poach my maid, its really difficult getting a good maid here and I've found M with great difficulty. She's a huge help because she takes S off my hands for a couple of hours everyday and at least I am able to get some time to myself...."
"Dude I wasn't trying to poach your maid!" I snapped, exasperated. "I was just trying to get S and my daughter to play together since they happen to be the same age."
"Oh?" said S's mom looking completely foxed, "but then why did you ask M to join you for a walk in the garden?"

*******

"This society is full of weirdos and psychopaths!" I complained to P when he got back from work later that day, "I tried to socialize with some of the other kids here today and got mistaken for a stalker and a poacher of maids! I want to relocate!"
"Doesn't Nikki have any friends?" P asked mildly. After more than a decade of togetherness, my histrionics are usually like water off a duck's back.
"I don't know too many people here with kids" I went on wallowing in self pity "I do know a few people and we try and catch up sometimes but it all happens on a very ad hoc basis as a result of which Nikki is being deprived of the company of other kids. She'll grow up to be a lonely, reclusive child with no friends!"
"Well why don't you join a mother toddler program? There are a few playschools in the vicinity which offer those programs for babies of Nikki's age."
"Maybe she'll be chronically shy...maybe she'll never have any close friends" I went on, beginning to enjoy the wallowing, "Eh, what's that you said? A mother toddler program?"

And so it was that the last week saw me scouting for the perfect mother toddler program in playschools in our neighborhood. My first stop was an 'International' playschool, very close to where we live which is housed in a beautiful bungalow with a lovely lawn overflowing with masses of gulmohar and jasmine. The security guard let me in only after liberally spritzing me with hand sanitizer and a thorough examination of my handbag and I went in feeling mighty impressed. The feeling lasted for all of two minutes, before I was let into an office and came face to face with a weary looking woman screeching on the phone to someone as a bunch of kids milled about her. "Oh hello!" she said catching sight of me and sighed in the manner of one who would much rather be a million miles away. "Let me tell you all about our mother toddler program. We have a state of the art, world class facility and the latest infrastructure where we nurture our children in a loving, secure environment."
She stopped and beamed at me, looking a little surprised when I continued looking at her expectantly.
"Er that sounds great" I said in what I hoped was an enthusiastic voice. "So what do you do exactly in the mother toddler program?"
"Huh?" she seemed a little annoyed at this random question. "Oh the program! Hmmm, yes we follow the Reggio Emilia approach, you know, not the Montessori one so we are far superior to the other playschools around."
"Um okay. But what do you DO exactly? You know, the activities in the mother toddler program?" I asked again.
"Oh that" she waved a disdainful hand in the air "well the usual, you know. Peek-a-boo, some music and singing. There really isn't much you can do with kids in that age group!"
Which is precisely why I'm going to pay through my nose to come to your silly playschool, said the little voice in my head. I asked a few more questions, received a few more drab replies and left the place feeling a little frustrated. The lady in question, and she was a teacher in the school, seemed either clueless or thoroughly disinterested about most things and the only thing 'International' I had noted in the school were the fees. That and the Nepali cleaner and Bangladeshi watchman on their staff.

I decided to try a different playschool. A simple, homely one where hopefully the focus would be less on the fancy stuff and more on letting the kids there have a good time.I had heard of one such school which seemed to fit the bill and I made my way there. It looked lovely; it was simple and had a warm, cosy feel and I found myself warming up to the enthusiastic headmistress, who looked rather like a pleasant bumble bee.That was till she handed me a flyer for the mother toddler program. 'Mother Toddler Program!' it screamed in a hideous shade of ochre. 'Instills Competition Spirit! Sportive Attitude! Global Diginity! (whatever that means!) Parental Advise!' and best of all, once a year the 'Free Helth Camp for Full Family!'
I staggered out and speed dialed P. "We're going to have to home school our kids" I informed him gravely. "In some far off place perhaps, where there aren't too many people. Maybe Tasmania? I always wanted to go to Tasmania."
Vision of myself in a pristine, beautiful meadow, by a murmuring brook with Nikki as I gently point out the beauty of nature, the colors and shapes and sounds that surround us. With a nursery rhyme thrown in perhaps.
"...so why don't you check it out" P's voice rudely interrupted my gentle reverie.
"Huh? What?" I barked into the phone.
"Why don't you check out School X?" repeated P patiently, "Its a popular chain, its well known, a colleague's kid goes there and I've heard good stuff about it."
"Hmph" I snorted, but went off to check the school anyway. Popular chain indeed, I was sure it would be as bad as, if not worse than the two other schools I had just seen. I found myself grudgingly admiring the exterior as I reached. Sure it was not as swanky as the International Playschool but it had a charm of its own. It was spacious and airy with bright cheerful rooms and a lovely play area for the kids. I met with the headmistress who took me through the carefully planned program they had structured for the mother toddler program. And then she showed me the most fantabulous library with the awesome selection of books for toddlers ever. And you could even take them home as part of the library program! She also showed me around the school, the kids there seemed to be having a great time, the teachers all seemed great, I was sold!
After a discussion with P we decided to sign up for the program and this Friday is when we start. Here's to new and happy beginnings and hopefully some new friends for Nikki!

Conversations with my daughter

2010-06-03T10:09:00.000+05:30

Its a pleasant evening and Nikki and The Mommy Woman are out for their evening stroll. As they saunter around in the park, they run into the unfriendly neighborhood Grumpy Grandpa. Nikki fixes Grumpy Gramps with an interested eye. The mellow evening sunlight bounces off Grumpy Gramps shiny, bald pate. Nikki leans out of her pram and gives Grumpy Gramps a friendly wave. Grumpy Gramps, true to his nature, ignores Nikki and tries to walk past.
Nikki: Tak-loo!
GG (glaring at The Mommy Woman!): Cough! Splutter!...
Nikki, in a louder voice, pointing at Grumpy Gramps: TAK-LOOO!
The bright red human tomato, earlier known as The Mommy Woman, wheels the pram away at top speed, mumbling incoherent, apologetic sounding somethings under her breath.

**********

The Mommy Woman, overcome with love for her only child, envelops Nikki in a bear hug and plants a big kiss on her face.
Nikki, looking thoroughly disgusted and shoving The Mommy Woman away with an indignant look: MIND IT!!! ( pronounced Mann-dayyy!!! in Nikki- speak)

**********

Nikki's evening snack is finally ready. The Mommy Woman is feeling rather chuffed with her own concoction of bananas, soy milk and litchis and can't wait for Nikki to sample the stuff.
The Mommy Woman: Nikki! Something yummy for your tummy! Your smoothie is rrrrreaddy!
Nikki(looking supremely disinterested): Ohhh maaaan!!

**********

The Papa Man: Nikki, I LOVE you!
Nikki: Aaa WUV ooo!
The Mommy Woman, jealously hovering around: Nikki, I LOVE you!
Nikki: YAWN!

**********

Its a busy evening in a crowded suburban shopping mall. Nikki, The Papa Man and The Mommy Woman are shopping and hanging out. Nikki is looking particularly cute in a pink Tokyo Baby t-shirt and corduroys and is attracting a lot of attention from passers-by, especially young college girls who are thronging the place in hordes.
A group of hot, young college girls: Awwww SO cute!
Nikki, with a shy smile: Hi!
Hot, young college girls: SCREECH! She spoke to me! She said Hi! Awww I wanna KISS her!
Nikki: Kisssssssssssss
Hot, young college girls surround Nikki and the fortunate Papa Man who's holding her and take turns hugging and kissing Nikki. Five minutes later...
The Papa Man, with a blissful smile: We should go shopping with Nikki more often!
The Mommy Woman: Hmph!

**********

The Mommy Woman, back after a much needed trip to the salon, is overcome with separation anxiety at having left Nikki behind for TWO WHOLE HOURS.
The Mommy Woman: Nikki! Mommy is BACK!
Nikki and The Papa Man, looking up from a mess involving crayons and a copy of The Mommy Woman's latest copy of Mother & Baby: AIYYO!

Footnote: Nikki's conversational skills training and enriched vocabulary courtesy The Papa Man.

Leftovers from catching up

2010-05-30T09:54:00.001+05:30

Life is slowly limping back to normal in the P-new mum- Nikki household. Nikki's tummy infection has finally settled down, S is back from her month long vacation and I've even managed to find part time help who actually gets some work done as opposed to skipping around the house with a broom and duster before calling it a day. I hadn't blogged about Nikki's tummy bug earlier because quite frankly it had scared the living daylights out of me. It began with a vicious attack of diarrhea and a horrible rash which made nappy changes a nightmare, and even though we managed to get these under control soon enough, the infection itself persisted for nearly a month as revealed by ongoing stool tests. As a result of this poor Nikki was on a rather restricted diet for a very long time though we are gradually resuming a regular diet now. She's still lactose intolerant though so its a continuation of soy milk disguised in fruit smoothies and soups, since its undisguised version tends to bring out the mutinous streak in Nikki. (As you can imagine, I have been subjected to way more than my share of "Kitni kamzor (how I HATE that word) hai!" comments this last month than I could possibly care for. Aaaaaargghh!)

What worries me more than the illness itself, even though I would be quite happy to never encounter it again, is the apparent ease with which it can be picked up. "Oh happens to kids all the time!" was a frequent refrain I heard from both the ped as well as the chappie at the pathology lab where we went for the stool tests. According to the ped the infection is often picked up due to teething which makes babies rather non-discriminating when shoving stuff in their little mouths or as a result of eating raw food like salads or outside food which may not have been hygienically prepared. Now I'm very careful, okay fine, ultra paranoid, when it comes to Nikki's food but there's little I can do about the stuff she puts in her mouth. She has a particular fancy for scouring the house for dirt, finding it in the most unthinkable places (the nearly invisible crevice between the grooves of the balcony sliding doors anyone?) and then sucking on her dirty little digits with joyful relish. Then there's the problem of friends and relatives who come over and like to feed her all sorts of stuff, never mind whether I approve of it or not. In the month leading up to Nikki's birthday our home was full of guests and I was going nuts between trying to maintain some semblance of control between what was going inside Nikki's mouth what with her own explorations (Ooh blob of slime! Wonder what it tastes like?) and what people were trying to sneakily feed her (this is a post for another day, I think!). Since I'm hoping that this particular tummy bug never makes an appearance again, I need to figure this one out fast. Suggestions and advice are most welcome (Read as SOS!!! Help me please!)
**********

Sometime back I had got this award from Buzz, I'd now like to pass it on to some of my very special blog buddies; women whom I've never met but whose blogs I enjoy reading immensely and with whom I've connected on so many levels, albeit virtually. This is for you MRC, Aneela, Buzz, Divs, Mindful Meanderer, Priyanka, The Soul of Alec Smart and Momo's Ma. I had ALSO *ahem* got another award (whoop, whoop, whoop!!) from Shruti, and here it is proudly displayed!

Er, well actually I think that may be two awards so whoop, whoop, whoop once again!!!

I've also been thinking for sometime now of doing something a little different with my blogger template, you know, jazzing it up a bit. So do drop me a line if you know anybody who might be willing to take design requests or know of even any online resources that will enable even creatively and technologically challenged souls such as yours truly to get a spot of designing done, will you?
************

P was out of town for the day yesterday and I hadn't made any plans, so the weekend got off to a rather uneventful start. S had the day off as well so it was just Nikki and me left to our own devices. We spent the morning doing a lot of reading; I had picked up a few books for Nikki last weekend and she seems to be turning into quite the little bookworm :) Her current all time favorite is Sleep Tight Bunny, so it was demands for that all morning. In the afternoon it was a trip to the supermarket and the park followed by some water play in her baby inflatable pool (she's become a total water baby ever since P's little experiment). In the evening we went for a walk and I took her to a new park near our house where there's a massive sandpit. It was Nikki's first time in the sand, barring the Goa trip where she'd been too little to play properly in it. At first she ventured in very gingerly, looking quite disgusted at this grainy stuff that was sticking and slipping from her fingers all at once and brushing her hands on her clothes or dusting them off every now and then, but soon she got quite comfortable and was scooting around flinging sand here and there and destroying the sand castles I was trying to build for her. She ended up having so much fun she didn't want to leave but she got tired soon after having hardly slept during the day, so it was home for a relaxing bath, dinner and then bedtime.
I found myself at a loose end once Nikks was alseep so I popped some Wild Honey, from this album, into the music system and cooked a dinner of Sanjeev Kapoor's chicken meat loaf and a rocket and lettuce salad for dinner for P & I. The cable guy was beaming Housefull, and I remembered reading good reviews in the papers so we decided to check it out over dinner. Now I am not the most discerning of critics anymore as movies go; the long hiatus from movie watching that early mommyhood got with it as well as the supreme levels of patience I have developed post Nikki, normally ensure that I enjoy pretty much everything that I watch these days. I even LIKED Dostana for example, so that gives you a pretty good picture doesn't it? But even I had to draw the line at this Housefull trash, I mean really, what were they thinking?! I'm going to need all of today to recover!

Tales from a battle weary (and plump) boulder... er, soldier

2010-05-25T12:07:00.000+05:30

I've been feeling a little blah lately because of the ongoing and downward spiraling battle of the bulge, so in order to rev things up a bit on the fitness front I thought I'd try something different with my fitness routine* pause for hysterical laughter*. Gymming has been rather boring of late and there's only so much I can take of Karthik (with an aych, mind you) the insufferable gym instructor and his snide remarks. Now the intelligent reader's thoughts might drift to swimming at this juncture, given that 'tis the season to flaunt those well toned bikini bods *more hysterical laughter* but at this point I will take a moment to point out, gently but firmly, that when one resembles a human pudding in one's pre-pregnancy swimsuit, one does not allow one's mind to flit such like.

