Mirror mirror on the wall

Thursday Challenge: REFLECTIONS (Mirrors, Windows, Water, Sunglasses,...)



 I love this baby Naisha from when she was not quite two. I love her barely-there-hair and two-teeth smile and the way she's looking right at the camera. She could pose even then!

Mohali ka mahaul

Pic courtesy Google pictures

As India and Pakistan battle it out in Mohali there's a battle raging at home too - the big battle for the remote.

Men in blue vs Chhota Bheem

The Husband came home early today 'to watch the match'. But of course he'd forgotten he'd have to contend with the two young ones. The men in blue were competing with Chhota Bheem. "3 to 4 is our TV time," announced Hrit indignantly when The Husband tried to wrest the remote from him. The Husband was taken aback at this utterly unpatriotic, totally unloyal, completely blasphemous response.

Saam Daam Dand Bhed ...

He tried to get the kids interested. "Let's all watch the match together," said he. “It's great fun. Those men in blue are from India.. that's our team. We are batting and Pakistan is fielding." "But I want to watch Chhota Bheem," persisted Naisha. The Husband yelled out to me. "Hey look they're not letting me watch." Did I ever mention I have three children? Anyway as a rule I never interfere in their petty squabbles. Besides I was totally enjoying The Husband's predicament... heh heh heh.

After ten minutes of coaxing he tried parental authority, "Now I'll really get angry," he said without looking in the least bit threatening. He did, however, manage to take away the remote and tuned in to the National Channel. Strange how kids catch on to these nuances. Hrit just knew he could get away with it and so swiped the remote and it was back to Chhota Bheem.

Finally then he used the bramhastra, "I'll call mama. You'll see what happens, then," he threatened. Anyway the clock had inched its way to four O clock and TV time was up. Time to intervene, I decided. So The Husband settled down and the kids got up for their evening milk.

.. and then this 

The Husband's troubles were not over though. A crow flew down to our balcony. "Arre why has the crow come here," said he. "It never comes, does it?" (He wouldn't know he's hardly home at this hour, and the crow does come.) "It's not a good sign," he prophesied darkly, "we'll lose." And thus did cricket turn my pragmatic, sensible Husband into a superstitious 18th century man. The kids were summoned expressly to shoo away the offending creature.

The Husband sits there now as the fifth wicket falls repeating like a chant, "We'll win. We'll win. Pakistan doesn't have it in it to make more than 180-200."

In other related news ...

I went to the vegetable vendor and saw rather sad-looking vegetable there. Said the lady, "Kya karein didi. Taazi subzi lane ka kya fayada. Do baje ke baad toh koi dikhega nahin adhe din ke liye kya karne ka?"

My sis and mom were thrilled to get half a day off from the premier educational institute where both of them are lecturers.

My neighbour who works with a telecom company also got a half day. He and his colleagues rushed off to the company guest house to watch the match unencumbered by wife and kids.

My oncologist sis-in-law called me on her way back from the hospital chatting while she drove 'because the roads were practically empty'. "The hospital is deserted. Doctors patients have all gone home. My cancer ward is empty too, save for two patients," said she. And the said patients, possibly terminal cases, rather than worrying for their lives were worried about India's chances of defeating Pakistan. They were terribly upset that the ward didn't have a TV set. So sis-in-law 'reserved' two sofas in the hospital lobby for them. At 2.30 they went down, drips and all, to watch the match. The less- serious patients made their way to the cafeteria. "But that's normal," she said, "We even schedule Chemos depending on Indo-Pak match timings."

And there's more. Says she, "I became sensitive to the importance of the game after I saw the passion of a favourite patient of mine." A young boy of 23, he knew he had little time left. He was on morphine to keep away the pain. As an India-Pak contest drew close he requested, "Doctor don't give me too much morphine I don't want to fall asleep during the match."

That's cricket to people in India and that's what an Indo-Pak match is all about.

Edited to add: At the time of posting India looks like it has a fair chance at a win. Fingers crossed... toes crossed too.

Edited to add again: Yay yay yay!!!!!

Happiness math

Saturday happiness is..

