Stories that exist because mobile phones did not

It was the summer of 1987, I think.  My cousins had come visiting us in Madras (now Chennai) from Coimbatore.  My dad decided to take an impromptu day off from work and take us to the beachtown of Mahabalipuram. The town is famous for its UNESCO world heritage site of stone monuments built in the 7th and 8th century and also a beautiful lighthouse and beach.  My mom had to go to work and was disappointed that she could not join us.  So she left to work and we four kids and my dad left to the city's main bus stand to take the bus to the Mahabalipuram.

We had a blast that day, climbing the stone monuments, up the lighthouse, visiting the beautiful shore temple and then finally the beach.  We were all a couple of shades 'browner' than our usual selves and then the uncomfortable bus ride back in wet clothes.  Perfect day!

As soon as we came home, we could smell something delicious being fried in oil! My mom was home and she was making murukku, a tasty rice and lentil deep fried snack.  And she had tall cold glasses of mango milkshakes waiting for us as well!  What a fitting end to a great day... But wait, why was mom home at 3:30 in the afternoon... She was supposed to be at work.

So when mom went to work that morning and her on-duty manager found out that she was missing out on the family outing, he gave her the day off.  Mom's office was close to the main bus stand and so she rushed over to find us but in vain.  So instead, she went home, relaxed a bit and started making our snacks and milkshakes.

That's what my mom told us... but in my mind I picture the whole scene like it is out of a movie... my mom, in her saree, with her long braided hair and her handbag propped on one shoulder... walking, running around in that sprawling bus stand that was a maze of diesel smoke spewing, horn blaring, idling busses,  her eyes scanning for her family near the ticket counters, shops... looking up to the bus windows to see if we were seated inside.  How happy she must have been when she got the day off and how disappointed she must have been when she could not find us.  We compared times and figured out that my mom came to the bus stand minutes after our bus left.

I have mixed feelings about that day... very sad about my mom not being able to join us in spite of her having the day off.  But we were famished after the hot day out.  If I close my eyes even now and think about that day, I find myself in that G-40 kitchen and I can still taste the crunchy murukku and the cold mango milkshake in the red and yellow 'Yera' glasses.  If my mom had found us in the bus stand that morning, we all would have come back to a home sans murukku and milkshake.... So....

Dead Jokes

My Appa was never afraid of the concept of mortality. In fact, he joked about it all the time. He often played dead with his eyes rolled up and tongue stuck out when we were kids and we would tickle him back to life.  He would be lying on the bed and would suddenly point to the window and say "See! My mother! She is calling out to me to come join her! Shall I go?"  My grandma had been dead since my dad was eighteen and that was his way of making a segue into talking about how strict she was as a mother.  He would use the words ‘kicked the bucket’ when he had to convey someone had passed.

Over the years I saw my Appa lose many of his close friends (most of whom were his co-workers) as well as his relatives and older siblings and take it all in his stride.  He would reminiscence about all the good times he had with the departed one, about all that they had done for him.  A few years ago, he lost one of his older brothers.  On our usual facetime call, he said "I know that he was old and that he lived a good life. But I remember all the times we used to run around and play rough as boys. I just miss him".  He did mention to me once that the only thing he was afraid of was being cremated after death. He was worried that it might be too hot.  "You won’t feel a thing, you’ll be dead" I said. "How do you know?" he countered.

How would I know? After Appa’s passing last year, I started thinking about after-life for the first time.  Where is he now? Is he with his mother? Is she as strict up there as she was on earth? Did he get to meet all his friends and favorite movie stars?  Do American movie stars and Indian movie stars all go to the same place after they pass? How would I know?

I too play the 'tickle me back from the dead' game and joke around with the girls about mortality every now and then and they've always surprised me with very relevant questions - Mom, what's the pin to your bank account? You and Appa have life insurance, right?! More recently, after my oldest turned eighteen, when the topic came up, the girls discussed about how the 18 year old can technically adopt the little one, transfer to a local school and the two of them will continue to live in our house in the event something happened to both us parents! The insurance will help pay off what's left of the mortgage, right?!

Some ten years ago (sorry, if you already were my FB friend when I posted this back then :)), I was humming the song 'If I die young...', when my little one went 'Mom! you CANNOT die young!' I thought she was going to follow with how much she loves me and depends on me but instead she said 'you are already old!' 

Well, I'm older now and that much closer to kicking the bucket!

Ganesh Chathurthi Special

Today is my daughter’s birthday.  Due to a cyclic coincidence that I am yet to learn about, today is also Ganesh Chathurthi, a special day of celebration for the elephant headed Hindu God, Ganesha, the remover of all obstacles; just as it was nineteen years ago on the day my daughter was born.

