Votes please

Yes, I know the elections are nearing but I am not running a Jago Re kind of campaign here (though I do believe we need better representatives).

My friend, Anna, commented that my daughter looks all grown-up in her Annual Day pics. Maybe, she sms-ed, it's time for another. Soon there was a follow-up sms: 'Not Annual Day, but baby.' I texted back saying I totally agreed but Abhi's answering everything nowadays with the stock answer: 'Recession.' Anna suggested I use my blog to bring him to see sense.

So here I am appealing to all my dear readers to support my drive (pun may be intended) for a baby.

Oops!!

A few posts earlier, I had written about helping a retired doc from the Andamans pen his memoirs. Was wrong on a couple of counts: for one, he isn't a doc (but his son, daughter and son-in-law are; close enough, right?); secondly, he was based in the Lakshadweep. Yeah, that's an island, too... so maybe I wasn't that far off the mark. ;)

He's 76 and quite a hale-n-hearty person: he has already written, and I mean hand-written, 165 pages!! Some feat, I think... Though I am a journo, which can be interpreted loosely as a writer, I think it would be more appropriate to call me a 'key-iner' considering my preferred mode of 'writing'.

Annual Day!!

Annual Day... to think that was such a big deal for me a few years back! Well, not quite a few, it's closer to 14 years!! Well, Saturday (March 14) was my daughter's first Annual Day. Her playschool, Jungle Book, had set up an elaborate event at the BTH Sarovaram.

Since she had been ill the past week, I had kept her from school though she had a part in one of the sing-along programmes (where she was to dress up as a flower). But she kept practising her songs at home (on me, my neighbours and on her father when he was desperate for some shut-eye). And I was surprised that she performed well on stage, singing not just her numbers but those of her friends as well.

But her heart was in the dances (Desi Girl and Bounce); though she couldn't dance on stage, she more than made up for it by dancing along in the audience.

Here are some pics of the show:

Writing for patience

Is patience one of my virtues? Let's just say I am learning the art (marriage and mommyhood have helped immensely)...

A friend rang me the other day and wanted to know if I could help his friend's father pen his memoirs. The 'protagonist' in question, he said, is 76, a doctor, with adventurous stories of his service years in the Andamans. "He sounds like a nice person," said my friend. "And I thought of you 'cos you would lend him a patient ear." Now, whatever gave him that idea.

After a lot of hemming and hawing, I've said 'yes' to the project. Yes, it could give me a lot of insight into how different medical practice, and life in general, was over 50 years ago and, as I have learned from my father, old people have a remarkable way of 'anecdotising' their lives, which always seems immensely more enjoyable and exotic than our everyday tales.

I just hope I am able to be 'the patient ear' my friend intended. My dad, who tells interesting stories of his first rubber chappal, first watch and the time he walked from Alappuzha to Ernakulam, would say I have a long way to go. But you have to forgive me for tuning out of his stories at times: he may be recounting it to a visitor but hey, I have been hearing them for the the past 31 years!!

Last year, I told my dad to write down all his childhood tales (which involve a lot of girl-chasing, drinking bouts and general roguish behaviour among the good times like winning basketball championships). he hasn't gotten down to it yet but maybe once I'm done with this project, and with my enhanced reserves of patience, I'll help him do it. Just hold me to my word, guys. 

Aww moments

Ever since we've had Ditu, the 'Aww' moments in my life have simply shot up. Earlier it was confined to mushy moments in SRK movies, stray pups and the occasional baby in a pram. Now much of what she says and does makes me go 'aww' even if I am not saying it out loud, even if I am yelling at her, even if it seems really silly. Yeah, I know all parents think their kids are super-great but well, some of her antics are totally aww-inducing. Honest!!

Anyways, the other day, we were discussing a proposal for my sister, whom Ditu affectionately calls Kunjhanjha. Ditu was lying peacefully in our laps, hearing us discuss the merits (and so far, few demerits) of J's profile.