1. Kadhi, rice and baingan bharta for lunch.
2. A walk down MG Road on Saturday evening.
3. Colourful shoelaces for my purple shoes.
4. Balloons for the kids.
5. The gaming zone at the mall.
6. New waterbottles.
7. New swimsuits.
8. Dosas and watermelon juice for dinner with Naisha smacking everyone who passed by our table with the balloon and Hrit slurping up the watermelon juice with total relish.

On Sunday...

1. An hour and a half splashing about in the society pool in new swimsuits.

2. Ice candies for dessert.

3. Bracelets of 'leftover' balloons.

...and the downers...

1. Loads and loads of homework (Why why why now, when the session is winding up???)

But that's it.. that's the only one.

8+3-1= 10 happy things make for a very happy weekend. :-)
 
PS: Query from Hrit: Why is watermelon called watermelon? It should be called juicemelon because it is full of juice not water.

Chhapad phad ke...

Pic: Courtesy Google pics

...confusion in life. Some time back I'd written I was off down South as The Husband had found a new job. I won't say I wasn't dreading it but since we got married I've got used to dropping my job, packing up and walking off (not always uncomplainingly, but walking off nonetheless) with him like a loyal wife. Most of the shuttling has, however been between Pune and Bombay. This is how it went.. Bombay-Pune-Bhopal-Pune-Bombay-Pune. The South thing was therefore scary but I was sure I'd settle in over time.

The Husband has duly resigned and just as I was warming up to the idea (I do have lots of friends in Chennai) and convincing the kids it would be a great move (sea, sea, sea) on came more job possibilities.. chhappad phad ke...and now there are three cities other than Pune in the running.

And in the middle of all the possibilities lies my annual trip to Lucknow.. the high point of my summer.

So guys we might be moving but we don't know where. Maybe The Husband will consider auctioning himself off.

A walk in the mountains

Thursday Challenge : "GREEN" (Plants, Cloths, Cars, Toys, Houses,...)




Mukteshwar

 We clicked these pictures during a vacation to Mukteshwar, Nainital last June. That was one of the most peaceful vacations we had.... no crowd, no mandatory horse rides, no boats on the lake, no stress of visiting sunset/sunrise points, nothing... an agendaless vacation.

All we did was read books, chatted, lazed around, ........

Big cousin Varun takes over the hammock

made bouquets of wild flowers and watched the apples growing on trees, ....

The not quite ripe apples

took long walks in the green mountains and when we couldn't walk anymore some of us got free rides....

Hrit gets a ride with big brother

... while the rest of us called for the driver.

No accounting for taste

On our way back from Gir we’d stopped at Rajkot for a day of shopping. While I was busy picking up stuff for the woman population of the family Naisha, round eyed, browsed the Chaniya Cholis.

I have very little to say about Naisha’s taste in clothes. She can be trusted to pick out the most garish, loud, jhingjhang pieces of the lot. So lost was I in those gorgeous bandhanis that I completely forgot to distract her and she set her heart on one frothy creation. Before I could expressly forbid the buy she turned to The Husband who she has safely wrapped around her little finger.

And so we came home with the most dazzling of outfits. I was only grateful for the choice of colour.. predictably pink.. a nice pink I might add.

As Holi approached she remembered… “Mama”, she said cuddling up to me, “you said I could wear Chaniya Cholis for pujas and fastabals (festivals). Holi is a fastabal, isn’ it? So may I wear my new one?” Notice the use of ‘May I’ dear friends. Couple that with the most winning smile and of course the fool proof argument. Did I have a choice?

Come evening and we were off on our ‘Happy Holi’ visits. She was of course beyond happiness. Like always we spent some hours deciding how she should drape the dupatta and she finally decided she’d carry it on her hand.



That's how she decided to carry her dupatta



Gosh these brothers...

...  just won't let one pose in peace!

As we were standing on the road along came a mother, a total stranger, on a two wheeler. She stopped by me and said, “I’ve been looking for a dress like that for my daughter. Where did you get it from?” I was stumped. Unbelievably enough there really are people who appreciate Naisha’s taste in clothes. Had she been older I’d have certainly got a ‘I told you so’ look from her. For now she preened till she popped.

Oh for a peek!

Hey Q .. I need you to design a special gadget for me. This one will be tougher than anything you ever designed for the Bond man. I need one that would let me look inside the heads of my children. Who ever said children were simple and uncomplicated never did have children. Mine are just getting set to be five and already there are times I feel out of depth. I wish I understood them better……….