Every Hindu knows that Kozhakattai (also known as Modhakam - https://www.subbuskitchen.com/thengai-purana-kozhukattai-cocunut/) is Ganesha’s favorite sweet.  It is a sweet rice dumpling filled with coconut cooked in jaggery syrup.  Growing up my mom made this sweet offering and a savory counterpart every year on the God’s special day.  It was a time consuming process – soak, dry and grind the rice, make the filling, make the rice paste, form the kozhukattais and finally steam them. I was not a big fan of coconut and the sweet did not appeal to me much.

When I moved to the United States after my marriage, I still observed the special day but with simple fruit offerings to the God.  But somehow, somewhere my daughter got a taste of kozhakattais and when she was about seven, convinced me that we should make them for Ganesh Chathurthi with promises of helping in the kitchen.

Thankfully, by then, several Indian men and women were posting recipe blogs on the internet and I found a short cut method to make kozhakattais using store bought rice flour.  We made the rice paste and the filling and painstakingly made smalls cups out of the rice paste, placed the filling and finished up the cutest looking teardrop shaped kozhakattais.  Since we were running out of ‘auspicious’ time, I steamed the first batch of nine kozhakattais so that we could offer them to Ganesha on time.  But I made the rookie mistake of adding more than needed water to steam the batch and the nine kozhakattais came out looking a little shattered.  They also stuck to each other.

I am not a stickler for perfection when it comes to how food looks, especially when it comes to food that I make. So I proceeded to plate the kozhukattais and took them to the altar to offer them to Ganesha. WAIT! Screamed my daughter as she rushed into her room.  I wondered what she was up to when she came in with a piece of paper.  She had drawn nine perfect looking tear drop shaped kozhakattais. ‘So that Ganesha will know that this is how they were supposed to look, Amma!’ she says.  A visual aid to go with the misshapen kozhakattais. I’m sure Ganesha appreciated it.

None of us humans needed the visual aid as we stuffed our faces with the kozhakattais – yes, I have a grown up taste for coconut now.

This year, with daughter away at college, Ganesha will be receive healthy fruit offerings again.  I will make and offer kozhakkatis to daughter when she comes home over a weekend.

Perippa and Papaya

Many of my best childhood memories are based in Coimbatore. Riding doubles with cousins on a bicycle, the bright orange pink blossoms of the pomegranate trees, the bell sound on the temple elephant as it came parading down the street, the smell of ‘Adhirasams’ (literally meaning ‘most tasteful’, these were deep-fired patties of rice flour cooked in jaggery syrup) being fried. My father’s older brother (my Perippa) and sister lived on the same street and we visited Coimbatore almost every summer.

I always remember my Perippa  as being  tall, soft-spoken and mostly bald. He used to narrate the same stories from his youth over and over again, which we listened, as kids in awe and then as youngsters in skepticism.  One story stands out – My Perippa was getting ready to run an obstacle race in college. While he was paying attention to the instructions of the race, a co-student was styling his hair and looking around to ensure that the ladies were watching him. When the race started, the other student took the lead with Perippa close behind him.  They leaped across pits and climbed rope ladders and came to a hurdle that was meant to be jumped over.  But the other student, not paying enough attention to the instructions crawled under the hurdle and promptly got stuck. This story was repeated year after year with little embellishments here and there, mostly about the plight of the student stuck under the hurdle, enticing peals of laughter from everyone in the room. 

Perippa was a professor at the Tamil Nadu Agricultural University and rightfully had all 10 green fingers rather than just a green thumb. Every seed, sapling, cutting and root he planted thrived in the awesome Coimbatore weather. The house was surrounded by coconut palms, papaya trees, flowering trees and rose plants.  While neighbours  bought their rose plants from nurseries, planted them in terracotta pots and sprinkled ‘Stanes’ fertilizers to help them bloom, Perippa would simply plant a cutting in an old, washed out Palmolin can and the plant would flourish.  I remember him walking around the garden every morning, tending to the plants and picking flowers in a plastic basket for the daily pooja.  He would painstakingly pack rose and hibiscus cuttings, carefully wrapped in jute sack cloth for me to bring home.

Whenever he visited our home in Chennai, he would inspect our plants and give me tips on how to take care of them. He once pruned an overgrown rose bush in our home, down to just a few stems, much to my despair. But it was a lesson for me in the benefits of pruning when that plant was sprouting leaves in a week and was covered with buds and blossoms in a month.