And so I began thinking about yoga as an alternative option. Now I've done yoga before several times even though, as with so many other things in my staggeringly inconsistent life, I've never managed to stick to it regularly. But the point, is I quite like the whole gentle stretching, rhythmic breathing, connecting with your self, feeling Zen jig and so I began scouting around for a yoga class in right earnestness. As luck would have it (and it often does) there was a yoga class right next door, in the building opposite mine to be precise and a kindly soul pointed out the yoga teacher to me at my evening j-roll. She was a benign looking lady, dressed in a pristine white salwar kameez with an unperturbed air about her even though her two year old toddler was stuffing mud in his mouth while the girl supposed to mind him was busy checking out the local male attractions. Clearly she had achieved an admirably calm state of mind where all the petty irritations of life ceased to matter. I approached her feeling a renewed sense of inspiration, convinced that yoga was the right choice for me given that I deal with S the cacophony queen & the blow hot-blow cold part time help on a daily basis and am often left with frazzled nerves at the end of a harrowing week with the two. The yoga teacher, V, was quite happy to accommodate me in her morning batch and asked me to come for a trial class the next day on an empty stomach. I buzzed off feeling quite chuffed and spent the rest of the evening seeing visions of myself dressed all in white, in a cross legged meditative pose, meditating by a pristine beach with white sands and not a toned bikini bod in sight. With a flower tucked behind one ear, perhaps.

The next morning I was up at the crack of dawn, and donning my loosest, most flowing clothes, I shimmied across the park to the opposite building. The crisp early morning air invigorated my senses and the morning lark was doing a dashed good job singing its merry tune, leaving me feeling rather benign myself as I reached V's house where the class was to be held. "Good morning!" I chirped with a gentle smile as V opened the door only to freeze mid-way with the g smile plastered to my face as I caught sight of V. Who was this woman who stood before me dressed in a bright red leotard, with leopard print tights?! Sure she resembled the V from the park yesterday, but, er, weren't those spikes in her hair? "Hi" the new V said crisply, ushering me in. "You're seven minutes late. Please come on time from tomorrow." I tottered in still desperately clutching on to the image of the pristine white, calm lady from the day before who would gently guide me through some invigorating stretches and rhythmic breathing with a dash of meditation thrown in at the end. And then I caught sight of the rest of the class. They were all dressed like V, with leotards and tights and slightly spiked hair. All they needed was a 'V for Vendetta' emblazoned across their foreheads and the picture would be complete. "Go, Go Go Class!" yelled V deftly tossing a yoga mat at me as I scrambled for a place, the visions of gentle stretching shattering in my mind's eye. "Jog!" screamed V and the assembly of Spiked Skin Tights began huffing and puffing on their respective yoga mats. "On your backs, air cycling!" commandeered V without missing a beat as the SST's flopped down and legs began slicing the air vigorously. "Turn around, the air twist!"....and on and on it went. At one point V & the SST's began pirouetting through the air swinging their arms in unison at which point my choice of attire became a serious constraint, flapping against the floor with a disconcerting 'thwack thwack' as I self consciously tried to focus on the pirouettes. "Right!" yelled V after about a half hour more of kicks and swings, "Quiet Time!". Everyone perched on their mats, legs crossed, hands on knees with the thumb and forefinger in perfect O's and assumed an air of calm. "Finally!" I breathed in relief, squishing down on my mat, only to be given away by my treacherous stomach which chose this moment to make its presence felt through some persistent, feed-me-NOW, growls. Thankfully, V switched on some music which drowned the sound out and the SST's began swaying in some kind of group chant. I tried swaying with them before giving up and focusing instead on quietening the grumbling tummy with some deep breathing.

"How did you like class?" V asked with a return of the gentle smile from the park as I prepared to leave at the end of the class.
"It was, er, very unlike any yoga class I have attended in the past. Is this some different from of yoga?" I asked tentatively.
"Oh yes, this is Vow Yoga, a mix of Power Yoga and my own brand of yoga, so V for Vow." she smiled back. "We are putting up a show next week, that's why we all dress like this, it helps keep the group inspired."
"Er a yoga show?" I asked.
"No, a Vow show, more like aerobics you know. Anyway you can wear what you feel comfortable in." she patted me on the arm gently and ushered me out as a new batch of SST's began trooping in for the next class.

I flopped across the park feeling decidedly ungainly in my loose attire and greeted P who was partaking of the morning tea and toast with a gloomy hi.
"So how was the yoga class honey?" he asked cheerily "Are you feeling all Zen and meditative?"
"Er, it was more like aerobics actually" I sighed "With some mediation thrown in at the end."
"Well that's great, you get to try something new!" said P the indefatigable optimist.
"Yeah but I'd signed up for yoga you know, not Vow whatever! I miss all the gentle stretching, and rhythmic breathing and meditating with a flower tucked behind one ear."
"Well maybe you can look for a more traditional class then sweetie. And you can always meditate at home you know? With the flower tucked behind one ear too" said P breezily as he sped away to work.

I spent the rest of the day ruminating over the corruption of the traditional form of yoga that I know and love, with all these new fangled concepts before deciding that there was really no harm in giving Vow Yoga a shot. I mean there was no other yoga class nearby that I knew of with convenient timings and the only other option I had was the gym with the snide remark passing Karthik (with an aych) or the horrifying image of a blob of jelly, vaguely resembling me, by the pool.

"I'm going to do Vow Yoga, I've decided" I informed P that evening as he tickled Nikki's tummy. "I'll show 'em all I can pirouette like no other!"
"Ok honey" said P mildly "Do you need a leotard then?" ( He doesn't know the REAL reason I'm avoiding the pool you see.)
"Er no, think I'll stick to tracks" I said and retired to bed to dream of myself pirouetting to some strange chants in mid -air as the rest of the SST's applauded.

I was woken up mid- dream to my screeching mobile to find P sitting up as well, clutching his ear. My mobile had slipped under his pillow at night and the ringer had apparently gone off right in his ear. "Its an SMS from your yoga teacher" he said grumpily rubbing his ear "she's leaving for Delhi, some family emergency, so the class is off for a few days."
"Its a sign from God!" I said feeling strangely relieved as I tucked myself in bed again "I guess this new fangled yoga is not for me!"
"Whatever" said P still miffed "And could you please change your SMS alert tone, to something other than this fire engine alarm you have now?"

It's been a fortnight since V mysteriously vanished overnight and the Vow class got called off. None of the other SST's seem to know of her whereabouts. Quite a few of them are understandably miffed about it since they'd paid for the entire month and bedsides they never got to perform at the Vow show. As for me, I'm looking for another yoga class, a traditional one this time with no frills attached. I'm also thinking in the meantime of hitting the gym again and being regular this time round.
And so it was that this morning saw me headed toward the gym, gym bag slung across my shoulder. And that disdainful sniff that was heard as I passed by the pool replete with b toned bods which unfortunately must be passed on the way to the gym was just my dreadful, dreadful cold. Or something.

Weaning The Mommy Woman

2010-05-18T15:21:00.000+05:30

Nikki has finally decided that Enough is Enough and has pulled the plug on our once a day nursing sessions. Any attempts at feeding are firmly rebuffed with much shoving, pushing and screaming blue murder and if all else fails a few sharp nips are deftly administered to end this preposterous attempt at curtailing her budding independence.
I suppose I should be happy. No more scheduling my life around three or four hourly feeds. Well actually in the last three months it was just the one feed, so no more scheduling my life around the all important morning feed. No more carefully monitored morning alarms or missed gym sessions or jogs so that the child and heiress will not go hungry. No more long drawn out nursing sessions at the fag end of the day when I'm dog tired and desperate to have a hot shower or curl up with a book or just crash. No more hideous nursing tops that have the mind boggling ability to make one look like the bag lady in drag on a bad day. No more sitting in a darkened room at a party sniffing wistfully at the occasional whiffs of something delectable and listening to people make merry as I wait for the afore-mentioned child and heiress to finished her own long drawn out supper. No more feeling stressed out when I travel or even when I'm just out and about that my services may be called upon at a particularly awkward moment. No more severe panic attacks when I'm out alone about being wanted, NOW back home because the c & h refuses to eat or for that matter drink anything and only I can offer succor. No more frantic pounding on the bathroom door with accompanying cries to come out RIGHT NOW as the c & h obligingly wails in the background. No more thinking twice before downing that glass of wine, or that plate of sushi or even those nasty antibiotics which will give instant relief.

Yes, I suppose I should be happy.

Then why is it that all I feel instead is an empty, hollow ache? Why can I think of nothing else but the days of exclusive breastfeeding? Or the early days of Nikki's birth, when it would just be me and her, connected in the most special way possible as our lives pretty much revolved around each other. Those silvery early mornings and mellow late afternoons as I gazed adoringly at my precious little Nikki as she suckled blissfully, oblivious to the cares of the world, content to just be with me. When I could watch her for hours at end holding snugly onto the thought that she was still just a little baby, that she still needed me. When my baby would seek me out in a room full of people and reach out for me and be comforted by the mere sight of me. When just my presence or my touch was enough to soothe. When no one but me could placate her.
I guess she still does some of those things, but I am no longer indispensable. Anyone can dish out the khichdi or the porridge or the dish of choice and feed her now. Sigh. Why didn't anyone tell me this mommyhood thing was going to be so difficult?

Look who's back!

2010-05-11T19:21:00.001+05:30

'Allo 'Allo it's me again! I would've come by earlier but The Mommy Woman was on a long break herself so I thought I'd give her a chance to make an appearance before stealing her thunder. It is her blog after all even though everyone knows the real reason anyone reads it is to find out what I've been up to! Besides I heard The Mommy Woman tell The Papa Man that my last appearance was a big success and so I've decided that I should drop by now and then, even though I'm ever so busy these days with all my myriad activities. This growing up business takes up a lot of time all right! Plus now that I'm a big girl I try to do my bit by lending a helping hand around the house. Like first thing in the morning I go up to the center table in the living room and fling the days newspapers on the floor. Then I spread them out all over the floor so that The Papa Man will find it easy to read them on the go, after all he is always in such a hurry in the mornings. That silly Mommy Woman tries to pick them up again sometimes though, before he's had a chance to read them, so these days I make it a point to generously endow my diaper with loads of the gooey stuff before she gets a chance to lay her hands on the newspapers. That keeps her busy for some time, heh heh! I also try and help the cleaning lady who comes to our house every day to do the dusting. I fling all the stuff I can reach off all the available surfaces so that she can do her job properly. I really don't know why The Mommy Woman has such a problem with that, the silly hussy. I mean everyone knows that the cleaning lady has to remove all the stuff anyway if she is to do the dusting properly!

Oooh there goes the phone, must rush! I make it a point to answer the phone each time it rings to save The Mommy Woman some time. The phone is placed rather conveniently, I just need to stand on tiptoes and it slips easily into my hands. I even attempt to make some conversation with whoever is on the line, but most of the time they speak some gibberish I can't fathom so I let The Mommy Woman take over. I try to help her while she's talking by pushing the buttons on the phone, after all that's what she does too, but the silly woman just doesn't know how to appreciate a helping hand. Hmph. Anyway not like I care, I find those other kind of phones more interesting anyway- the tiny ones that trill and have the bright lights and fun music. The Mommy Woman is very possessive about hers though, just yesterday she had a minor coronary because I was trying to give her tiny phone a bath. It had gotten a bit dirty because I took it for a walk in the balcony so I thought I'd make it all shiny and clean and good as new for The Mommy Woman with a quick bath, but does she appreciate my efforts? No Sir! Instead she has a near meltdown and runs around shrieking like a headless chicken, the silly drama queen. Anyway, I soon showed her who's the real drama queen in these parts and now she's promised to get me my very own tiny phone. About time too, I say.

Anyway, on to more interesting topics. I did mention last time that I love music didn't I? Well I've considerably expanded my repertoire of dance steps since then, and it takes little to get me started on my favorite moves. I love that Uff Teri Ada song The Mommy Woman listens to these days, hands in the air, a lil head banging, shake that booty baybeh! The other fun thing I discovered just two days ago was that playing in the water can actually be fun! To tell you the truth I was getting a bit bored of listening to The Mommy Woman go on and on about how I was scared of water. Scared, pish tosh! Sitting in a tub full of water and swatting at some rubber ducks may be her idea of fun, but please spare me! I mean why would you want to get your neck wet and your hair all messed up?! But this Sunday, The Papa Man filled up the large inflatable pool with water and a few of my favorite toys and got in there himself. He looked like he was having a ball so I thought I'd try dipping my toes in too, and it wasn't that bad you know. Ten minutes later I was in the middle of all the action splashing The Papa Man with water and having a total blast! Ooh what fun! Of course The Mommy Woman was being her usual pestilential self buzzing all over the place like a honeybee who's overdosed on coffee and taking snaps like it was going out of fashion. Really, these grown ups can be so embarrassing sometimes! Take our evenings in the park for instance. My pal A and I like to greet each other with squeals and hugs, before having some heart to heart babbles and screeches, given that we meet only once a day. I mean I am entitled to some privacy for quality time with my friends right? Try telling that to The Mommy Woman! She and A's mom are perpetually in splits while A & I are trying to make some conversation, cooing and gushing over us all the time. If I had my way, I would put The Mommy Woman in my cot for a time out while I get some quiet time to myself. If only I had the strength to get her in there. Hmmm, there's a thought! Maybe I should drink that sloppy white stuff The Mommy Woman tries to make me drink all the time, after all she did say it would make me strong. Getting back to our evenings in the park, they really are my favorite time of the day. I love going out and especially if its a trip to the park or a garden. The Papa Man is going to take me to the Zoo and the Circus next week! I love animals, specially bow wows and I heard The Papa Man say there's a bow wow show in the circus so I'm super excited! I even like the bow wows in the park and I wish I could spend more time with them everyday, but The Mommy Woman always throws a spanner in the works! I mean is there any harm if she runs around the park with me in the pram chasing the bow wows for a few hours every day, I ask you? But no, all she does is is point out a few bow wows from a distance and leaves it at that.Bah!

Here she comes now to check my diaper AGAIN. Talk about obsessive compulsive behavior, the woman is at it all. day. long. Maybe I should just learn how to use that pink potty contraption she tries to make me sit on some times and get it over with. Then I can lock myself in the loo like The Papa Man with my copy of Sleep Tight Bunny and get some peace and quiet. Meanwhile, I guess I just have to live with The Mommy Woman poking around. Being the ever so helpful sorts I try and help her while she cleans me up, I mean it is MY bum, is there a problem if I put my hand in there and squish around a bit? Really, these grown ups have a problem with EVERYTHING. One of these days I'm going to have to give her a piece of my mind. I mean I try to be patient with her but there really is a limit to how much you can take! Take bedtimes for example; for the last couple of months I'd been sleeping at 8.30pm on the dot and letting The Mommy Woman and The Papa Man take some time off. But now, the minute I decide I want to join the party, and its all "Oh God she just doesn't sleep on time!" I mean what's a girl got to do for fun in these parts? Drop The Mommy Woman a line if you get time, won't you, and ask her to take a chill pill!