Pic courtesy Google pics

Bad night!
I started writing this post after a bad night a few days back when Hrit cried at hourly intervals till the wee hours. He was thrashing around restlessly and talking in his sleep but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. All I could make out was Naisha’s name. After he fell asleep I kept wondering…. What is going on in his mind? Is he having nightmares? What is bringing on these nightmares? I wished I knew. Earlier in the evening one of the older kids gave out a ‘ghost’ scare in a dark corner near the building lift. Naisha was incredibly cool about the whole thing but Hrit’s reaction was way too extreme. He panicked. He insisted we collect Naisha and go home immediately. Nothing I said made him feel better and he spent the rest of the evening sitting with me on the bench. I wondered whether that had come back to ‘haunt’ him.

.. and then the Open House
Then we went for their Open House on Saturday and the need for that device has suddenly become much greater. Naisha’s teacher had a revelation for me. Said she, “The other day I drew a sad face and Naisha made a sentence.. “When mama gets sweets of my brother’s choice that’s how I feel.” She went on to suggest that maybe Naisha was getting less than her share of attention. That was my ‘O My God’ moment.

Am I being fair?
Since the kids were born I was paranoid about not distributing my attention equally between them. Being on my own didn’t make it easy .. I hated handing over one child to the maid during meal and sleep times. When they were babies Hrit was the sick one and obviously I spent more time with him. Yet I was very conscious of it and made sure I spent time with Naisha too. As they grew up and Hrit’s wheezing became less frequent things became better. It’s been a long time now since I gave this issue a thought and now this.

To begin with the ‘sweet’ thing is just not true. However I am trying to look beyond the statement.

• Hrit remains to be more clingy of the two and still hangs around me. Naisha on the other hand is more gregarious and is often playing with friends while Hrit is at home. When I go to the market it’s Hrit who wants to tag along while Naisha chooses to stay with her friends. Hey come to think of it… it is I who should be complaining of not getting enough of her attention!
• There ARE a lot of things I do with Naisha only.. crafts, drawing, painting.. Hrit makes an obligatory presence but she’s the one really interested.

So I’m not completely convinced. Yet I do understand that I might lack perspective when it comes to the kids because I’m so deeply involved with them. Certain issues might be more clearly visible to an observant and concerned outsider. I give the teacher’s observation credit. I do realize that…

• Naisha loves being the centre of attention and needs more attention than most kids not just from me but from everyone. She loves being ‘special’.
• Also, I have to admit that Naisha is an easy child to take for granted. If both of them are clamouring for my attention, she is the one to say “okay mama you can listen to Hrit bhai first.” And I accept that. Was that unfair? Yes, now I think so. Maybe she was giving in only for my approval (oh yes she does a lot of things to prove herself a ‘good girl’) but wasn’t really happy doing it. Sigh! Well… no more taking her for granted, ever.

Am I reading too much in a simple incident? Maybe, but it’s better this way.

Q, do you see now how desperately I need that device?

This is just the beginning. It’s going to get worse as they grow older and get better at hiding their thoughts and feelings. How will I figure them out then? Will I know how to help them? Is there really something like a ‘mother’s’ intuition which will come to my rescue? Do I have it at all? You see Mr Q how easy you can make my life if you help me out here?

Meanwhile, in case Mr Q fails me, Hrit Naisha, here’s a request -- Keep us in the loop please. Even though we might seem like antiquated fuddy duddies we will try really hard to understand you. If you feel we’re messing up, losing touch, being unfair .... let us know. Like this time I promise to give your thoughts, feelings and beliefs as much importance as my own.

The pilot and the airhostess and some news

Last Monday the kids had to dress up yet again.. this time as a pilot and an air hostess. And I found out on Friday. I didn’t freak out, which is so unlike me J. (This doesn't mean I didn't crib just that I didn't go crazy with worry)

I thought I’d simply rent the dresses but..

.. they weren’t available. We found just one pilot uniform which was quite tattered. And listen to this.. the rental was Rs 300, deposit Rs 600 plus we had to furnish proof of residence. Gosh.. are we opening a bank account or what???

so I decided to do it on my own.