Perippa is the reason I actually took an interest to watch ‘Vayalum Vazhvum’ (Fields and Life, a program geared towards farmers; He even featured on it once!) on Doordarshan and to read the agriculture section of The Hindu. I loved Botany, drew amazing pictures of  flowers, petals, sepals, pistil and stamen and would have gladly pursued the subject, if it was not accompanied Zoology all the time. I like to think that I got my green thumb from Perippa. I love the feel of soil in my hands and find a lot of pleasure in tending to my odd collection of house plants and yard plants, pruning the overgrowth, nipping dried flower stalks, taking cuttings and propagating new plants.

Perippa was very proud of the dwarf Papaya trees that he grew on the little strip of land on the side of his home that yielded fruit when the tree was just a few feet tall. He would come around with a plateful of cut fruit and try his best to get us kids to taste a piece. We would run away making puking noises. 

Now my grown up taste palette actually takes to Papaya. I remember my Perippa fondly every time I plant a cutting, prune a bush or like I did yesterday, cut into the orange pink flesh of a ripe Papaya.

Iron Man

No. Not referring to Robert Downey Jr.

I do iron a dress pant or kurti ever so often.  But last week I volunteered to iron two 10 feet wide circular table cloths for my daughter's school event.  The one hour literally broke my back and made me think of the iron men in my life.

The first iron man (iron wala or the 'isthri' guy) I knew was Sigaamani.  I remember him and his cart in the RBI quarters campus. There were been countless mornings before school when I would run to his cart with my crumpled white uniform shirt. Sigaamani would sprinkle some water on my shirt and proceed to smooth out the wrinkles.  I would watch as the water sizzled and the wrinkles on my shirt magically disappeared under the weight of the hot coal-filled iron box. I would walk home smelling the steam on my freshly pressed shirt. How he managed to iron garment after garment under the blazing Madras sun day after day, I will never know. Here I was nursing my sore back after just one hour.

When we moved into our new home, our new iron man whose name I don't know had a small hole in wall store at the end of our street.  My dad used to take the crumpled clothes in a bundle and bring them back in neat stacks, becoming very well acquainted with the iron man in the process. At some point we owned our own rust-orange colored iron box that I used to iron only the bottom twelve inches or so of my salwar (why iron the part that was going to be invisible under the kameez!) although a majority of my clothes were still made wrinkle-free by the iron man.

On the the evening of my wedding reception as I stood with my husband meeting and greeting friends and family, an elderly gentleman in a white shirt and dhoti walked towards us with a gift envelope. As he handed over the envelope to me, I was eager to introduce him to my husband but my memory completely failed me. I said to him - "I am sorry but I don't recognize you. Can you please tell me who you are?" He smiled shyly and said 'It's okay' and tried to walk away. But I was not one to let go easily and insisted that he tell me who he was. As he stood around looking trapped, my dad swooped in on the stage, put his arm around the man's shoulder and announced - "This here is my good friend". At that instance I remembered who he was and saw that his eyes were wet.

The last time I was in Chennai, I had the luxury of having my kurtis ironed by our iron man, the same one that my dad's gesture melted.

Mighty School Paati

We called our Grandma, "School Paati". I don't remember how exactly she got this name but I believe my cousins who had two grandmothers decided to call her this because she was a school teacher. She was my maternal grandmother, the only grandparent I knew all my life.
Born on August 2nd, 1927, my grandma was the oldest of eight siblings. She was the smartest kid in school. I've heard stories of her teacher sending someone home asking her to come to class if she ever missed a day of school. When she was all of 16 years old, she was married off to her mother's uncle whose wife had just passed away leaving behind two young children. Overnight, she turned from school girl to wife and mother. The two children, who probably could not come to call their young cousin, 'Amma' - mother called her 'Akka' - older sister,instead, which they did all her life.
For the next eleven years, she was a dutiful wife bearing four children of her own, when at her age of 27, she lost her husband. Left alone to face the world with her kids, she managed to keep afloat with the help of her parents and the complete support of her eldest (step)son, who took up a job. She pursued and completed her S.S.L.C, and with her tailoring skills, landed a teacher's job at a government school. She also did a lot of tailoring for family and friends on the side to supplement her income. She ran a tight ship and watched her children grow, excel in studies and the arts, land jobs, get married and settle down in life. She retired from her teaching career when I was about 12.
School Paati loved to read and listen to Carnatic music. She would read 'The Hindu' cover to cover and was on top on everyday happenings. She would make time to go to music concerts and had a pocket transistor glued to her ear when she could not. She spent hours everyday doing various Poojas and reciting Slokas from memory. With the advent of cable TV, she watched multiple serials,cooking shows, news and religious channels often toggling between two channels and watching two shows at the same time. When she could no longer sit for long at live concerts, she started to look for concerts and recitals that had live webcasts and watched them at home on the computer. She most recently learnt to listen to streaming music on the iPad. She was ever curious, eager to adapt to new ways even while religiously following traditions.
I've always envied her memory power. She remembered names of companies where her grandchildren worked, of her children's and grand children's co-workers, friends, in-laws and neighbors, of television actors and actresses, of singers, the songs they performed and the Raagas of those songs. I've listened to her recite, when she was in her sixties,  'The Inchcape Rock" by Robert Southey, a poem that she memorized in third grade. She was constantly thinking and planning for the future, be it dinner plans for the night, a distant cousin's wedding over the weekend or a grandchild's visit the next month. Her brain was for ever processing 'what if' situations, most of which resulted in 'I told you so's.
School Paati took all that life had thrown at her in her stride and showed life who was boss. She was 87 when she passed away last Sunday, sitting up on the sofa, having dressed up and eaten her lunch all by herself, just as she had wished for. If at half her age, I have a tenth of her courage, determination, resilience, curiosity and her most admired memory, I will consider myself gifted,
Rest in Peace, School Paati.