Hark! There's the phone, must rush before The Mommy Woman beats me to it! I'll drop by again later if I manage to get her to play quietly by herself while I attend to my stuff. Laters, then!

Just catching up!

2010-05-07T10:24:00.001+05:30

It's been a long break; it feels good to be back!
Although I must admit, I have been rather slack

After grumbling away at the lack of a single tag
I find I have THREE unfinished in my bag!

This one's for MRC, my partner in crime
Who inspires me to spout pomes, time after time!

Dear MRC, d'you remember sometime ago?
We started some silly rhymes and then really got into the flow!

I dedicate to you this particular little ditty,
I would've written more, but more's the pity

The husband's read my rhymes, they packed 'im quite a wallop
'Egad! Please stick to prose!' begged he, and so I've gotta stop

So thank you dear friend, your tags I love to do
I will proceed now to complete tag number two :)

Alright you can heave that sigh of relief now, I'm not turning to poetry as a form of creative expression. This was just an unfinished, long overdue tag from MRC who had also tagged me to do the seven random things about me tag. So here goes.

First the rules:
1. You have to tag seven people
2. You have to link their pages in your tag post
3. You have to leave a comment in their comments section telling them they've been tagged
4. You have to say who tagged you

1. I have this thing with books. I love reading and when I start a book I simply have to finish it, no matter how boring it may be or how much I dislike it. I will crib and rant to anyone who cares to listen and drive myself into a headache inducing frenzy, but finish the book I will. I'm stuck with one such now :(

2. I lurrrve Shahrukh Khan. I fell in love with him after watching Darr and Baazigar and Kabhi Haan Kabhi Na back to back- a special post-board exams treat many years ago and the love affair has endured. Everyone else in my family hates him with a vengeance; when I left home to do my MBA my mom tore down several (life size) SRK posters that occupied pride of place in my bedroom and called the neighbors over for a celebratory cup of chai. Many of my close friends (who share similar sentiments as my family) refuse to believe this SRK loving side to me, the only reason many of them are still friends with me is because I also love Johnny Depp.

3. I also have this thing with music. No, I don't have to listen to a song even if I detest it, thank the Lord, but if I do like a particular song I listen to it ALL THE TIME. Over and over again. Anytime, anywhere, wherever I go and I also keep it humming it and playing it in my head over and over...er you get the drift. I love rock music. I also like Bollywood music, especially the dhinchak dhinchak kind- my current favorite is 'Uff teri adaa' from KCK. If you're in a pub or a bar and the sound of this particular song causes an otherwise strong looking chappie to turn pale and groan silently, there's a good chance that the chappie in question might be P. I've been subjecting him to it endlessly whenever he's around.

4. For the longest time, I wasn't sure if I wanted to have kids. I wasn't sure if I was ready. And now I can't imagine life without Nikki. An hour or two away from home and I get this unbearable urge to rush back home and blow raspberries on her tummy. I wasn't even sure if I would be a good mom but I think I'm doing okay. Still don't know too many nursery rhymes though.

5. When I eat oranges, I eat everything except the outer rind. The soft inner, wispy white skin, the seeds, the threads, I eat 'em all. Even the childhood threat that an orange tree would grow out of my belly button if I continued eating oranges in this fashion didn't deter me. Oh, and I love oranges and can wolf down half a dozen at one go!

6. I've been in search of the elusive, perfect haircut all my life, at least since I was old enough to go get my own haircut. I go to every new hairdresser with hope in my eyes and visions of a Jennifer Anistonish haircut swimming in my mind, but true to its nature, the elusive perfect haircut has continued to me elude me thus far. Still there is always hope and I will be off to get a new haircut this Saturday.

7. I'm a chocoholic. Dangerous things have been known to happen when I've been left alone in the house with anything that is chocolate and edible. If there were a Chocoholics Anonymous local chapter in my neighborhood I'd have been the founding member. Or the chairperson. Things have gotten so bad now, what with the post pregnancy weight loss struggle (Yes it's still on, and if you've lost all your excess pounds don't tell me about it okay?) that I beg P not to get any chocolates for me whenever he travels abroad, give him a hard time for doing precisely that when he gets back and then forage around for chocolate from hapless people whom he does get chocolates for. It's really quite sad :( Last night, overcome with unbearable cocoa cravings while watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, I ordered a Domino's pizza just so I could order some Chocolate Lava Cake along with it. I ordered two cakes; one for me and one for P, which was really rather generous of me, given that he doesn't even get any chocolates for me when he travels abroad. Except that when the pizza arrived he was already asleep and so I ended up eating both. Sigh, all this talk of chocolate is making me rather hungry. Maybe I'll just go make myself a cup of hot chocolate....

Okay so I know I'm horribly late and everyone who wanted to has probably already done this tag, but in case you haven't and if you feel like it, give it a shot won't you- Momo's Ma, Aneela, comfortablynam, Priyanka, Mindful Meanderer, Veena and Divs.

Over and mun-done with!

2010-05-05T12:12:00.000+05:30

It's over! I was hoping that I could write all about how my fears had been unfounded, how I needn't have worried and how it all passed off without a hitch, with zero or minimal tears being shed. But alas, it was not to be. The mundan was the MOST horribly dreadful experience with Nikki crying so hard and so piteously that the mother in law finally couldn't bear it any more and went off and locked herself in her room. To begin with everything went wrong- the barber type razor we had procured specially for the event turned out to be faulty. The chappie who had come home to do the mundan fiddled with it for close to an hour before throwing his hands up, so P went off to get another one which was immediately washed and sterilized. My OCD which normally goes into overdrive at times like these ensured that I took my time over the washing and sterilizing, so by the time we finally got started it was well past Nikki's bedtime and she was tired and sleepy. I was hoping that the fact that we were doing the mundan at home would make her more comfortable but the sight of the razor wielding barber was just too much for her, what with her current phase of stranger anxiety being at an all time high. She howled and howled and howled all the way through, while P held her and I unsuccessfully tried to entertain her with cartoons, music, books, toys and all manner of funny and not so funny faces. She did get a few minor nicks which gave me the unbearable urge to break the razor wielding chappie's neck in three places but she didn't really get hurt, the crying was more due to worry and sleep driven exhaustion. And the razor chappie was really quite patient on hindsight, considering that I had grilled him like a drill sergeant before the mundan and was literally breathing down his neck with not-so-helpful comments along the lines of "Naheee! Sambhaal ke kijiye!" "Dheere dheere!" and "Usko lag gayi to mujhse bura koi nahee hogaa". Yes I really did say that.
I knew I shouldn't have watched that infernal saas-bahu soap with the MIL earlier that day, they always have a melodramatic rub off on my less than stellar Hindi speaking skills.

Finally it was over and we quickly bathed Nikki, dressed her scalp with a touch of Dettol and some BoroPlus as recommended by the MIL and rocked her to sleep, before breathing a sigh of relief that the ordeal was finally over. That night as I passed Nikki's cot on my way to bed I felt a sudden pang as I caught sight of her; she didn't really look too different, just very vulnerable and tiny and lost with her hair all gone. But the next morning, once our sprightly little imp was awake and back in mischief filled action, we found that the new look suits her, she looks rather like a cute baby Zoozoo :) And now I can look forward to her hair growing back and using that collection of baby hairclips and braid bands and cute all-girl hairstyles and....oooh someone stop me before I metamorphose into that coconut oil bottle wielding amma from the Garnier ad running after her daughter for the daily champi!

Its been a long break...

2010-05-04T14:06:00.003+05:30

...and it feels good to be back! A personal mini-crisis, coupled with multiple disasters on the domestic front of the boy, oh boy, oh bai! kind (strange how this stuff ALWAYS hits you all at the same time), added up to the long absence from the blogging scene thus far but I'm back and I've promised myself that next time round, crisis or no crisis there aren't going to be any more long breaks.

So anyway its been a crazy, crazy couple of weeks and a LOT has happened in the last one month that I was away from the blogosphere. My last post was just before the trip to the in-laws and I was bubbling over with a strange combination of dread and anticipation over the impending mundan and ear piercing, given that there was no running away from either. Well all the bubbling over was rather pointless as it turned out, because we ended up doing neither! The trip to the in-laws came and went sans mundan, with the in laws averring that the numerous merits of a bald and shiny pate notwithstanding, it wouldn't look good on a girl on the eve of her first birthday. And so it was put off till the birthday party had come and gone. The ear piercing met with a similar fate. Now this whole ear piercing thing is custom in my part of the family but not so much in P's. The mother in law looked suitably aghast when I mentioned that we were considering getting Nikki's ears pierced, reacting rather like I'd just mentioned the French guillotine and proclaimed that her own ears had been pierced on the eve of her wedding! And so, given that the in-laws were to return with us to celebrate Nikki's first birthday, and stay on for a couple of weeks, the ear piercing too was postponed till after they had left. On the basis of that happy principle that what they don't know won't hurt 'em and we could always get it done later and present them a few months down the line with a pair of happily pierced ears. Yes we are very adept at dealing with situations like these, P & I. And so a month down the line I find myself once again faced with the prospect of an impending mundan and ear piercing yet to happen. Sigh.

The trip to the in-laws went off fairly well, albeit hectic and a bit tiring, given that Nikki was down with a touch of fever. The mundan ceremony turned out to be pretty good fun, since tonsuring of the scalp had been wiped off the agenda. Just a lock of Nikki's hair was snipped off, which she didn't even notice being busy trying to shove some grapes down my throat at that moment, and that was that! Afterward we feasted on halwa and aloo-puri, bought some toys- a drum playing monkey, a large yellow inflatable ball which Nikks instantly fell in love with and some wooden blocks and went back home happy and well-fed.On our way to the in-laws home I had got the chance to catch up with an old and dear and verry pregnant friend in Delhi and on the evening of Nikki's mundan we got news that she had delivered a bonny baby boy. What's more he had been born at pretty much the exact same time that Nikki's solitary lock was being chopped off, making my friend and I believe this is surely a sign from the Lord ordaining a long and beautiful friendship between our offspring!

We got back home a few days later, just two days before Nikki's birthday. Her birthday was on a Tuesday and we had planned the party for the weekend following it so that friends and relatives from out of town could be there too. A couple of them chose to come down earlier, on Tuesday, staying on for the party over the weekend, making it more of a celebration week rather than just one day! We celebrated at home on Tuesday with friends and family. I baked a special cake just for Nikki, made with the stuff that she eats on a regular basis: atta, ghee, bananas and powdered dry fruits and my mom got one of the more sinful cakes for the rest of the crowd from a local bakery. I'd wanted to make the day special for Nikki and so taking a break from her usual porridge- khichdi we had special food for her that day: eggy bread for breakfast, pasta with cheese sauce for lunch and rice kheer for the evening snack. She loved all of it except the cake, which she refused to even take a nibble of, preferring instead to squish it around on her high chair tray but the rest of the group loved it so it was worth the effort! The day went by in a bit of a whirl what with all the people around but I took some quiet time out with just me and Nikki at 4.08 pm, the exact same time she had been born a year ago. We went for a quiet stroll in the park and sat in the grass for a bit, Nikki frolicking around, me just trying to soak in the overwhelming feeling that enveloped me as I relived all the experiences I've been through over the last one year. One year of being a mommy, the most beautiful one year of my life :)
Later that evening after P was back, we had a small pooja and celebration at home and after Nikki had gone to bed we spent the rest of the evening poring over all the pictures and videos taken over the last one year.

The birthday party (Hallelujah, its FINALLY over!) a few days later was a big hit too. It started on a less than pleasant note with Nikki having a major meltdown as soon as we reached the venue. The house had been buzzing with guests for a few days and the morning of the party had been particularly hectic as a result of which Nikki's nap schedule had gone awry, making her terribly cranky at the start of the party. Thankfully she calmed down before the cake cutting ceremony, making for some splendid photo ops and even obliged the cheering crowd by smearing the cake generously into P's hair and shirt. From then on she got progressively cheerier and by the time the last of the guests had left she was positively having a blast. A few snide remarks were passed about how she seemed to have inherited my anti-social gene, given that she was horribly cranky at the start of the party and then got progressively happier as people started leaving, but I overlooked them all. After all, the last one year has been all about The Maturity That Comes With Motherhood, and I am nothing if not changed by the experiences the year brought with it!
Anyway, getting back to the party, it really was a smashing success even if I do say so myself! We had changed the venue rather last minute to a new place we chanced upon quite by luck and it turned out to be a superb venue for a birthday party. The ambience, the food, the music, everything rocked and there was even an exclusive children's play area for the little guests. The service was super fast, with all the waiters making it a point to whisk my plate or glass away if I so much as put it down for an instant, so what if I was still midway through my meal, but I managed to stuff myself to the gills with the good stuff nonetheless.

And oh, I almost forgot, we had our verrry own caricaturist! We did too! After all that mindless dithering over magicians and tattoo artists, we finally discovered a caricaturist who could entertain all- young and old, and so we hired him for the party where he proceeded to do just that. He soon had a crowd gathered all around him with people waiting patiently in line for their turn and soon almost everyone had gotten their portrait made. I got mine done at the fag end too and was rather upset by the sketch; he'd made me look like an angry, old she-bull who's just discovered that she's been gypped by the matador in the bull fight but what made it much, much worse was that everyone promptly began oohing and aahing and saying that it looked just like me! Thankfully the party ended soon after giving me time to rip the travesty of a sketch into itty bitty shreds and we drove back home to the much awaited gift opening ceremony.Much awaited by me that is. Yes I shamelessly admit it, I was looking forward to the gifts more than anyone else! Definitely more than the budday gal who was quite happy playing with the scraps of gift wrapping paper instead. We spent a happy evening, Nikks and I, me lovingly unwrapping each gift and Nikki playing with the assorted boxes and gift wrapping paper they'd come in. There were some pretty neat gifts but my pick of the lot was a red Minnie Mouse swimsuit and pink sunglasses that a friend had gifted Nikki. She took to the sunglasses almost immediately, putting them on and taking them off with a one-handed flourish, like quite the seasoned diva and had all of us cracking up for the better part of the evening. One of the other gifts was an inflatable swimming pool, so we're all set for some summer fun now that all the gear is in place. That is, if I can get the child to overcome her fear of water anytime soon.