It turned out to be great fun. It took me three hours at MG Road scouting for white shirts and pants, a red skirt, red shoes, tie, sash and the very complicated cap and shoulder decorations.  I found it all and enjoyed every bit of it.

Had it not been for the kids I’d never have strayed from the broad boulevard of MG Road. As a relative novice to Pune I’d never given the by lanes a thought. But it’s the by lanes that hold the greatest of treasures. I was almost done with the costumes except or Hrit’s pilot cap and the epaulettes, both of which I thought I’d have to make.

However my BIL, a passionate Puneri, came to my rescue. Tucked away between scores of canvas shoes and photo frame shops in Kolsa Gulli off MG Road is this shop that manufactures police and army uniforms. As I was struggling to describe what exactly I wanted the guy behind the counter said, “Shall I give you what I gave the others?” I sighed in relief.. three cheers to proactive mums who make life for late-latif’s like me easy. And so I came home with not just the pilot cap but the eagle insignia, the epaulettes and a host of other pilot decorations.

Here’s how they turned out….

Naisha decided the pose.. so all credit is hers

The salute

.. and she has to do it too

...then they forget to be pilots and airhostesses

I wish I had more time to scout the smaller shops behind MG Road. However I’m short on time because the restless soul that The Husband is, we might be moving again after just a year in Pune. Yes people that’s my news. This time it’s going to be a BIG move… tentatively down South. That’s as much as I’m allowed to give away now. Within a week things will be clearer and the school/house hunt shall begin followed by the maid/cook hunt. Sigh!

Many pictures for 'many'

Thursday Challenge: "MANY" (Candies, Crowd, Paperclips, Coins, Collections,...)

Pigeons at Somnath Temple: The kids couldn't decide whether it was more fun to feed them or chase them

Fishing boats come home: Awesome sight

Masks at a shop in Venice: From the sister. Quite eye catching

On old one: Diyas painted by the kids

Mysterious girl



Pic courtesy Google pics

 .... That’s what you are even now despite our many years of togetherness. Each day I strive to know you better, to understand what drives you, what makes you happy, what upsets you. Each day I wake up wondering whether you’ll make it to our daily rendezvous. Each day brings with it a longing, a dread, an excitement, as I wonder… will she won’t she. You have many faces, but scratch the surface and your heart and soul are the same. You are the same.

There are days you arrive…. in style. You walk in with the ease born of long association, as if your arrival was the most natural thing. You fill my home with warmth and happiness. I settle down with my warm cup of tea and contentedly look on as you take over completely. I am mesmerized as you touch my home with your magic. Life couldn’t be more perfect.

Then there are days when you decide to stay away. As the clock ticks I strain to hear the music of the doorbell announcing your arrival. When I don’t I’m devastated. Yet I know you’re doing it for my good. Like the perfect mentor that you are, you want me to learn to survive without you. This is your way of equipping me for disaster management. As I gear up for the day without you my adrenalin starts pumping, the dread changing into determination. I switch into fifth gear with the pickup of the fastest car. With super speed I strive to fill in the void of your absence yet the hope of seeing you tomorrow never dies. You watch me proudly as I learn to take it all in my stride. Do I complain of your absence? No sir, I don't. I can't.

You coached me in the art of assertiveness. With the finesse of a master you make most unreasonable demands and watch keenly whether I buckle under the pressure. Many a time I failed you, giving in tamely. Yet you watch and wait … you see me metamorphose into a confident woman not afraid to speak up, to say what she felt, to say ‘no’ emphatically. You test me sometimes. You pretend to stomp off in anger only to return with a smile reveling in your protégé’s success.

You are the reason for my perfect fitness – my flawless personal trainer, that miracle coach who trains by not being there. The tyres have disappeared and my skin is glowing since you walked into my life.

You taught me the importance of family. You’re Indian to the core. No Western nuclear family would do for you. Your uncle’s, dad’s, sister’s, fifth son’s youngest daughter is as dear to you as your own son. She’s family. I’ve watched in awe at your large-hearted devotion as you drop even the most important tasks to run to their side at the sign of the slightest trouble. I know it hurts you to stay away from me but they’re family too and I understand. Not for nothing have you spent precious time training me. Each day I pray for their well-being, for peace in your family so there’s peace in mine for without you my family, my life is incomplete.