Neighbor Good

Growing up, we lived next to some really nice folks. But the one family that we lived next to the longest during my childhood was the M akka family.  We were in G40 and they in G39 on the second floor. You might have as well called us G3940... the doors to both our homes were perpetually open.  I don't ever recall knocking on their door or ringing the door bell to get into their home. They were over at our place to watch the ever famous Oliyum OLiyum on Friday nights. We had a TV then and they did not.  And then we went over to watch the same program when they bought a color TV and ours was just a B&W. We bought our dining tables from the same store, ours a dull brown four seater and theirs an awesome pink six seater.  How I wished ours was pink.  But that did not matter...  I've eaten more than one meal on that pink table. In fact, my brother and I had our own plates in their house.  Anytime, vegetable biriyani and kurma was on the menu, we were on their uninvited guest list.
I was always in awe of the two sisters, their luscious long hair in thick oiled braids and their excellent collection of sarees.  The two had a calendar between them where they charted who will wear what saree to which function. My earliest memory is that of N akka dressing me up to play the witch in the 'Sleeping Beauty' school play.  I was in UKG and my mom just back from the hospital with my new baby brother.  N akka  draped me in her black half saree and crafted a conical hat out of black chart paper; I was one good looking witch.  When M akka got married and went to Singapore and then to the US, I thought she would have forgotten me.  But I was in the hospital for a surgery and she sent out a 'Get Well' card.  I did not even know such a thing existed! Later that year, she sent me a musical birthday card.  I was in greeting card heaven for a long time. G anna was always looked upon with a little bit of fear. But there was this day when he came out to help me and my brother fly a kite. It was the day after N akka got married. We had loads of fun and I was no longer afraid of him!

Mama is very soft spoken as much as he is articulate.  I've had innumerable English essay writing lessons from Mama. I recently found out that his father was a teacher and that Kalaignar Karunanidhi was one of his students. Teaching definitely runs in the family!
Mami - we always called her M akka mami.  Still do. She is the star of the family. An all rounder - dutiful house wife, loving mom and aunty, friendly neighbour, Hindi class teacher, excellent tailor, baker... the list goes on.  I took many years of Hindi tuition from her.  After school, I would quietly slip into her kitchen for some awesome snacks (warm gooey carrot halwa tops the list) before I joined the other kids for the class. She helped me write a speech in Hindi for a competition at school.  What's interesting is that I used the same speech to win third place when I was in 9th grade and first place in 10th grade! I baked my first cake with her for her grandson's first birthday.  I vividly remember one day - I must have been 11 or 12,  Mami and I were walking back home and we passed an older lady carrying heavy bags in either hand. Mami did not hesitate to offer to carry the bags for that lady. 'I am going very far' said that lady. 'No problem', said Mami, 'I will carry them as far as my home'.  This incident left me with an indelible lesson - If you can, help. I try living up to that.
We are still in touch...N akka still looks like a akka, even in the pictures of her son's wedding. M akka sends me holiday cards, Mama sends out emails of family pictures and happenings, Mami continues to teach innumerable students and make awesome halwa (I had some the last time I visited them in 2011 and I know I owe them a phone call) and G anna became friends with me on Facebook last week.
Recently, I met my backyard neighbor at a school event - 'Hi! Stranger!' she greeted me.
Growing up, our neighbors were no strangers to us.

Bed Time Sale

Ever since summer vacation started, I have been, as every parent is during the first week, at least, very keen on limiting the girls' TV and computer time and finding alternate activities to keep them occupied. Two days ago, as I settled down for some 'My' TV time after dinner, my little one came running to me, the 'Boring' monster close at her heels.  I commissioned her to do a drawing and she immediately asked - Will you buy it from me? I agreed.