Suddenly she pops up and asks, "Kunjhanjha J-ne kalyanam kazhikkumo?" Now, Malayalam is quite a difficult tongue with words having different meanings in different contexts, and sentences implying more than they mean. Her question translates to "Will Kunjhanjha marry J?". 

When we replied, "Maybe," she asked: "Enikkentha J-ne kalyanam kazhikkan pattathe?" (Why can't I marry J?)

We didn't have to ponder over an answer.

She had her own ready: "It's because my teeth are not strong enough," she said. 

You see, 'kazhikku' also means 'to eat'... And she thought 'kalyanam' (marriage) was something to be eaten (with another person).

If strong teeth were all you needed!!

Secret sorrows

I really admire those who can put up their entire life online... I mean, granted you can be anonymous for as long as you please, but secrets have a way of outing, don't they? Me, I can put much of life out there... maybe more than the average person but even I cannot bare my soul entirely; you know, open that last secret safe door in your heart that nobody has ever entered, and where you don't go too much either. Sharing joys, ups and downs and even a couple of secrets is okay with me, but what goes on in the deepest recess of my mind belongs only to me. In a conversation with Abhi today, I found myself inexplicably tearing up over some imagined slight that tugged at deep-rooted hurts. Abhi was aghast; he had no idea why I was upset (this wasn't the usual 'clueless men' thing; we were just chatting on mundane things). But some of it is impossible to tell, or even articulate. Especially when you are so out of touch with yourself that even you are not quite sure what lies beneath.

It's the time to disco

After months of planning, arranging husbands' schedules and travel plans and arranging for babysitters aka grandparents, we finally made it to Glow. We were told it's the most happening lounge bar-disco in Cochin, and your social life was worth peanuts if we hadn't seen the place.

With a social life that's more active in our imagination than in real life, we girls decided we just had to see this place. What's the point of living in Cochin otherwise? It's like living in Tvm and not having seen the zoo!! It might not be a particularly pleasant/enriching experience but it's kinda mandatory. And believe me, Glow came with all the right recommendations--from the lounge manager who had left the rocking Tandav at Le Meridien to take charge here to 20-something friends who had come visiting from Bangalore and given the place the thumbs-up. So off we went, dragging reluctant husbands along and tucking even-more-reluctant (to stay home) kids into bed! We had visions of quaffing glasses and glasses of bright-hued cocktails, gyrating to earsplitting, hip music until 3 am and generally behaving like reckless teens with not a care in this world. Never mind that once we got there, we checked our mobile phones every ten minutes or so, expecting emergency calls from home about babies with colic, toddlers with fever and generally-unruly bigger 'uns. If the kids behaved well, we thought, we could get down to some dirty dancing.

The lounge was so-so (2 stars for ambience, 4 for interesting names for cocktails... would you like to get your hands on Pink Pussy or Silk Panties?); I would go for Loungevity anyday. All our eyes and hearts were on the clock, awaiting the witching hour... this time, 11pm, when the the doors to the dance floor would be flung open.

Too much hype and too many expectations dashing to the floor... that would perhaps best describe the music in there. There were only a few foot-tapping numbers that you actually wanted to dance to, and I can list them here: Hips Don't Lie, Gasolina, Singh is Kingg, Desi Girl and a couple more that I don't care to remember. And the place shut shop at a few minutes to 1 am, when the DJ was just getting into his groove!! The hotel people mentioned something about complaining residents in the neighbourhood and the like...

Should we have just gone to Tandav (where the only neighbours are the waves in the backwaters) that night? We had discussed that option after getting out of the lounge bar, before the disco opened. Would we have rocked our way into the lightening dawn? With our luck?? Unlikely.

N.B. Am gonna check my 'clubbing compatibility' on tarot.com before I venture out into the night again. Incidentally, you can check your compatibility with almost anything in the world, from your spouse to your baby to your sibling to your pet on that site. Lay out the deck, please. ;)

Awards galore

For an award nite, it was pretty understated. None of the jhatak-matak dance routines you usually get to (or hope to) see onstage. But of course it was the Times of India Awards for Excellence in Business. Pretty heavy-duty, eh? The ambience on the green lawns of the Ramada near Aroor, Cochin, was wow; so were the yummy aromas floating in from the barbeque...