Life is kind of back to normal now with the grand first birthday with its ensuing chaos and excitement having faded away into the backdrop, leaving us instead with some bitter sweet memories. For the next few birthdays though, I'm thinking a quiet holiday someplace nice will do just fine. That is of course until Nikki grows old enough to start demanding Hannah Montana themed parties replete with birthday planners, personalized invites, farmhouse venues, party favors that cost a bomb and a fleet of entertainers. Gulp. Maybe I should start planning for them already!

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEECH!!

2010-03-15T22:29:00.001+05:30

I got my verrry first award!!! Yippeeeeeeee!!! Thank you so much Buzz!

The snappy headline notwithstanding- I read in the paper today that if you want people to like your blog the headline needs to be snappy. Crisp. Say it in as few words as possible, if you know what I mean.
Er, getting back to the post at hand, so where was I? Right, my very first award! GLOAT GLOAT GLOAT.
Ahem. I mean, you know how I normally handle these things with my trademark grace and equanimity, so after I had finished putting Nikki to bed (she got a tad frightened with all the whooping and war cries and running around the house yelling about my first award) I bounded up to P as he walked through the door, screeching that I'd been awarded.
"Really? How? Where?" he asked with a puzzled look, scanning the living room for signs of a trophy.
Bah! What does he know? I bet he's never been anybody's blogger buddy!
I think I need to pass this award on to my other blog buddies, so I am going to come back and do that properly, giving it the time and (mind)space it deserves. Am all out of both now what with the impending trip to the in-laws and the million and one other things I need to do for the upcoming mundan and ear piercing and first birthday party and.... aaaaarrrgh!

Thank you SO much again, Buzz, for the award, you've totally made my virtual day, and come to think of it, the non virtual bits of it too :)

The tag that never was and other random updates

2010-03-10T12:30:00.001+05:30

I got my very first tag a few days ago from MRC and after dealing with this with my trademark grace and equanimity (SCREEEECH!!!!! I've been TAGGED!! Tell anyone with ears about it right from S to the elderly aunt in upstairs balcony!! Call the husband to GLOAT GLOAT GLOAT- bet nobody ever tagged you!!)I dithered and dawdled over it till I realized I had totally missed the deadline and now had the inglorious honor of not having completed my first tag. You can bet P is not going to let me live this down for the rest of my years of existence on this planet. You would win too.
Anyway, no point crying over spilt milk as they say, and the point remains that I got my very first tag and I feel like I belong in the blogosphere! Yayyyyyyyyyyy!!! Yes I'm very needy like that. Thank you MRC and please forgive me for not completing the tag. You will tag me again won't you? Pretty please?

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Nikki's first birthday is coming up soon and yours truly is in charge of organizing the budday pardy. Deep breath. Several deep breaths. Stay calm, STAY CALM. Oh God, I can't handle the pressure! I thought I had it all figured out at first. A simple birthday lunch with close family and friends, at a restaurant known for its lip smacking cuisine. Then I spoke to a few random people and found out that people go all out for these things. We're talking magic shows and puppeteers and tattoo artists and what not! Of course being the firm, decisive kinds this threw me into a right tizzy and I called P out of an urgent meeting to discuss the issue like two mature adults.
"I want a magic show!" I wailed like a banshee, "And puppets! And tattoos! And a dance floor with a DJ and dhinchak dhinchak music!"
"We can do all that if you want honey" said the wise husband "But there are hardly any kids at our party and I'm not sure the adults will enjoy a puppet show. Er, and what do you need a tattoo for?"
He has a point of course. About the lack of kids at the party I mean, I really don't need a tattoo. There are less than five kids I think and they're all around Nikki's age so they probably won't appreciate a magic show. And we have a pretty mixed group of family and friends, so there can't be a one size fits all as far as the entertainment goes. So I'm thinking we'll go with the original plan. A cake cutting ceremony, a lavish lunch buffet (the chef is going to hang up his chef's hat and take sanyaas in the Himalayas if I hound him any more), mood music, and hopefully a pleasant and relaxed afternoon spent with some of the people who care about Nikki. Any ideas about how I can make the day special for Nikki and the guests are most welcome!

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We're off on a short holiday to the in-laws next week for Nikki's mundan which I am totally dreading. This is a custom in P's family and ideally we would have liked to do it when Nikki was around eight or nine months old, but the swine flu bug (heh heh! just kidding bug!) had other things in mind and we had to postpone our trip. I hope its not too much of an ordeal for Nikki, but that apart I think it will be quite a relief to get her hair cut, given that it has grown all straggly and unmanageable and is always in her face. I spend the day following her around and trying to pin it back and stuff but the child will have none of it. The sad part is she won't have any hair on her birthday, coz straggly or not, it does look rather cute :) Oh well. I hope it grows back all nice and silky and then I can get it cut into a cute little bob and pin it up with some pretty clips and bows. If she lets me.
Note to Self: DO NOT turn into one of those obsessive parents always planning stuff for their kids. Yes, even the hair, it always starts with the hair. Just let her be. If she doesn't want clips and bows, drop it.

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Nikki seems to have developed a sudden fear of water these days. She used to be this complete water baby, but now just the sight of her tub is enough to give her the heebie jeebies. There go my plans of a half hour of fun water games every day. Reminder: Refer Note to Self again.
On a serious note I'm wondering what to do to make her comfortable with water. Any suggestions, anybody?
Oh and a few other things I had forgotten when I wrote the last Nikki-dom update.
Like the way she likes to jump out of my arms the minute I set her down on our bed and crawl very fast towards the headrest where all the pillows are stacked. Then she sinks her face into the pillows and giggles, totally blissed out :) These little things make her so happy. I wish we adults could be as uncomplicated.
I've taken to keeping her awake for five minutes extra whenever I know P is about to reach home so that he can spend a little time with her. These five minutes are probably the happiest five minutes of the day for both of them as they play some silly games and Nikki is usually in fits of giggles till she finally goes to sleep, tired out.
Oh and did I mention the rousing reception P gets when he's back from work? No such thing for me of course. I'm the ghar ki murgi all right, daal barabar. Stale daal, too. I get a cold glance thrown my way at best. The "Oh there you are, change my diaper will ya?" kind.
Anyway, getting back to Nikki-updates, her love for all things musical is just growing by the day. She loves music and starts jigging up and down the minute there's even the hint of a tune. I think she may grow up to be a great dancer. Maybe I should think about signing her up for some dance classes when she grows a little older.
Reminder: Just get the Note to Self tattooed on forehead, will be easier to remember that way.

Weekend Tales, Concluding Part: Nikki's First Holi

2010-03-05T12:48:00.000+05:30

I've just realized that when one goes and writes a post titled Weekend Tales and then goes on to add Part One in a burst of impulsive inspiration, one better come back and finish it before the next weekend rolls around. So onward ho to the second and concluding part of the Weekend Tales.

Holi morning didn't start off too well with both the maids deciding to play hooky. My part time help, who does the cleaning has been systematically bumping off members of her extended family over the last fortnight, possibly in anticipation of the long Holi weekend. "Father in law's brother went poof!" she explained gracefully two weeks ago when I looked askance at her for having not turned up the previous day. Apparently the relative in question had kicked the bucket after a cardiac arrest, and she had had to take the day off. A few days later it was the maternal uncle's cousin, who smashed his head because the ceiling collapsed on it and then the paternal chachi who met with a road accident. Just when I had resigned myself to a maid who seemed to be blessed with more than her fair share of worldly woes, she turned up the day before Holi and said that she needed the weekend off because her father in law's brother had had a cardiac arrest.

"What?!" I screeched looking at her agape. I have my flaws, but a weak memory isn't one of them. "What do you mean he had a cardiac arrest? He just died two weeks ago!"
"This is the other one" she explained patiently, the way one does to an obdurate child. "There are five of them you know."
I would have believed her too if she hadn't gone about her chores humming under her breath and swaying her hips to Uff Teri Adaa on her mobile headphones (yes, they are like that only in these parts).

Anyway I was just about dealing with that when S turned up on Holi morning and said she wanted the day off too. Now I have nothing against the help taking days off, especially so on festivals, as long as they inform me in advance. I had told them as much a few days before Holi, asking them if they wanted a holiday and they had both declined. Clearly they are more in favour of springing nasty surprises. I was telling S as much when our friends S & K landed up at our doorstep armed with colors, and S used the opportunity to make good her escape, throwing a cheeky Happy Holi at me as I glowered at her retreating figure. I fumed and fretted for a bit, wearing the living room rug thin with my pacing, when I remembered that it was Nikki's first Holi and the least I could do was make sure she had a good time.So we bunged Nikki into her pram and donning some old tees and tracks headed downstairs where our society had organized a Holi party and a glamorous sounding rain dance.

The kids from the society were spread out all over the society lawns, looking like little warriors, complete with double bottle packs strapped to their backs and strategically aimed pichkaaris, but apart from a few menacing shrieks thrown our way they pretty much left us alone after catching sight of Nikki. Nikki on her part was fascinated by all the riotous activity around her and was looking this way and that, all agape. We passed a makeshift 'Holi stall' heaped with gujjiyas and thandai and made our way towards the dhinchak dhinchak beats emanating from the venue of the rain dance. This was clearly where all the action was happening, we realized as we got there and spotted the multitudes of revelers dancing in gay abandon. Now our society is full of expats, making for an interesting fusion of Koreans and Iranians and Canadians, and they seem to enjoy all the Indian festivals even more than the resident natives. I first noticed this during Diwali, as I watched a group of expats letting off a series of firecrackers with ear splitting war cries at 3 am as the rest of the world slumbered on. They were at it even ten days down the line, making it necessary for some society members to intervene and politely remind them that the festival had ended long back and could they please postpone the merry making till next year. Clearly, the ticking off hadn't dampened their enthusiasm any and they were all out in full force to celebrate Holi the way they thought fit. One enthu chappie, who'd probably had one glass of bhaang too many was running around with a box full of eggs, threatening to pelt the rest of the crowd and the security guys were beginning to hover around zealously. We watched safely from the sidelines, till our friend S, overcome with the Holi spirit smeared some color on a passing Korean. The guy looked stunned for a minute before shaking his head wildly and charging towards us with an ear splitting shriek, and we noticed that he had a bucket full of what looked like colored muck in his hand. The sight was too much for Nikki to bear and she promptly burst into tears, making me beat a hasty retreat towards the basement parking, from where I scurried into the safety of the elevators.

P & S were not so lucky and they turned up at home a little later covered in purple goop, startling the daylights out of Nikki who refused to have anything to do with them till they were scrubbed clean.
We spent a quiet afternoon at home, playing with Nikks and were joined by some friends later in the evening. Nobody was in the mood to step out for dinner and we were considering the various home delivery options when P decided it was time to don the chef's hat and dish up some P specials. Now P is a fabulous cook but I gently reminded him that the groceries in our home that day were running dangerously low. Clearly I had underestimated his culinary abilities. Give me some onions, tomatoes and garlic, a bowl of cooked rice and a can of baked beans, and I'll be on the phone in the next five minutes dialing Dominoes. Give the same stuff to P and he'll saute the onions and garlic, puree the tomatoes, blend them in with the rice and baked beans, garnish generously with grated cheese and bake the stuff till you get a mouth watering Mexican-ish dish. And he didn't stop at that. He took all of the leftovers in the fridge, including Nikki's khichdi, kneaded them along with some atta into a soft, pliant dough and made some amazing Leftover Parathas. It may not sound terribly appetizing, but they were honestly the best parathas I've ever eaten, and the rest of the group gathered at home thought so too! The dishes were licked clean till they sparkled and we sat around, content and stuffed, singing odes to P the Master Chef.

We were slipping into a gentle, food induced stupor when the doorbell clanged, and two more friends, A & A, breezed in. Now A & A are famous for their Holi parties, where the bhaang flows freely and where the venue of the party resembles a dormitory at the end of the day with stoned men and women sprawled out all over the place as far as the eye can see. This year though A & A had not hosted a party, choosing instead to party hop all over town and partake generously of the bhaang and other beverages that other people were offering. It was no surprise then that they were in rollicking high spirits and after wishing everyone a merry Christmas and a very happy Diwali they proceeded to smear us with colors, before making an exit as sudden as their entry.

"Oh I hope I didn't use that permanent color on you dude!" A called out to me gaily as he left, causing me to snap out of any left over stupor and begin scrubbing my floors valiantly. I was lucky and the floor was spotless in no time. "Thank God he hadn't used the permanent one!" I said breathlessly to P when I was done with the scrubbing. That's when he pointed out that A had used a different color on my face. Another half hour of scrubbing later I knew where the permanent color was. And so did the rest of society, when I went to the gym the next morning with flaming pink and purple cheeks looking like a Red Indian who had forgotten to take off the war paint.
Sigh. I told you my list of embarrassing anecdotes can top yours any day.

Weekend Tales, Part One: On The Trail Of Bacchus

2010-03-02T16:04:00.002+05:30

We had a rather colorful start to the month this time round with the well timed Holi weekend. Saturday saw us pile into a car with a couple of friends and drive off towards Chateau Indage Vineyards on the trail of Bacchus. The road towards the vineyards is notoriously accident prone or so we were told and the highway we took was liberally peppered with nuggets such as these:
'Safety on road is safe-tea at home!',
'Better to be Mr Late than late Mr!',
'This is Highway not Runway!' and
'Make love not war, but nothing on the road!'.
I was itching to take a couple of snaps but Nikki, having taken it upon herself to declare war on her car seat, was in an exceptionally frolicky mood and not wanting to risk the digicam under the circumstances, I dropped the idea.The wacky road signs resulted in regular fits of giggles as we motored cautiously along and much fun was had by all including Nikki who was chuckling and nodding her head wisely in a 'I'm so totally getting this joke dude!' way.