She was busy at it for almost an hour and as I was getting ready for bed, she came to me with a pencil drawing of three bouquets of flowers and went - Here, buy this from me.  It costs three hugs and three kisses!  I was pleasantly surprised.  This one is very money smart and is always looking for ways to fill up her piggy bank.  So, at the price she was quoting, the drawing was a bargain! I paid up immediately.  As an after thought, I even paid her an advance of three more hugs and kisses to get the drawing colored for me.  It will be delivered in 24 hours, I was promised. That was fine with me. 

And then she goes - You owe me three more hugs and kisses. 
What for? I ask.
Taxes, of course! - she announces.
I have never been happier to pay my taxes!

And since the colored drawing was not delivered as promised, I got a 'refund' last night.

Second Family

Today is my last day at my current work place. The following people are second family to me. I’ve been and grown at this place for four years and 8 months and it is only fair that I write , if not in stone, somewhere more permanent, about how I feel about them...

The boss is one of the most capable all rounders I have ever met in my life. A total people person. Always in control of what is happening around him. How he manages his whole day in an office full of chattering ladies…I don’t know! The kind of flexibility and freedom that he gave me at this job…I know I will never get anywhere else. Wishing you a journey to great heights.

The smallest person in the office has the largest personality. Conspicuous by absence and presence! Speaks her mind…An open book…one look at her in the morning and you know what her mood is going to be for the rest of the day. A fashionista who is so much in touch with her inner girl. A hard worker who knows how to have fun. Her best quality, I think, is her ability to laugh at herself. Wishing you the ability to buy a BMW in the future.

Call her by one name and look up her email by another! This person, according to me, is the Rock in the office. Cool, calm and composed…always. A smile on her face…always. I’ve overheard many of her phone conversations and have admired the way she handles the stickiest of situations without raising her voice. I’ve never known a more content person in my life. Wishing you good luck in your house hunt.

The baby of the office is only a year old. Smiles when happy… pouts when sad… just like a baby… But a perfect example of ‘Don’t judge the book by the cover’! The sweet and innocent looks belie a smart and thoughtful person. Speaks her mind too… no wonder they get along so well! Love the way her accent changes when talking to the client. I hope her inner child never grows up. Wishing you world travels and whatever that is you are fasting for.

Will miss you guys like crazy…

Chennai welcomes you...

It hits you as soon you get off the plane... the heat that the A/c desperately tries to cool down. A sweet looking lady with a smile, big red bindi and a chandan dash stamps our passports as Suprabhatham plays mildly on a player on her counter.
As we walk out the airport, we see happy familiar faces. My nose picks up sweat, sandalwood, urine and jasmine all at the same time. My older one giggles at a paid public toilet remembering a comical scene from a Tamil movie we recently watched. Little one is thrilled to ride in the front seat with Thatha.
I point out the dilapidated building which was the RTO where i got my learning license. We pass the IIT campus where I spent two glorious years of my life and the street down which a good friend lived. My eyes search for the building that used to be the Adyar NIIT center. My dad asks, 'do you remember this temple?' Of course, that's where we did the pooja for my kinetic honda. i see bus stops where i've spent countless hours waiting for 47s, 29s and 5s. New stores and construction take the places of old familiar spots. Ramprasad Hotel is now Zon...something multi cuisine. Rukmini bakery is still there! My home...Happy Home... the jasmine creeper, the new car, the clothes lines on the balcony. my room... posters of Anil Kumble and fido dido replaced with my daughters' pictures.
As i sip a cup of amma's filter coffee, appa brings back Sambhar Vadai from Rambhavan. Now the welcome is complete...

Fever

I thought I was immune to it. I was wrong. I mean, I had not caught it for more than ten years now...since i moved to USA. Back in India, I used to fall prey to it frequently, missing many a school, college and work days. My mom used to go crazy when my dad, my brother and I all caught it at the same time. She was immune to it. Still is. It won't touch her.
This time, it was obvious from many friends' status updates that they had caught it early on. Phone calls to home and cousins in India made it clear that it was already rampant there. You couldn't catch it over the internet or phone...could you?
But then, co-workers started showing symptoms too. Well, how much damage could they do? After all, I only work part-time.
I am pretty sure I caught it from my brother and his wife who came home on a weekend visit. I knew the minute they stepped into the house that they both had a full blown case of it. It was waking up my brother in the middle on the night. Hubby had apparently tried to mask his symptoms all this while.
But by mid-week of spring break, even I could not keep it under wraps. I had the fever - the cricket fever! All symptoms came back flaring right on time for the India - Pakistan show down and the finals. My daughters were annoyed that mom and dad were hogging the computer and the TV. They were dumb struck at their parents high fiving and dancing around in circles in the family room. They can't believe that we watch highlights after highlights after highlights of the same matches.
It's been an awesome feeling catching the cricket fever all over again. Guess this time around, what with the IPL and all, it is going to last a while. I just hope it lasts long enough for my daughters to catch it too...