(Before I forget, the Ramada is a beautiful resort and the pool looks especially inviting. The walkway reminded me of the Bentota Beach Hotel in Sri Lanka.)

The crowd was elite, in parts. But my ogle-stylish-clothes meter was seriously not ticking. Why, oh why, do rich Malayali women think wearing heavily sequinned, flourescent saris translates into good taste?

Do you think there's a market for personal stylists in Cochin?

Malaika???

Do we love Malaika or do we hate her?? Yeah, the one and only Malaika Arora Khan... Perhaps she's the Indian equivalent of the blonde--all curves, no brains. Am I jealous? A teensy bit... Wish I could retain my pre-mommyhood figure just as effortlessly. But did she do it effortlessly? Nah, I think... but she had all the time in the world to look after that particular hourglass (it's part of her job description, after all). Me, I have to squeeze in my dance classes in between bringing out a newspaper supplement and sundry edit jobs, and believe me, the day I decide I'm going back to dance class, I have a morning interview/other assignment that puts paid to my curvy ambitions.

Another model-wife I was really amazed to see on the ramp was Waluscha Robinson: her weight loss took some doing; a whole 22kg! Wow!!

Back to Malaika; she's on the cover of Good Housekeeping, and seems to have dropped the Khan from her name. Proofing error, trial separation or elaborate PR arrangement (remember her last fiasco?)... only time will tell.

My former employer's son named his first daughter Malaika, which is apparently Swahili for 'angel'. The Malayalam word for 'angel' is 'maalakha'. What was that about the continental drift?

P.S. Oh, the continental drift theory reminded me of a joke. I have a very good friend who specialises in dirty jokes. Let's just call him S here, for the sake of brevity (I'm sure he'll have no problems being 'outed'). His theory goes like this: Before the continents drifted apart, Brazil was right next to India, specifically Kerala. Both the places have the same kind of tropical climate, you see. But when the continents began drifiting apart, the Brazilians left all their clothes on this continent. Which explains why the Brazilians wear next to nothing and the Indians (he especially meant Keralite women) wear the sari and a host of other things underneath. 

Back to childhood

My parents are back from a month-long vacation in Pune, visiting my sister. They got here at four in the morning. I was up and had made tea for them, and was generally being woman of the house but the moment they stepped in, something changed. Perhaps it's my perspective: once my parents are here, somehow, sometimes the child in me inevitably peeps through. It starts by my automatically assuming that my Ma will take on my burdens: in this case, feeding Ditu (a laborious three-hour task divided into three acts during the day). Never mind that my parents had just got in after a 36-hour journey.

Usually, I would even hand over the kitchen as well, including preparing the menu. That, I skipped 'cos I have a maid-in-residence who had been briefed extensively the night before. (The maid is a whole other story that I will put down in another post.) 

The contractor doing my new apartment's interior work is presenting the plans today, and guess who's coming with me: my dad!! Of course , I can do it without him... And we'll probably never agree on the design anyway (I'm all for contemporary lines while he half-lives in the past). Yet, it somehow seems important that he sees it.

My mobile phone company's innovations mean that we can talk endlessly on our cell phones (closed group or some such thing) for a nominal 99 bucks a month. So we end up chatting on every little dustball spotted, Ditu's little spills and thrills, maid woes and a whole lot of 'relative' banter, which adds up to more than seven phone calls a day. And some of those calls can go on up to 20 minutes or so! Just thinking of it gives me earache... but this whole month (when their phones were on roaming), it was pure torture not calling them up the moment my maid upped and quit without a notice, when Ditu said something particularly funny and when I had 'in-law' trouble. On second thoughts, maybe I wouldn't have told them about the last even if they were here; it might be just easier for me to forget the whole thing than to erase 'how bad my daughter must have felt' ideas from their minds.

And now, though I'm running tight on an impossible deadline, I feel calm and collected. Mom hai na!

P.S. Thank you, Anna, for pushing me to post. Love u