We reached the vineyards in good time and hurried towards the main desk for the wine tour we had booked earlier during the day, only to be told in curt tones that we were precisely five minutes late, akin to heresy in these parts, and the wine tour thereby stood canceled. Luckily our friend S turned out to be quite the Bond at handling such situations, having had years of experience of dealing with recalcitrant distributors and some chest thumping and this is not done-ing on his part later, the vineyard guys finally agreed to give us the tour. We had an hour to kill before the tour started, and by now the innards were beginning to make their displeasure felt with the occasional gentle growl so we trooped towards the restaurant for lunch. I had read a couple of favorable reviews on the net about the Chateau Indage restaurant and as we looked for a table large enough to accommodate the brood, the gastric juices were beginning to rev up in eager anticipation of the succulent kebabs and melt in your mouth tikkas partaken of by the net reviewers. I paused for a minute to do a quick scan of the items listed on the large, glistening black board that was placed strategically at the entrance of the restaurant.

"Mushroom tikka, hara bhara kebab, dahi...." I read out "that's rather a strange item for today's special don't you think?" I inquired of P. "Dahi? Do you think they have a special kind of dahi here? Specially fed cows perhaps?"
"Err that's not the list for today's special honey" P replied eying the blackboard, "Its the list of what they don't have."
And true enough, a closer inspection of the blackboard revealed "Today NOT available" etched in minutely fine print at the top! Feeling a tad dejected I trudged towards our table, visions of the mushroom tikka quickly turning into dust in my mind's eye, but the menu looked promising enough and I had cheered up by the time a rather depressed looking waiter by the name of Gopal turned up at our table to take the order.

"We'll take the veg kebab platter Gopal" we informed the waiter who promptly began looking like he was on the verge of a having a coronary.
"Too long, too long!" he muttered "It will take forty five minutes Sir! You will miss the wine tour!"
"Oh all right get us the paneer tikka kebabs" we conceded and Gopal smacked his forehead and began wringing his hands despairingly "We are fresh out of paneer Sir! I was just about to put it up on that board there. I swear!"
"Err what about the corn cheese fritters" we asked a tad nervously but that made Gopal look like he was about to burst into tears so we just gave up and asked him to get us whatever he wanted. That seemed to cheer him up significantly and he buzzed off happily while my friend K and I, the two young, oh alright, the two NEW mums in the group got busy with shoveling some food into our respective offspring. Gopal was back by the time we were done with the shoveling, with some food which was just about passable, but we were ravenously hungry by then and attacked it as soon as it landed on our table.

Lunch done, we set off on the first leg of the tour which was at the factory where the grapes were sorted and crushed, post picking. The tour was conducted by an earnest looking chappie who obviously took his day job very seriously and he looked pretty disappointed at our apparent lack of seriousness. "Please do not make the Mary" he said to S in a beseeching tone as he ribbed me and K about something and we proceeded on the rest of the tour with reverential silence, half expecting him to turn around and snap "Finger on the Lips!" if we so much as uttered a peep. I was considering making side notes in my pocket diary to please earnest chappie as we reached the bottle corking machine when we were joined by another family, headed by a beefy looking chappie with a surprisingly girlish voice. This guy was taking the wine tour as seriously as earnest chappie would have wanted anyone to. "Ah the wine corking machine!" he squeaked in an awed tone and proceeded to ask earnest chappie a series of questions about its six sigma certification that would have put even the CP* kings from our b-school days to shame.
* Class Participation, we used to get marks for this. No prizes for guessing who would've aced the score at the wine tour!

Thankfully for the rest of us, that bit of the tour ended soon after and we were escorted to the vineyards where a plump crop of grapes awaited us. The guide showed us a few different types of grapes and then informed us that this year's crop was terribly damaged due to heavy rains around Nasik. Which means that the price of wines in 2011-2012 is expected to skyrocket. He left us with some kind advice on how we would be wise to stock up our cellars and we found ourselves free to roam around in the vineyard, chomping on the occasional luscious grape. Nikki, thoroughly bored by all the non stop lecturing and quiet trooping around in the wine factory was thrilled to be out and about again and was happy to sample a few grapes which she seemed to like. It was a quiet, mellow afternoon with a gentle breeze and the merry chirping of birds and we would have been quite happy to aimlessly loiter around for a bit if it hadn't been for S who suddenly started letting out blood curdling screams and hopping up and down on one foot. Further investigation revealed that overcome with the adventurous spirit, S had ventured further than the rest of us into the vineyards and had managed to disturb a rather busy ant hill. The angry denizens thereof had marched up his trousers in quest of revenge and had finally managed to invade the more sensitive areas of his anatomy, resulting in the afore mentioned hopping and screeching. K and I offered a fervent prayer to the Lord that it hadn't been us with Nikki and A in the line of the ants' ire and ignoring the vile looks S shot at us, we cut short the vineyard excursion and headed back to the Chateau Indage restaurant for the last and most important leg of the tour, the wine tasting.

Which is really the real reason we had driven all the way there of course. That, and the expansion of the mental horizons (yes, yes, Nikki's!) project I have taken on, inspired by Aneela. I mean it was bound to be a learning experience, all those grapes, what? Plus you have the potential for teaching colors- green, purple, red (the ants and S, after he had made his intimate acquaintance with them) and the learning possibilities are enormous!

Anyway, so we got back for the tasting which is full paisa vasool at 150 bucks per head, for 6 glasses (25 ml each, I think it was) of any wine the eye can see on the mind boggling menu and in some time we were perched happily on the bar stools making up toasts and cheers. A happy happy forty five minutes of swirling and sipping later we traipsed back to the cars for the drive back home. I fed Nikki her evening meal just before we hit the road and was congratulating myself on her model behavior all through the day (I am the primary caregiver aren't I? Why should P take any credit?) when she decided the calm before the storm had well and truly passed and started howling lustily. It took me a full forty five minutes of rocking, patting, crooning-till-croaky and attempting-to-feed till I finally figured out she may be thirsty and handed her her sipppy cup. It turned out the poor baby was thirsty after all and after a few large gulps she flung the sippy cup away, curled up in my arms and went to sleep, leaving me free to torment myself with thoughts of what an imperviously imperceptible mother I am.

Thankfully (for P) I was out of my blue funk by the time we got back and after a quick meal of momos, which was all we had place for what with all that wine still jostling around in the insides, we parted ways with our friends and headed back home. Nikki continued to remain blissfully asleep, barely awakening for a quick formula feed and change of clothes, and went right back to sleep when I put her in her cot, nodding her head reassuringly a few times in her sleep as I patted her.

Which brings me to the end of Saturday and I would go right on with recounting what we did on Sunday and Monday, for it was a rather packed weekend this one, except that I seem to have gone on and on and written an exceptionally long winded post, about what was really just a very short day trip. So I'll leave it at that for now and come back later to tell you all about Nikki's first Holi. And on that note, wish you all a very (tad belated) happy Holi and hope you had a great time celebrating!

Eleven months and counting!

2010-02-24T14:58:00.000+05:30

Hello people! I celebrated my eleven months birthday this week and I decided it was about time I made my debut on the blog scene. That and the fact that The Mommy Woman doesn't look like she's up to writing a post anytime soon. Last seen she was wandering off, a glazed look in her eyes, muttering about how kids grow up on you all too soon and some such thing. She has also taken to sitting on the couch in a semi trance reminiscing with tears in her eyes about the days of exclusive breast feeding, now that we do that only once a day. The woman has me flummoxed I tell you! I mean all these months she was referring to herself as a cow and Mother Dairy and generally lamenting her complete loss of freedom and now when I'm all for giving her a free rein all she can do is moan and groan about it. She has even given up her morning gym session and hangs around waiting for me to wake up instead, so we can do our quick round of nursing.

Anyway, moving on, I thought I'd regale you with an account of what I've been up to in my last month of babyhood. Coz next month on, I'm all set to join the tantalizing toddler brigade, wooo hooo! I thought I'd begin by telling you all about the supreme oratory skills I've honed over the last one month. My superior linguistic abilities are lost on The Mommy Woman of course who insists on reducing my prowess to mere drivel with nick names like my 'cute little chatterbox'. Bah! There are other such embarrassing monikers too. Like the other day when we got into a cab and she insisted on referring to me repeatedly as her 'golu molu'. So much so that the goofy cab driver asked her if my name was Golu Molu!! The ignominy of it all! Anyway I got my own back by chewing the cab's rather nice looking, brand new upholstery, that had the desired effect on the two of them. Golu Molu indeed!

Speaking of chewing, I've been doing a lot of that lately. It seems to satisfy those sharp white things sprouting in various places in my mouth,that are causing me severe discomfort, especially at night. The Mommy Woman and Papa Man stay up with me trying to comfort me, but they haven't been doing a very good job so far and all this lack of sleep is beginning to make me cranky. The lack of shut eye hasn't seemed to dampen The Mommy Woman's enthusiasm for the sharp white, objects though; each new arrival is greeted with excited squeals and much poking and prodding around in my mouth. These days she has taken to shoving a cold, rubbery green thing in my mouth with loud cries of 'Chew Nikki chew, its a teether!', quite unlike the 'No No Nooo' that greets me whenever I'm peacefully chewing the bathroom mat or the carpet. Of course I will have none of this high handed behavior. Nobody tells me what to chew, and I make sure that rubbery green thing gets nowhere near my mouth!

I've been having great fun ever since I discovered I can get around everywhere using my hands and knees. It looks tough but there's nothing to it really, you just propel yourself forward using both hands and knees, moving them faster for increased speed. No more lying around on that boring play mat watching the ceiling, with the only change of scene happening when you roll over. Now I can zip around all over the house! I even play peek-a-boo with The Mommy Woman sometimes, hiding behind the couch so she can come find me. It helps keep her occupied. And then there's the fun playtime when The Papa Man comes back in the evening, we zip around from room to room chasing each other till I can barely keep my eyes open and then The Papa Man puts me to bed. Hey wait-a minit! Its a PLOY to get me sleepy, that tricky bugger! Wait till he gets back tonight, the slippery eel. Do I have a surprise for HIM, I'll stay up all night a-ha-ha-ha!

The other fun thing I like doing is rolling over and crawling off at top speed. I don't do this all the time though, just for select occasions. Like diaper changes. Or massages. Or clothes changing time. Great fun. Even more than the exhilarating feeling of freedom, is the effect it has on The Mommy Woman. No wait, actually its even more fun when she takes of my diaper to clean my bum and I put my hand straight into all the poop. Boy does that send her into a tizzy! She tried pulling a fast one on me initially by putting something in my hand to distract me, but I saw through that soon enough. I don't think she was terribly pleased when I shoved my hand along with her favorite lip balm into the poop.

Moving on to more fun things, my favorite time of day is when we go to the park, mostly in the evenings. I get all excited whenever the door to our appartment is opened and we step out, but sometimes its just to wave goodbye to other people who're leaving which is most disappointing. I so love going out myself! Evenings in the park are even more fun because I get to meet my friends, other people my own size. We even talk the same language and I have great fun babbling with my pal A and riding around the park in my pram. It'll be even more fun when I start running around, The Mommy Woman tells me. Hah! Little does she know. Anyway, at least she won't feel bad about missing her gym session then, I'll make sure she does enough running around herself.

My favorite place in the house these days is the kitchen. That's the best place to scan the ground for interesting looking things, take my word for it. Why just yesterday, I found a large red thing which crackled each time I pressed it! Mirchi Mirchi! The Mommy Woman screamed and made a big fuss about washing my hands after that, which I quite enjoyed too. I'm quite a water baby and love splashing around at bath time in my tub. I even have a book which The Mommy Woman reads to me at bath time. It really is about time she got me some new books though. I mean story telling is great fun but how many times can you listen to the same stuff over and over again? I've been trying to tell her as much by flinging away the old regulars that we read every day with a look of great disdain, and she finally seems to be getting the hint. She was telling The Papa Man something about getting me new books last evening. I hope they get me something interesting. Maybe something about 'How To Stay Awake, Seven Straight Days In A Row And Keep Your Parents That Way Too'. I have been doing a decent job of it for the last two nights, but then this pain with the sharp white things gets in the way and spoils the fun a bit.

Ooh here comes The Mommy Woman now with that sinister 'time for a nap' look in her eyes. Now that's something I detest! I try my best to wriggle and wail out of The Mommy Woman's grasp but she can be a real Nazi sometimes! Best to lie low for a bit, maybe she'll forget about napping. Specially if I coo and give her one of my sweet baby smiles, that usually does the trick.
Catch y'all later then, gotta go now before I'm packed off to the cot. Drop me a line or two if you'd like me to come by more often. The Mommy Woman has been threatening to do one of her long, rambling, sentimental posts to commemorate my first birthday next month but I can come back after that if you like. I should be able to manage it, given that I plan to keep her busy with learning how to watch me walk. Until then, buh-bye!

Mommy made a boo boo

2010-02-17T15:07:00.000+05:30

Eeeps. I've just about recovered from the most Horribly Mortifying Experience (HME)this evening. Just about enough to write this post. I'll be taking myself off to curl up in a ball and whimper under the blanket post the post, a-ha-ha-ha.
Right. The HME seems to have damaged the killer sense of wit as well.

Getting back, so there I was taking my customary evening jroll (jog-stroll, its what I do okay?) in the park, while S watched over Nikki and tried to bung in some formula into her. I was jrolling absent mindedly, minding my own business when suddenly I spotted HIM. There he was, sitting in front of my helpless Nikki's pram FEEDING her formula, while S just stood there simpering. What the hell?!! I thought to myself, bubbling over with rage. How can this MORON just randomly feed my child like that? I mean he probably doesn't even know how to feed a baby! Even S has just about managed to get the hang of it after WEEKS of painstaking effort and training! And we've just started feeding her with the sippy cup, what if he tilts it incorrectly? What if the flow is too fast? What if Nikki chokes! Aaaaarrrghhhh!! I charged towards them like a raging bull determined to take their collective cases. Bajao them like there was no tomorrow. Or no bajaoing for that matter.