TV vs. Books

i know research says watching TV is not so good for growing children's brains. But I am a tv and movie fanatic and will watch anything that has even a remote story line - although movie songs, crime drama, avatar (for now) are my favorites. I used to fake sickness and bunk saturday half day school so that i could watch the regional film that DD used to telecast on those mornings and i didn't even understand the language! I used to refuse to go out with my mother on Friday evenings in order to catch the ever famous 'Oliyum Oliyum'. My mom used to say, "if only someone invented a small tv that can be worn around the neck, i would get her one!"
And mangoes don't fall far from the tree. my daughters crave their tv and movie time. We watched tonnes of movies (thanks to redbox) over the summer and became iCarly and Avatar fans. iCarly was subsequently banned as my younger daughter picked up a lot of objectionable language and attitude from that show.

But coming to the subject, of late, i've been thinking how watching tv is so much better than reading books - especially from a mom's point of view.

TV comes to your home. Books have to brought home from the library in heavy bags.

The TV sits in one place. you never have to go looking for it(hunting for the remote, however, is a different issue). Books seem to get all over the place and you can never find it when you are in the mood to read.

The tv shows actually have healthy ad breaks, during which time, the kids can use the bathroom and do small chores around the house. It is very hard to get them to put a book down once they are into it.

And you can eat and watch tv at the same time. Although i've perfected the art of eating and reading a book at the same time, my kids have a long way to go. There are books in our house whose pages are stained yellow with turmeric.

When they watch a tv show, 90% of the time, i am watching with them too. So I can go stand in front of the tv when there is any smooching on and help protect my babies' innocence. But I can't control what they are reading. It is becoming increasingly difficult for me to read all the books that my daughters bring from the library before letting them read.

And watching TV counts as quality family time. you can laugh, cry, be scared and embarrassed as a family. how can four people read the same book at the same time?

And finally, until they invent a remote for our kids, we can indirectly control them using the tv remote! and which mom does not want that!

the joys of lullaby singing...

I get my love for singing from my parents. My dad had a grand collection of MGR and Sivaji songs along with Osibisa and Boney M. on cassette tape that he used to make us listen and he would sing along. We also listened to 'Ungal Viruppam' on the radio every morning. Oliyum Oliyum on Fridays and later Chitrahaar and Superhit Muqabula used to be our most favorite shows on DD. My mom had her own favorite songs from when she was younger and would hum those songs every now and then although she was generally disappointed with the practice of film songs blaring in the morning instead of 'Subrabhatham'. With this kind of influence, I had numerous film songs committed to memory that helped me win many rounds of anthankshari.
When my first one was born, I put all my singing talent to use. I sang her to sleep every single time. I got bored with 'Rock a bye baby' and 'Hush little baby' very soon and looked up my vast film song database for baby soothing songs. I ended up with 'Thenpaandi Cheemaiyile' (Nayagan), 'Kanne Kalaimaane' (Moondram Pirai) and 'So Gaya Yeh Jahaan' (Tezaab). My little one took a great liking to these songs and I used the same songs for my second one too.
It has been almost four years since i sang my girls to sleep when last week, one night, out of the blue, my little one asked me - 'Amma, can you sing me to sleep?' The girls and me were reading in my room, as do every night for about fifteen minutes before they go to their rooms. I was thrilled and I started with 'So Gaya'. As i finished that song, my older one, who i thought was reading and not paying attention said, 'Can you sing the 'Kanne Kalaimaane' song?' I did and with great pleasure, noticed her tapping her hand to the beat of the song. Before the song was done, my little one was fast asleep. I would like to think it was my singing.... not the fact that she was super tired from a 40 minute swimming lesson earlier that evening that lulled her to sleep.