Pic courtesy Google pics

Today on International Women’s Day I salute you Sumitra Maushi, Sophiya auntie, Shanta bai, Puja didi, Meena tai, … Thank you all for teaching me to be self reliant by not coming in every day, for teaching me to say 'NO' each time you came up with strange requests, for getting me back into shape as I swept and mopped in your absence.

However I have a confession to make -- despite your determined efforts to propel me towards maid-Nirvana my world continues to revolve around you. I still wait to welcome you to my home each day. May this bond never break, may we live happily ever after.

Food for thought

I fear I’m turning into a hardcore vegetarian… it’s the ‘hardcore’ bit that worries me. Before I go on I need to give some history.

We come from a family where our dad’s side is thoroughly non-vegetarian. Our grandfather, it is said, could eat anything that walked. Once he got a duck-like bird that we kept at home. I remember it waddling around our courtyard. It wasn’t meant to be a pet, though. We all knew that. She was biding her time till she made it to our dinner plates. My sister and I grew quite fond of it and one fine day when we came home to find it gone we were terribly depressed. I think our grandfather was the only one who enjoyed his meal that day.

Enter our mother, a hardcore vegetarian. She came from a Jain-like family that shunned onion and garlic. How she must have survived in her new home speaks of an abundance of tolerance and more than a fair share of love for our dad. She agreed to include onion and garlic in her food but she balked at having anything to do with the non-veg part of the kitchen. She wouldn’t cook it, she wouldn’t let us talk about it. Leg piece-breast piece discussions at the dinner table were a complete no no. ‘Her’ food had to be completely insulated from ‘our’ food. More than once she left the dinner table unable to take in the sight of us enjoying our ‘tamsik bhojan’.

Despite her repugnance, the pragmatic mom that she was, she never forbade us from eating any of it. If anything, she encouraged us because she didn’t want us to have to endure what she did. While I was an enthusiastic eater, my sister remained choosy… as we were with food in general. (Which is why I was the plump one while she remained stick thin J)

As a result of the divergent attitudes:

1. I never did develop our grandfather’s passion (even our dad didn’t get there)
2. I grew queasy at butcher shops.
3. But I savoured my biryanis, keemas, kebabs and Rogan joshs. (It seems a little hypocritical in hindsight but that’s the way it was).
4. At parties paneer tikkas rubbed shoulders with chicken tikkas on my plate.
5. I did learn to cook meat after I got married.
6. But I could never bring myself to cut it up.

When Hrit Naisha were born the thought of turning vegetarian first came to me. I still have no explanation why that happened. It began as just a casual reluctance. (And at the back of my mind I was striking one thing off my ‘can eat’ list as an aid to losing some weight). I started off not knowing whether I’ll continue to be one. I was ready to go back to my tikkas and tandooris if I missed them terribly. I never did. Oh I won’t say they never beckoned at all but it wasn’t a huge drive. I’ve been a vegetarian now for over five years.

It has hardly changed anything in my life.. including my weight :-( . I still cook it and I hope the kids eat it till they are old enough to make up their minds. I do not want them to grow up with mental blocks. If they feel strongly about vegetarianism they can become one later on.

However the other day The Husband got some chicken. Like our usual practice it’s his job to wash and clean it after which I take over. For the first time, my stomach turned over at the sight of the raw chicken. The sink had red droplets and scraps of fat. That just made it worse. I have been a non vegetarian so it’s kind of weird to feel this way. In fact some times I’ve cleaned the chicken too, although reluctantly, so this comes as a surprise. I hope it’s a passing phase. I really have no tolerance for intolerance.. mine or anyone elses.

Car to take a look?

Thursday Challenge: "CARS" (New, Old, Sedans, Convertibles, Station Wagons, Sports,...)

Disclaimer: The characters featured in this post have been picked solely for their outward appearance due to a total lack of awareness about other aspects of their personality. Information from enlightened souls will be welcomed.
The pictures were clicked by my esteemed sibling (yet again I delve into her collection) at a small roadside car show during a trip to Paris.
Enjoy!




Isn't she sleek?

 

This one seems to be a winner of some kind of a Louis Vuitton Award



... and this one seems to have lost it's back