"WHAT THE HELL are you doing feeding MY child??!!!" I yelled and froze mid sentence, gaping like a goldfish as I locked eyes with P. My husband. Just sitting there, feeding his child. "Oh hi honey" P said mildly looking up from Nikki and the sippy cup "Err she's my child too isn't she?"

Quick flashback to some eighteen years ago when an impressionable twelve year old was told at her regular eye check up that the twin sources of sight on her face were about to get some company. Of the glassy kind. Being the impressionable kind the young lass thought back to the time when a wise friend had told her 'Guys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses'.
Egad! said the young lass to herself, I shan't wear them either! Not unless its absolutely necessary you know. Of course the guys and the passes continued to remain absent, but the lass plodded on undeterred in her resolve of not wearing glasses. Unless it was absolutely necessary of course. What followed were a series of comic (in hindsight) events wherein the lass looked through some of her loved ones, gave the blatant cold shoulder to the closest of friends and waved or smiled at complete strangers triggering an assortment of unfortunate events.

And then one day something really embarrassing happened. The young lass trotted out one evening after college to a spot where a good friend was supposed to pick her up for a play. Good friend drove a white Maruti 800 and was often spotted wearing a red cap. As the lass neared the appointed spot she caught sight of a white Maruti 800 waiting. A figure in a red cap lurked behind the wheel. She dove right in with a loud and cheery HIII! only to freeze mid way and glance in horror at the complete stranger who was glancing back. In complete horror himself. "M-m-m-m-madam aapko kya chahiye?" the poor soul implored beseechingly. The lass jumped out as swiftly as she had jumped in, her face a fiery shade of red. Only to see her good friend doubled over with laughter a few feet away. He had been waiting for the lass and had been stunned to see her march past and jump into another car. Of course he recovered from the shock soon enough to find the whole situation terribly funny and made it a point to narrate the incident to every single person they met later that day, with a generous dollop of masala added for good effect.

To cut a long, agonizing story short, the lass decided that Enough was Enough and Something Had To Be Done. She launched a valiant search for the perfect solution and soon enough she discovered it. The wonderful world, as seen from the perfect, safe and not overtly glassy world of contact lenses.
Life was bliss. Life went on. The young lass even met a few of those guys who did make passes and she married one of them. They even had a baby. And then life got busy. The disposable contact lenses the not so young anymore lass used were used up quickly. The not so young lass didn't have the time to go buy new ones. Being a tired new mum as well as a lazy jackass she didn't go out to get new ones. Of course she didn't wear her glasses either. Not unless it was absolutely necessary. Even though she was blind as a bat, well nearly so, without them. Not that she wanted any guys to makes passes at her of course. No No No, she was so over that. *Smiles ingratiatingly at P* It was just, you know, force of habit.

As the observant reader may have guessed the lass (not so young anymore)is me and the long and agonizing (to narrate, YOU better enjoy reading it)story is mine. So there I was, a familiar shade of red, What The Hell'ing my husband as he looked back at me unfazed. After six years of marriage, he goes through these things unblinking. Comes with the territory.
In my defense, P was supposed to be traveling that day and return much much later at night so I could be excused at being caught completely off guard and thinking the male figure I saw feeding my baby was some random stranger. I mean my husband was supposed to be a thousand miles away. How the hell could I even have guessed that he would land up in the park of all places and that too at 5pm?

I was just telling myself as much and beginning to feel a tiny bit better. I mean these things happen right? It could have happened to anybody!
And then I heard her. My house help S, rolling over with mirth as she narrated the funeee storee to her gaggle of friends, who in turn took it upon themselves to spread the word, far and wide. Furtive amused glances were shot my way and I heard a few muffled giggles amidst S's brays of laughter, curse her blasted tonsils.

Gathering the few remaining shreds of dignity around me I picked up Nikki in my arms and looked her in the eye. "Mommy made a boo boo honey" I told her ruefully and marched off to the safe embrace of my home. Where I shall continue to remain for the rest of my blasted life.
Only stepping out under cover of darkness to purchase some new lenses. And a wig and some fake teeth while I'm at it to restart life with a new identity.

*Edited to add: Comments expressing sympathy and commiseration are MOST welcome. As are narrations of your own embarrassing experiences. Trust me, they can't beat my own.*

All about my baby...

2010-02-15T11:27:00.000+05:30

...who's inching towards toddler-hood with a rather alarming alacrity these days. *Warning: Long barmy parent post ahead!*

Ten months, three weeks and four and a quarter days, 'Circle of Moms' wisely informed me as I logged on to Facebook last night. 46 weeks!!! screamed the thousand newsletters that regularly flood my mailbox every week (they would of course, given that 46 weeks ago, awash with the maternal hormones raging through my system I signed up for all the newsletters of all the parenting sites available like a perfect chump).
46 weeks!!! I repeated to myself in wonder. She'll be a year old before I know it! So I decided to do some serious introspection on whether this blog is doing justice to its raison d'etre, namely, capturing Nikki's babyhood and I've realized that if there is one area where I fall woefully short it is the updates.

I suppose ten months, three weeks and four and a quarter days is not the best time to do an 'update' update, but address this chink in the blog armor we must and I'm going to settle instead for chronicling a typical day with Nikki, given that we seem to have fallen into a rather nice routine these days. Dear God, please let me not hex myself by writing this.
Anyway, getting back, when Nikki was about five months old I set out on the path of getting her into a routine with an uncommon zeal and vigour. The well spaced out daily feeds, day time naps(we know how that went, but you can't blame me for not trying!) and evening bedtime routine were all given a valiant shot after extensive perusal of the omnipresent newsletters that were only too glad to tell me how it should be done.
It all blew up in my face of course, but you already knew that didn't you? After a few days of wiping Cerelac out of my hair at 11pm (which is when the baby was supposed to be in sweet slumber, nicely tucked in her crib) and being rudely kicked awake at 3am for a feed (which of course the baby shouldn't be demanding at all, having settled rather well into her new routine)I threw in the towel with a disgusted scheduling, schmoodling and fell back into the easy life, where days have no set pattern. And then, just like that Nikki fell into a routine! And with the exception of the occasional off day when she awakens at an unearthly hour or insists on not taking a single nap though the day, just to ensure that the old parents don't get too used to the easy life, the routine pretty much seems to have stuck on. Dear God, please let me not hex myself by writing this.

We begin the day to the sound of gentle coos and babbles if Nikki awakens with mild stirrings of hunger or more vigorous ma-ma-maas! if the hunger pangs are more pronounced, anytime between 6 to 8am. After a quick (sob!)nursing session, Nikki literally shoves me out of her face and gets on with the significantly more enjoyable activity of kicking P awake if he happens to be dozing nearby. Mission accomplished, she spends the next half hour playing with P while he gets ready for work and generally zipping around the house on all fours trying her best to get close to those fascinating objects worthy of only the most reverential pursuit: the shoe rack and the dustbin.
I try and get another nursing session in midway, more to soothe my own battered ego than anything else and am more often than not curtly told where to get off by an indignant Nikki, angry at being diverted from the riveting activity of attempting to chew the broom.

Humbled, I make Nikki's breakfast and at 9am she has her first solid feed for the day:a bowl of Cerelac with a mashed egg yolk. The twin onslaught of a well fed tummy and a feeling of tiredness, what with all the pre-breakfast activity, augurs well for the battle weary sleep fairy and Nikki takes her first nap soon after breakfast. The nap ranges for anywhere from twenty minutes on the tough days to an hour and a half on the truly blessed ones. Post nap Nikks is up and about again, so we either go down to the park for some lolling around in the sun or stay home and play with the ever growing collection of toys that is threatening to overtake our home. At noon Nikki's khichdi is served up for the midday meal and we begin the onerous task of feeding her; who wants to eat khichdi when you can instead explore the wonderful contents of the shoe cabinet? My household help S, who otherwise is remarkably competent at getting on my nerves, redeems herself each day at lunchtime by staging a (screechy, but helpful nonetheless) song and dance performance for a sulky Nikki while I quickly shovel in spoonfuls of khichdi. A bowl or two later, we're done and I plonk myself in the balcony with a well fed and content Nikki in my lap. We spend a blissful half hour in the mellow afternoon sun before heading inside for Nikki's daily massage and bath.
The massage bit is usually full of activity as Nikki rolls over as soon as she's placed on the massage mat and trots off speedily in the opposite direction, with me scrabbling around trying to get a grip on her, no easy task at the best of times and even more tricky with hands dripping with oil. The relaxing, warm bath that follows post massage is relatively easier with Nikki firmly ensconced in her bath seat (thank you Carter, how about a large bath seat for toddlers next?)and we follow this up with some fun time in her baby bathtub. Much splashing and giggling later I fish Nikki and her plastic fish and ducks out of the bath and attempt to towel her dry. I say attempt, because as soon as she's placed on the bed, Nikki does a replay of the roll over and trot off activity, protesting vehemently against all attempts at being dried and clothed. Did I mention that the bath is intended to relax Nikki to the point of sleep? Important point that, because it tends to have the exact opposite effect in Nikki's case. While sleep may be the logical next step for other babies after a massage and a bath, all it seems to do for this child of mine is make her bounce off the walls. It does have a lag effect though, for half an hour or so later we do manage to settle her down for a nap and this one usually lasts for an hour, sometimes two! Dear God, please let me not hex myself by writing this.

Refreshed yet again after all this napping, Nikki awakens to some porridge or a fruit smoothie at 4ish. Much excitement follows soon after as we wheel out the pram and Nikki figures we're going out and we make an appearance at the park amid much squealing and merry shrieking. That would be Nikki & S of course, I follow them at a respectable distance, maintaining only the highest standards of decorum. We spend some time strolling around the park and while we're at it try to bung some formula into Nikki from her new sippy cup. A few rounds of the park later we perch ourselves in a shady spot so Nikki can watch the other kids play and run around. I send my daily request to the Almighty that Nikki will start walking soon so that she and I can run around the park too, in spite of warnings from older, wiser and significantly more weary mums who insist I will look back fondly on the days before mobility descended on us. Then its time to head home again for some story telling or listening to music, before the last feed for the day followed by bedtime. Nikki has settled into the happy practice of going to bed by 8.30ish and these days is quite content to sleep though the night. Dear God, please let me not hex myself by writing this.
If P gets back before Nikki goes to bed he usually spends some time playing with her and puts her to bed himself, and we then pretty much have the evening to ourselves. This, combined with the sleeping through the night bit has significantly reduced the anti social, snappy behavior observed in these parts earlier and the 7-8 hours of sleep (hallelujah! I did live to see the day!)I've been getting has revived the rusty resolve to get back on the fitness bandwagon.

So all in all, with this happy routine we seem to have settled into, life in Nikki-dom right now is pretty darn good. Dear God,... um you get the drift right? Please let this last!

Nikki, Me and some Sunshiny Moments

2010-02-06T16:48:00.001+05:30

Waking up in the morning and savoring the cuddly little bundle in delicious slumber next to me for a full half hour before getting out of bed.

Sipping a leisurely cup of adrak chai and watching the now bright and active little bundle zip around the house on all fours with an indulgent eye, as the husband runs helter skelter desperately trying to get ready for work on time, trying not to trip over the zippy little bundle himself. I really don't know which one I enjoy watching more.

Giving Nikki a feel better kissy as she watches her Daddy leave for work, her baby face looking broken hearted. Distracting her with a silly game and watching her cheer up. Reading 'Peek-a-boo its Winnie the Pooh!' to her a million times and then once more.

Zipping down to the park to catch up with the flowers and butterflies and the occasional friendly doggy. Lying down on the grass and watching Nikki enjoy the mellow midday sunshine and gentle breeze and generally be super excited at being out in the park.

A nice long massage with warm coconut oil, enjoying the feel of Nikki's soft baby skin under my fingers and blowing raspberries on her tummy as she coos and giggles in delight. Following this up with a relaxed, warm bath at the end of which both of us (for different reasons!) are ready to embrace the land of nod. Cradling Nikki in the crook of my arm and rocking her gently to sleep, watching her eyes close as she nestles against me looking blissfully content.

Catching up with P on his cell as he shuttles from one meeting to the next. Often P hears Nikki babbling away in the background as we talk and he misses her something terrible. And even though I wish he could be with us then, I also feel really happy that I'm not away from her too.

Trying a new recipe for a fruit smoothie and churning (literally so!) it out with painstaking effort (yeah I KNOW its just a smoothie but I'm no Nigella Lawson, and I mean that in more ways than one.Right, moving on to more cheery topics). Watching Nikki relish it to the last lick and feeling her nicely rounded baby tummy. Sitting out with her in our sunny balcony waiting for the big burpy. Feeling just as pleased as Nikki, or maybe more, when the burpy finally does emanate.

Being there for all those precious firsts: the first time Nikki showed her budding sense of self identity and pointed to herself when asked "Where's Nikki?", the first piggy face, the first time she learned to clap, the first wave bye bye...mostly just being there.

Running into the room when Nikki awakens mid slumber, crying. Feeling all warm and sunshiny inside when she stops crying and looks at me with a happy, relieved smile. You're here mama! Everything's okay!

Sweet weekend nothings

2010-02-01T16:38:00.005+05:30

It is a strange irony of life that the nicer your weekend is, the stronger the Monday morning blues are bound to hit. Of course one way of addressing this is to ensure that your weekends aren't that nice in the first place, so that you don't actually mind so much when Monday comes around but then that defeats the purpose of having the weekend at all doesn't it?
Yes, yes I know I need to have a couple of mugs of coffee and get my head screwed on the right way, but then what is the use of having a blog if one can't allow oneself the occasional inane ramble?

Anyway so as you may have already guessed I'm deep in the throes of some solid Monday morning blues and I intend to try and get over them by writing all about my rather nice weekend. It began on a slightly discordant note actually with P waking up bright and early and announcing that he was off to work. "What what what!!" I yelped with more than a touch of wifely indignation. "But its a Saturday!"
"And its the Saturday I have to work", P replied blithely. He added some stuff about earning the daily bread and such like just to get the point across strongly and bounded out the door his laptop flapping against his heels.