A long way

I've come a long way from the girl that I was to the young woman that I have become.
I've come a long way......

from the girl that chose to go to evening college and to work the afternoon shift at her job just so she could sleep in late,
to the mom whose day begins at 6:15 (at least that's when the alarm is set to ring). By 7:30, my older one is shouted and yelled at and is out of the house with breakfast in her tummy and lunch in her backpack. Hubby also leaves around the same time. If all goes well, I will have managed to pick a fight with him by then. Then a quick yoga routine and then round two of S & Y to get the second one off to school. By 9:00, I try to be at work.

from the girl that used to bunk Saturday half-day school to watch the regional film on DD and took off from work to watch a whole day of cartoon network
to the mom who tries to keep her daughters' evenings and weekends busy so that they do not become couch potatoes. I splurge on games and toys so that the girls are not lured to TV by boredom. I take them to the library, park, on bike rides and walks. Whatever TV they watch, I drop everything else and watch with them. I can proudly say that I've watched all the episodes of Avatar - The Last Airbender.

from the girl that had only Maggie and tea on her recipe list and that used to laugh at women who wrote in ideas for quick and easy eats to 'Mangayar Malar'
to the mom that scours magazines and websites for recipes. I cook my own versions of Chinese, Thai, Italian and Mexican so that my kids will eat without a fuss. The fact that hubby prefers 'Rasam Saadam' over everything else is ignored and often mocked at. I am thrilled that my 'Mullangi Sambhar' and 'Paav Baaji' are the world's best as certified by my girls.

from the girl that used to depend on her mom for food, on her dad for drop offs and pick ups, on her maid for clean laundry to the woman that cooks, cleans and manages a household of four and a part-time job and that drives around so much that she feels at home in her van (the van storage houses water, snacks, pens, pencils, notepad, cell phone charger, hair brush and accessories among other things)...I've indeed come a long way.

Last week an older co-worker asks me - 'How old are your kids?' I tell him.
'Wow', he says, 'You have a long way to go.'

Hand me (ups and) downs

There are certain advantages of being the first born, despite the fact that your parents literally experiment with you, on their way to becoming better parents. Almost everthing you get is new.

My older daughter is constantly reaping her benefits of being the first born. All clothes, accessories, toys, crib, storller, bedding, bicycles one, two and three were and are all brand new. Being the first born in the family and among our close group of friends, she gets absolutely no hand me downs. Where as, my second one gets tons of them, not only from her sister but from an older cousin and friends. She is actually excited when she gets them! Before she gets into an outfit, she always asks - now remind me again... whose shirt was this?! - and fondly remembers the person who gave it to her.

I am first born too. I had new clothes, new toys, new bicycle (new tvs champ and Kinetic Honda). It wasn't untill I was in ninth grade or so that my mom realsied that my cousin, a year older than me, who lived in Coimbatore, had the same books for school as I did. Her books looked brand new; even the ones that she had bought from her seniors! I was actually thrilled to use those second hand books. They had notes all over in my cousin's perfect pearl like handwriting. Apart from the books, I never had to use anything that someone else didn't need but was still in good condition.

The other morning, as my daughter was getting ready for school, I pulled out a new pair of mary jane shoes that I had bought during last year's sale. 'Wear these with your skirt. They'll look nice' I said. She tried them on. Both of us were disappointed when they did not fit her. As I stood staring at her feet wondering how fast they had grown, she said 'Well, now you can have them!'

Boys will be boys and men too

Met up with some friends after a long time...(made some new ones too!).
They all wondered at how my girls had grown up. Some said I looked the same (Yay! I think...). But I was amazed at how they were still the same and at how much they had changed at the same time...

I knew them as boys. Now I see them as husbands and dads. I see the boys lazing around in chairs. I see the husband quickly getting up and moving into the next room to hold a quiet conversation with the wife. I see the boys joking and pulling each other's legs. I see the dad bragging about his kid's ability to recognize 'brown' or worrying about his child being cranky after missing nap time. I used to see them with back packs, long engineering tools sticking out from them. Now I see them with heavy SLRs and sleek iphones. They are hardly the boys I knew. They haven't changed a bit.

The three hour meet-up was so worth the 300 minute drive.

We're almost there...

Just before a train ride to downtown Chicago, i gave the usual warning to my girls - Use the bathroom now if you need to. In spite of this, my six year old, about 15 minutes through the ride, announced that she had to go NOW. I gave her the look and then decided that was not going to work, because we had at least another hour to go before we arrived at the station. So i tried to distract her - Do you want to play with the phone? We're almost there. Why don't you try to sing that song that your music teacher taught you, in your mind and see if you remember the whole song? Let's play red pinch - you pinch me every time you see a red car! We're almost there.

Finally the station did arrive. We raced to the bathroom only to find a loooong line outside. We're almost there, just march in place - I told her. I also asked if she quickly wanted to run into the men's room (surprise surprise - no line there) while i waited outside. 'No way' - she said. About five minutes later, she finally found relief!

This morning on my way to work, i notice the 'fuel empty' light on the dash board. I've been driving around with that light on for the last three days. I know there is a gas station at the next signal...now if I can only let my car know - We're almost there...

What goes around....