I sulked for twenty minutes and then decided to take Nikki down to the park for some cheering up. We had been there for about fifteen minutes when my sister called to announce she was coming over to see Nikki and me. "Wheee!" I said and informed Nikki that her C paachi was coming over soon. "Wah wah wah!" said Nikki happily and promptly tried to shove a blade of grass she had slyly gotten hold of while I wasn't looking in her mouth.
C paachi arrived shortly after and Nikki immediately turned on the stranger anxiety mode she's been displaying for some time now. Even though my sister lives in the same city as us, she stays in the hostel on her college campus a considerable distance away. That, combined with the fact that her MBA class schedule leaves her with just about half a day off every other week means that we don't get to see her very often. Like with all other people she doesn't meet on a regular basis (make that daily), Nikki spent the first twenty minutes after C paachi's arrival regarding her with extreme suspicion. It was only after this initial breaking in phase that she warmed up to her and even acquiesced to showing off some of her recently acquired skills: making a piggy face, clapping her hands, waving bye bye and pointing to herself when asked "Where is Nikki?" Of course she points to herself when she's asked where Mommy or Daddy are as well but we'll leave that for another post.
C had picked up some groceries on her way over and was in the mood for some grub, being among the unfortunate category of food deprived hostelites who think a McDonald's burger is manna from heaven, so we decided to have a cook-in at home. We enlisted the help of my house help in the process and an hour and a half of chopping and sauteeing later we had a delectable feast laid out: grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, bruschetta and a green beans salad, recipe courtesy a friend of C's who has the unique distinction of having converted his hostel room into a not half bad, fully functional kitchenette. That done, we proceeded to stuff our faces, having fed and bathed Nikki along the way, post which she had descended into sweet slumber.

She was up about an hour later and we had taken her down to the park for some more run ins with the blades of grass when P got back home, suitably contrite. Why don't you girls head for an evening out while I take care of Nikki he suggested, catapulting himself in seconds to the hall of outstanding husbands. Neither C nor I needed much convincing and an hour later we found ourselves in a nearby shopping mall stuffed to the gills with eager shoppers, there to take advantage of the Great Year End (?) sale. C and K, a friend who had joined us at the mall, threw themselves into the fray with excited yelps, characteristic of shopaholics who can sniff a good deal from miles away. Being of a more diffident disposition, I threw myself into the nearest Crosswords to see if I could find anything interesting to read.
I haven't been out shopping that often by myself since Nikki was born and have felt strangely lost on the few occasions that I have managed to do so. Never having been a great shopper myself, I usually rely on P who really comes into his own on a shopping expedition of any kind, breaking all stereotypes of men hating shopping. Books however are another trip altogether and I spent a few blissful moments in Crosswords before C & K arrived, loaded with shopping bags. We headed home after an eclectic meal of shawarmas and momos, to find Nikki blissfully asleep and P in an equal state of bliss in front of the TV watching some match he had recorded earlier. What is it with men and cricket anyway?

C & I opted to watch Confessions of A Shopaholic on C's laptop and ashamed though I am I will admit that I fell asleep, literally five minutes into the movie. This of course is to be attributed to sheer exhaustion on my part and does not reflect on the movie in any way. The movie remains as yet unwatched so I reserve comments on it for another post. I'm a huge fan of the Shopaholic series and have been wanting to watch the movie for ages! It had released very close to my due date last year and I had had to forego the multiplex movie watching experience which I thoroughly enjoy, for prenatal squats and the duck walk. Are there any Becky Bloomwood fans out there who liked the movie? Do tell!

Sunday morning saw us up bright and early and at a lovely little park near our house, a recent discovery of P & I,aptly titled Joggers' Park. Though not a patch on the far more illustrious park by the same name in Bombay, this little park does have its own quaint charm and even boasts of a little lake with a small island and gazebo in it. P & I took turns jogging and playing with Nikki who seems to have inherited our love for the great outdoors and was having a total blast jiggling up and down and squealing in excitement at just being out and about. Jogs done, we headed to a bohemian cafe nearby where we proceeded to completely nullify the positive effects of the jogging by stuffing ourselves to the gills with cheese omelets, mashed potatoes and a couple gallons of adrak chai each.
Grocery shopping was still pending on the weekend things to do list so we staggered to our neighborhood supermarket when we were done with breakfast, reaching home in time for Nikki's feed and bath. The rest of the afternoon was spent at the altar of the Australian Open watching that God in human form, Roger Federer. Yes I support him, even when its a clay court and the mighty Nadal lurks on the other side of the net.

Feeling suitably inspired we headed out to play some table tennis ourselves later that evening before catching up with some friends. We ended the weekend with a light dinner, the guilt of the morning's excesses still lingering strongly in our collective consciences and I fell asleep, yet again!, while trying to read the Sunday newspaper which I hadn't had a chance to even look at during the course of the day.
I was feeling rather blue this morning, as I do most Monday mornings which is quite strange given the fact that I don't work anymore and really shouldn't be suffering from the Monday morning blues. Blame it on the weekend hangover. Nothing a cup of coffee can't cure I suppose. And then, there's always the promise of the next weekend just five days away!

Snippety Updates

2010-01-15T17:04:00.000+05:30

I was re-organizing Nikki's wardrobe today and I was stunned to see the number of clothes she has outgrown. All the pretty little summery sleeveless frocks that I'd packed away for later because its too chilly these days. Several bodysuits I hadn't pulled out for a while. The frilly bonnet she looks so cute in. She's outgrown them all! It broke my heart to see how tiny the clothes seem in comparison to what seems like just yesterday, when they were a tad over sized. I tell you I'm SO not prepared for the way Nikki is just growing up on me overnight. It'll just be a matter of days before she leaves home for college and I sit by the window weeping wistful tears and reminiscing about her babyhood. Sniff. Maybe I should just change the name of this blog to goodbye babyhood.

********

The blissful ease with which Nikki used to fall asleep on her own in Goa has become a thing of the past but the sleep struggles are a lot easier to deal with now. On most days that is. Over the last couple of nights Nikki has taken to waking up every 3-4 hours screaming blue murder. Her frantic shrieking has an instant effect; P & I spring out of bed and leap to her cotside to soothe and pacify. Except that no amount of soothing and pacifying works. Or even rocking, singing or even that erstwhile instant pacifier: nursing. After what seems like hours of walking up and down, patting and comforting, she finally nods off and if we're lucky stays that way for some time. She wakes up at 6am like clockwork of course, all bright and sunny smiles and demands to be fed and played with instantly.
We met the good pediatrician today and I hopefully asked if this night waking could be a result of teething and if there was anything we could do about it. Oh its just a passing phase, could be due to anything, some kids behave like this till they're 3 or even 4, she told P & I cheerfully, leaving us reeling in our tracks. The thought of a few more years of sleep deprivation has convinced us that some serious sleep training is probably due. Dr Ferber, here I come.
While on sleep, Nikki has figured out what methods normally work at putting her to sleep and has devised several smart stay awake strategies. Like rocking herself vigorously while nursing, or pulling her own hair while she is being rocked and the most ingenious one of all; clutching tightly at my clothes or managing to entwine her fingers with mine as I put her to sleep. It requires Houdini like manipulation to get myself un-entwined, offering ample opportunity in the process for the child to be all bright and awake again. Maybe Dr Ferber will have some tips to handle this as well.

*******

Yesterday P & I decided we needed to be a little more adventurous and experiment with pizzas other than those of Dominoes and Pizza Hut. We'd tried Garcia's and Smokin' Joes once each in the past so we decided to go for Papa Jones. Bad decision. The pizzas tasted like cardboard cutouts with sawdust toppings. Quite surprising, considering so many of our friends had spoken quite highly about the place. Maybe they were just having an off day.

Have you noticed how the service quality of these pizza delivery guys is directly correlated to the cost? Here are a few sample conversations to illustrate:

Scenario One: Dominoes/ Pizza Hut

Delivery Guy: Good Evening Ma'am, myself Hercules (I swear that's what he said), this is your order one large chicken supreme pizza with garlic bread and cheesy dip and some extra oregano and chilly flakes and paper napkins and one copy of our menu. Thank you very much for ordering from Dominoes/ PH, enjoy your pizza, good night!
You, somewhat dazed after the verbal onslaught: Err..righto, yes, thank you, good night!

Scenario Two: The relatively cheaper Smoking Joes

Delivery Guy, gruffly: Smoking Joes Pizza. Your bill.
You, after making the payment and still impressed by the Dominoes/ PH guy: Thank You! Good Night!
Delivery Guy: Snorts and walks away

Scenario Three: the relatively cheapest Garcia's

You open the door. Delivery Chappie shoves the pizza and the bill, in that order, in your face.
You: One minute, I'll get my wallet.
Delivery Chappie: Grunt
You hand over the cash and are about to shut the door when the delivery chappie barks: Coupons!!
You: Huh?
Delivery Chappie roars: COUPONS. You have taken our Friday Special offer today because you had the discount coupons. Now Gimme!
You, scrabbling nervously in the drawer: Yes, yes one minute, here it is.
Delivery Chappie, now in a really menacing tone: This coupon has the wrong date, do you have the right coupons or not?
Thankfully you find the right coupon soon after and hand it over. Delivery Chappie grunts while you are doing the finding and finally leaves with one last menacing stare. By now the pizza is cold and you've lost your appetite anyway.
I think I'm just going to stick to Dominoes/ PH from now on. What with the lack of sleep and resulting frazzled nerves, I can do with all the politeness and friendly service I can get!

Of beaches and bliss

2010-01-13T12:33:00.006+05:30

Our much anticipated Goa trip finally happened in mid December and even though I'd been waiting to blog about it as much as making the trip itself, I'm only getting down it to after nearly a month thanks to the villainous net connection and my remarkable efficiency at procrastination. This was our first proper vacation with Nikki, not counting the one trip to the in laws when she was just ten weeks old and a few one off road trips now and then.

I'd somehow always harbored the notion that relaxed vacations would be a thing of the past after P & I had kids, and used this with great success as a handy weapon to pack many more vacations in five years of pre-baby married life that P would have normally liked to go for (just vegetating on the living room couch makes the man happy, who needs vacations?). So I was a little stressed at the thought of the upcoming Goa trip. Was it going to be one of those horror vacations with kids I'd seen in movies and sometimes witnessed first hand, at the end of which I'd need another vacation just to recover?

"No way mater" Nikki would have said if speech and vocabulary had been on her side a little more, "bring on the holidays, I say!". Right from the flight to Goa where she brushed off my concerns with air pressure, chucking the cotton balls I'd stuffed in her ears at the hapless passenger next to us and choosing to look around instead with supreme alertness, to being superbly cooperative with the meals and the naps, the child has proved beyond a doubt that she's a born traveler. *Short pause to thank the Dear Lord for his Mercies. Thank You!*
Probably the only person who was hassled on the flight was the unfortunate chap next to us, to whom Nikki decided to take a great fancy. This guy was one of those cool looking studs complete with his own neck rest pillow, eye pads and mini laptop on which he intended to watch a movie as he gorged on a box of Ferrero Rochers. That was before Nikki, fascinated by the laptop, pillow, eye pads and his egg shaped bald head tried to be friendly and babbled eagerly at him. The guy just ignored her so she swatted at him to catch his attention, but he continued with the cold shoulder treatment and not wanting to be classified as one of those irritating mothers who don't even want to try and control their unruly kids, I held her next to the window to show her the clouds which she remained fascinated with for a large part of the flight.

We reached the resort around dinner time and I fed Nikki her dinner and sat her down in the baby cot provided for us as P & I debated whether we should check out one of the many restaurants for dinner or just play it safe and stick to room service. We were just about settling on room service given the fact that Nikki had been on the go all day and would probably be getting cranky when we noticed her fast asleep in the cot! She had fallen asleep ON HER OWN. Just like that! For the first time in her life. Those of you who follow this blog would be familiar with my sleep, or rather lack of sleep related travails. Suffice to say, Nikki falling asleep on her own, without any nursing, rocking, walking up and down, crooning or permutations and combinations thereof was a milestone event, significant enough to be classified as history in the making.
"I want to relocate to Goa." I told P. "Let's not celebrate too soon" he warned, "this may just be a one off thing."
It wasn't. Our week long holiday settled into a blissful pattern as Nikki fell into an easy routine of fuss free feeding and blissfully falling asleep on her own, all beautifully coordinated with our own meals.

We would typically get up early and head to the beach for a stroll, return to our own room to feed Nikki and then go to the restaurant for our own breakfast, where she would happily play in her pram and observe the other kids milling around.The rest of the day would be spent either lolling by the pool (I did the lolling, P actually fit some swimming in) where we even managed to play our very own version of water polo or at the resort's well equipped indoor activity center. Evenings were dedicated to the beach where the resort had a superbly equipped water sports activity center; banana boat rides, para sailing, jet skiing they had it all! I even overcame my hydrophobia to do some beach para sailing and floated around for the rest of the day feeling like a total Bond.
P & I rented a bike and took turns at cycling around on the beach; windswept hair, the salty sea breeze blowing in your face, it was total bliss! I thought Nikki would be awestruck by the beach since it was her first time there and went a little berserk hopping around pointing out the waves and the sand and the seaaa, look look! and generally making a complete ass of myself, but the girl remained quite unimpressed. She looked around nonchalantly for a bit, noted said sea, sand, waves and setting sun being pointed out by hysterical mother, patted me gently on the shoulder and nodded off. Again! "I want to relocate to Goa" I said to P, firmly this time. He said he was seriously considering it himself.

Nikki stuck to her wonderful routine of turning in regularly by 8 or 9pm everyday leaving us free to conquer new territories in the gastronomic domain and we obliged by stuffing our faces at the various unlimited buffets till we could have rolled quite effortlessly like footballs from one end of the resort to another. Evenings in Goa were pleasantly balmy and we spent many of them wandering around the manicured lawns, with Nikki completely enthralled by the night sky and the large fountains gushing out water in merry tinkles in the center of the resort.

On a couple of days we took turns to baby sit while the other sneaked out to fit in a bit of pampering at the spa or working off some of the excesses consumed in the gym. We even managed a spot of shopping which I quite enjoyed, until the shop lady latched on to me and began telling me how she hated her job and had been trying for a baby for three years and how all kids loved her. I was being sympathetic till she insisted on holding Nikki who promptly began bawling her head off causing me to beat a hasty retreat.

Vacations for me normally end with a heavy heart, but this time round we had fitted in a weekend stop at our friends' B & N on the way back making it the perfect end to the perfect holiday. We braved the chaos at the Goa airport, including a run in with an obtuse airport official who didn't want us to take Nikki's stroller all the way to the aircraft like we had done on our way to Goa, and sat back in the flight feeling rather chuffed at how well we'd pulled it all off. The flight back was pretty relaxed which significantly increased the chuffed-ness and we spent a lot of time telling B & N how we'd had all our meals in the restaurant and how all our evenings were relaxed and how Nikki went to sleep on her own all the time and remained that way even when we- hold your breath!- transferred her from cot to car seat, until they got a little bored and told us to shove it. Shove it we did and and spent a pleasant evening going thru the holiday pictures and chatting about life with kids (B & N have a daughter a little older than Nikki).
The perfect end wasn't so perfect after all because that night I came down with a high fever and the next day Nikki and P fell ill too. The next week back home was pretty lousy what with battling a combination of the post holiday blues and the bug we'd got but we're all okay now.

I want to end this post on a happy note, so I've reserved the best for last :) The most fabulous thing about this holiday aside from the fact that the three of us got to spend so much bliss loaded time together was Nikki's fully loaded happiness quotient; she was just so full of joy all through that it was a delight to watch her. Whether it was the giggling on the flight, the unadulterated delight as she watched other kids splash around in the kiddy pool,the glee reserved for the towel swans on our bed every day made by the resort staff or the well fed ducks in the hotel lawns, I've never seen her so blissfully relaxed and happy before. She even broke into song one afternoon as we went for a stroll around the resort, in perfect tune with P who was humming too!

So even though the relocation to Goa remains a distant dream (I'm still working on it) I've moved to the next best thing; planning our next holiday, that'll happen hopefully sometime soon! Here's to more fun, family times ahead :)

Edited to add: *Kala Tikka* as suggested by Preeti.

That bittersweet chocolate called life

2010-01-08T20:52:00.000+05:30

Since I was cruelly cut off from the joys of blogging last month, many a post that I had penned on the happenings in December didn't get its fair share under the blogosphere sun. Here's one such that I intended to post the day we got cut off, a snippet from some happy days spent in December:

Nikki and I have been having the time of our lives these last couple of days! My grandparents, Nikki's great grandparents, are in town and right about now life totally rocks! I've always been very close to my grandparents since they pretty much raised me when I was little, with both my parents away at work. Even though they lived far away from us, between the two of them they always made sure either one was at home with me, so that I didn't have to be alone with the maid. I'm sure it wasn't easy for them, shuttling between cities and managing two homes. Their youngest son, my uncle, also lived with them then and was a student, so they had to manage that bit as well.
Additionally my dad was in the Navy which meant frequent transfers were a way of life, but they were always there when I needed them. As a result, some of my fondest childhood memories are built around happy times spent with my grandpa and grandma.
Like learning to read with my grandpa which got me started on the never ending love affair with books. Or playing house with my grandma who went to great pains once to organize a doll's wedding for me replete with miniature puris and aloo bhaji for the dolls :)
Or my first day at kindergarten when I was howling for my Aajoba (grandfather in Marathi)and the teacher who didn't understand a word of Marathi (my dad was posted in a little coastal town in the South then) thought Aajoba meant mother in Marathi. I don't think my mom was very amused, when, a few weeks later the teacher addressed her as Aajoba at a parent-teacher interaction!

As I grew older and started spending more time in school, my grandparents started coming to stay with us less often. But I would meet them at least once a year during the summer vacations when either they would come to stay with us or we would go to the little army town where they lived with my uncle. Those summer vacations were the stuff dreams were made of. Apart from the full on pampering that my sister and I received large doses of, our grandparents also let us live our Enid Blytonian fantasies to the full by joining us in 'nature walks' (romps in the nearby park), organizing tea parties with the neighborhood kids and pretending not to notice when we would prowl around the house spying on other house guests, on an over dose of Five Find Outers or Secret Seven.

The annual trip to my grandparents remained a regular feature over the years, even though with time the duration of the visits grew shorter every year. With mounting work pressures and crazy schedules, it became difficult to fit in enough time for a long, langurous vacation at my grandparents but we still tried to squeeze in at least a weekend or two. But when I found out I was expecting Nikki even that became impossible what with my doctor's strict travel restrictions.
After Nikki's birth we decided we would take her for a visit to my grandparents' once she was three months old, and I started looking forward to the trip eagerly. But as luck would have it the swine flu wave hit hard just then and Nikki's pediatrician warned us against traveling with her, especially to far flung places where it would be difficult to get immediate medical attention. So we decided to postpone the trip to when Nikki was a little older. My grandparents were having none of it though and decided they had waited long enough to see their first great grand child. They took matters into their own hands and those who know my grandparents well, will tell you that when they do that there's not much one can do but give in quietly.
And so it was that early December saw a 90 year old great grandpa and an 84 year old great grandma get on a plane and travel halfway round the country to meet their great grand daughter.

I felt a surge of emotion when I saw my grandparents at the airport, they looked so frail and vulnerable emerging out of the airport even though my dad was right beside them, so lost among the throngs of people swarming around them. It had been some time since I'd met my grandparents and I was a little taken aback when I first saw them; Aaji (Marathi for grandmother) was bent over slightly with age and Aajoba looked much older than when I had last seen him. But all my anxieties were dispelled after we'd spent some time together, they were as full of life as ever! It's a testament to their superb fitness levels that even at this age my grandparents are supremely fit and can enjoy all the pleasures life has to offer; they don't have too many restrictions on food even though they eat light, they can read & write just as well as the rest of us, enjoy music and movies and my 90 year old Aajoba still wakes up at 5am every morning, like clockwork, for his 40 minute daily walk. It's like a virtuous circle; with all their faculties in the pink of health they enjoy life to the hilt, which in turn boosts their fitness levels.

Nikki took to them almost instantly, especially Aaji whom she greeted like a long lost friend before bounding into her lap where she stayed for the rest of their stay, choosing to give me the complete cold shoulder. Aaji took to feeding Nikki all her meals and even insisted on giving her a massage or two which she did with great adeptness. Aajoba would entertain her for long stretches of time, sitting with her in our little balcony and singing silly little ditties that would have her in raptures. I loved watching Nikki with them, feeling so blessed that she could spend so much time with people who were just overflowing with love for her. And it was so amazing to see how effortless they made the whole parenting thing seem; whether it was handling a minor bump or bruise, a feeding related frenzy or sleeping troubles, Aaji just breezed through it all, making it seem like a total cakewalk! She also had this wonderful repertoire of age old games that were a fantastic combination of fun & learning, and that Nikki thoroughly enjoyed.

And yet amongst all these slices of happiness I just couldn't help the occasional morbid thought that flitted in persistently as I watched my grandparents in the twilight of their lives. Was this going to be their last trip to my home? Would this be the last time they saw Nikki? When would they get to see her again? When would I get to see them again?
Thankfully I snapped out of this morose space soon enough to snap back to reality, where I was surrounded by so much love and happiness and decided that I was going to make the most of the here and now. I've also resolved that I'm going to try and ensure that Nikki gets to spend as much time with her great grandparents as possible, so we're going to see a return of at least some bit of that annual summer sojourn.
I've also been extremely trigger happy the past few days, with my digicam constantly appended to my right hand as I click snaps to the galore and make tons of videos to capture all the memories so I can show them to Nikki later or watch them myself a few days down the line, on a lonely winter afternoon when I feel a little bereft thinking of my grandparents thousands of miles away. In fact I think I'm going a little berserk with the picture taking coz Aaji just remarked that in this trip I've seen them more through the lens of the camera than through my own eyes.
So for now, I'm going to set the camera aside and just go and soak in the sun while I watch Aaji & Aajoba play with Nikki, and fawn over her every move even as they reminisce about my own childhood so may years ago and make it sound like it was only yesterday that I was a little girl myself. And as for all those precious moments that remain unshot by the camera, I'll just capture them in my heart.

We're back!

2010-01-04T16:42:00.000+05:30

At long long last! After one whole month of being cruelly cut off from the blogosphere, the powers-that-be at the ones who provide us with our internet connection finally deigned that enough suffering had been bestowed on our hapless household and re-connected us today.

About time too since I was on the brink of completely and totally losing my marbles at this random disconnection of my life line and support system rolled into one. It all started in the first week of December when I logged on in a particularly chirpy mood, my heart singing like a bluebird, a new post on my lips...er fingertips. 'Problem with server' said the screen when I tried to log on. "Pish tosh" said I, blissfully unaware of what lay ahead. "I'll just try again later". 'PROBLEM WITH SERVER' said the screen a trifle more forcefully the next time I logged on, just in case I'd missed the point the first time round.
"What the hell!" I said forcefully and did the first thing any strong woman in her right mind would do in a sticky situation such like.
I called P.
"The internet connection's not working!" I wailed theatrically and then proceeded to tell P how my blog would now die a slow and painful death. "I'll lose all my readers, all 1.5 of them!" I screeched. "DO something!"
"I'll look right into it honey" promised P and promptly forgot all about it. A few days later we figured that our connection had been cut thanks to a little mix up at the service providers end. Namely, they had misplaced the cheque we had handed over by way of payment and had then gotten rather confused because while the register clearly stated that said cheque had been received, the payment hadn't come thru since post receipt the cheque had gotten lost. In their wisdom they promptly went ahead and canceled our connection and then sat back twiddling their thumbs waiting for us to come knocking at their door as they knew we would.

After much deliberation and back and forth and also thanks to the complete absence of any other solution we've had to make the payment all over again thanks to the lousy little buggers (you know what I really want to say) but at least I'm connected again and it feels good SO to be back!

Much has happened in the real world while we were away from the virtual one. My grandparents (Nikki's great grandparents) came visiting and much fun was had by all. After they left we went off to Goa for a holiday and had the most fantabulous time ever! Of course we came back and promptly fell ill, all three of us, but we're all fine now, and it wasn't swine flu, so all's well that ends well! We've also had a rather nice festive season this time round with a lot of quiet time with family and friends and Nikki's first New Year was brought in in style. And 2010 begins on a celebratory note too, since Jan happens to be the month in which I celebrate my birthday and P & I celebrate our wedding anniversary. So here's to many new beginnings and many more good times ahead and on that happy note wish you all a very happy new year and hope you have a fabulous year ahead!

The times, they are a changin!

2009-12-04T16:11:00.001+05:30

A lot of times in the last eight months I've felt strangely disconnected from the outside world. Having taken a break from work post Nikki's arrival, for a variety of reasons AND having relocated to a new city, my life these days pretty much revolves around the home and the hearth. And this has not always been easy, given that it is a big change from my crazy, career obsessed pre-baby life.

Anyhow, the purpose of this rambling prelude, before I lose myself completely in the rambling, is to say that there are a few things in my life that have remained constant and that I turn to once in a way for cheer or comfort. Like some of my favorite blogs. Or books. Or music. Or friends who are always just a phone call away. There I go again. Getting back, there has been another thing that I sometimes turn to, just to get a different perspective. Bad television. Somehow, watching corny Hindi soaps once in a way works as a great stress buster for me, in spite of the glowering P ranting in the corner about the senseless trash people will watch these days. To be more specific there is one soap on Star One that I've been following quite diligently, which means I watch the odd episode once in a couple of weeks and it reassures me that all's well with the world and some things will always be around.

Back when I was working, watching a couple of minutes of this soap was a tried and tested remedy to dispel the blues. It was like a rock steady comfort blanket, if you know what I mean. The storyline hadn't wavered for decades. The actors were like old pals, except for one lead female character whom they kept changing for some reason, but since all she had to do was make gooey eyes at the male lead opposite her it really didn't matter. It had all gotten into a rather comfortable routine. Lead pair fights. Makes up. Fights again. Makes up. An so on and so forth. Even the background drum beat remained comfortingly the same. It was all very peaceful and de-stressing. None of that saas bahu banter, nor the drama of reality shows. Just pure unadulterated drivel that remained consistently the same with characters that went nowhere and did nothing in particular. Apart from fighting and making up of course.

Which is why I wasn't at all prepared for what happened yesterday. It had been a bad day with the maid playing hooky, P working late and Nikki deciding that this was the day to beat the tar out of the sleep fairy. So at 8 pm or thereabouts, in severe need of some comfort viewing and deciding it was time for a dose of Dill Mill Gayye, I turned on the television. True it had been weeks and weeks since I'd last seen it but the thing had been going on without anything remotely resembling change forEVER and I was mentally prepared to watch some of the same old, same old. Only to get totally gobsmacked at what I saw! This couldn't possibly be my DMG! There was none of the same or even the old about this DMG! Everyone and everything had changed! My peace of mind now completely shattered, I quickly called the teenage female cousin who specializes in all things telly related for an update. I had to know what the hell had happened here. Turns out the earlier cast have all being either killed (gasp) or retired (shudder) and a new young and restless cast and crew is in place. The only thing that seems to have remained constant is the lack of a storyline. Not that I care anymore. My reasons for watching the damn thing in the first place have all been wiped out along with the old cast. Goes to show you can't take anything in life for granted anymore. Not even bad television. Sob.

****

Telly obsessed cousin, who bonded instantly with me after aforementioned phone conversation (having given up on me for being one of the geeks of the family earlier) called some time back. The poor girl was shattered with the turn of events in DMG too having fallen madly in love with Dr Armaan, the erstwhile male lead, specialist in gooey eye making. Nobody from the new cast is cute enough apparently. Anyway, she seems to have discovered a new show on the rebound which goes by the name of Mile Jab Hum Tum and has cute young guys and gals who keep fighting and making up all the time. Just the kind of stuff I would've liked in the old days. Except that I'm not taking any risks with any more of these fickle soaps. From now on its the tried and tested DVD re-runs for me, thankyouverymuch. Good ole Remington Steele, Poirot, Sex & the City, Friends & OC! Always there when I need 'em!