In my first year of college, my parents got me a TVS 50. My mom actually accompanied me to the RTO office in Guindy and tried to get me a learner's licence without bribing anyone.(that didn't work; my dad had to pay someone to get me that and later the drivers' licence.) But once I started riding it around, she got very concerned. She used to sit on the stairs on our house and wait for me to get back home safe every time i took that TVS 50 out. I was outraged by her concern for me. It felt like she did not trust me enough to get back home in one piece. 'Don't wait on the stairs for me' - I used to yell at her.

Last Wednesday, I let both my daughters get on eight wheelers each and into a place with no lanes, no signals, no age restrictions, no traffic police except for 20 year olds also on eight wheelers asking others to keep moving. As I was sitting on the bench at the roller skating center, i had only about 43 mini heart attacks each time one of mine lunged forward or when someone else came too close to them. The girls survived with minor bruises to their bottoms and egos - nothing that won't heal before next Wednesday - and are already looking forward to their next time. My little one wants me to don skates and take her hand in the rink. 'No way' - I say - 'I am not getting on anything with wheels unless it also has a seat!' I'll probably never learn to skate... but i have to learn to let go, as my mother did, so they can soar without being weighted down by my concern.

Margo Memories

Hubby returned from Chennai yesterday and brought back, among a lot of other things, a dozen Margo soap bars. He left for work at 7:00 this morning and I lazed into the bathroom at 8:00 after throwing a shout at the girls to get up. That's when i smelled the Margo soap and was immediately transported to my grand mother's bathroom!! No no... not time travel. Scientific research suggests that the sense of smell is the strongest memory trigger. My grandma always used Margo (until a few year ago, when she changed loyalty to Dove as per her doctor's advice). And today I could vividly recall the bathroom in my grandma's Vallaba Agraharam home in Triplicane. It had a rickety wooden door with water eating away the bottom. On the left inside corner, there was a rusted but working hand pump, a metal bucket and a palstic mug. And there was that clean smell of Margo.
My grandma rented a portion on the first floor of the home. You would climb the staircase to a veranda. On the right, the veranda led to a long narrow balcony. And on the left there was a hallway that led to our portion. On either side of the hallway, there was a bedroom and a kitchen that was rented by another family.
The hallway opened to another small veranda that housed the hot water boiler. The kitchen and one room were on the right. A left turn at the end would bring you to the bathroom and the toilet. Over all a dark place, but the one room had a skylight!
My cousins and me have spent countless summer days in this home - playing 'kola kolaya mundhirika' and 'oru kodam thanni' in the veranda...taking off dry clothes hung on the terrace, guarding 'vattal and vadams' laid out to dry. In the evenings, my uncle would take buckets of water up to the terrace and splash water all around to cool the sun baked terra cota tiled floor.
The best part would be when all the kids would sit around an adult in front of a big plate full of 'Thayir saadam' - curd rice and a cup of 'vatha kuzhambu'. The adult would place a ball of rice in each of our hands, we would make a small well in it with our thumbs and that would be filled with the 'vatha kuzhambu' and that ball would travel into our mouths. After dinner, we would carry sheets and pillows up to the terrace and sleep on the cool floor, trying a get a spot as close to the skylight as possible to look down at nothing through the opaque glass.
Hubby brought back, not just Margo soap, but all these fond memories... Thanks!

Yes, No, Maybe

I never lie to my kids. At least, not blatantly. Definitely not when I know I will get caught. I use this technique I learned from my uncle who was and is wise beyond his years. Never say 'Yes' or 'No' to anything. Always say 'Maybe'... that way you are never lying.
'Amma, are we going to the beach this weekend?' 'Maybe.'
'Amma, can we have pizza for dinner?' 'Maybe.'
I did not always use 'Maybe'. I improvised.
'Amma, can I have my friends over for a play date?' 'I'll think about it.'

This worked for some time. But then I heard my 6 year old explaining to the 2 year old - 'Oh! when she says 'maybe', it means 'no'!' I realized that I can't continue with this. It was around the same time that I realized that my older one had invented a technique of her own.
'Are you done getting dressed?' - 'Almost'
'Are you done with your homework?' - 'Almost'
She might have just pulled the homework out of her backpack, she might be half way through it and very rarely she might actually be almost done with it. But the answer is always - Almost.
Did you like your lunch? - I think so.
Did you do well on your test? - kind of.

I am trying to be more honest with them nowadays. They are growing up, they can handle the raw truth. If I am too tired to take them to the movies, that is what they will hear. I've asked my older one to give me 'yes' or 'no' answers. Let's see....

I drop her at school.... it 23 degrees.....
'Kanna, please wear your hat during recess...' I shout as she walks away from the car.
'Whatever' - she mumbles.