I’m back… for now

Yes, I’ve been AWOL too long. For one, I gave the kids my study table and have begun to use the escritoire I got in the truckload of stuff from my parents last year. I can’t use a desktop on it and so have begun to use a laptop. I find that damn uncomfortable and it gives me a back ache so I finish office work and log off. I also re-uphosltered the office chair with a bit of Fabindia fabric I had lying at home. It isn’t very cheerful, but its calming and I am happy with the way it turned out.

There is a certain joy in knowing that three generations before you sat at this very desk - minus the laptop of course.

I’ve been away for a wedding where the Bean was a flower girl and the Brat a page boy. A cousin got married and I love her and was thrilled to be there. It went off beautifully and the groom is a great guy. The kids looked lovely and I sadly took no pictures because I was too busy with various duties around the wedding and didn’t really carry a camera. I also managed to drop my dad’s camera a number of times and not even notice that I’d lost it.

This is one of the first few family weddings where I mostly wore cottons and wooden jewellery. It turned out pretty well and the colours I chose – hot pink and tangerine were a nice spot of brightness and different from the usual silks. We needed a spot of brightness because the Bean got a bad attack of asthma a couple of days before we left. So we cancelled the train tickets, much to the kids’ disappointment and booked flight tickets. I was still a little unhappy because she was on the nebuliser 5 times a day and I couldn’t see how we’d manage that in the chaos of a wedding. But we did. The Brat has an eye allergy and needs drops a couple of times in the day. But come hell or high waters, I was attending the wedding even if I had to hire an ambulance. Most of the times I had a wheezing Bean in my arms because the humidity hit her and the weather there always gives the kids a bad cough. So she’d run around like mad and then come back for a dose of TLC.

I really had hoped the kids would sit still because they’ve not been inside a church in at least 2-3 years and have no idea how you’re meant to maintain silence there. But they behaved perfectly well (except for the once that the Brat pretended he was poking his eyes out and the couple of times he stood up and called out to me that he needed a Styracosaurus and a Diplodocus for his collection) and did me a lot of credit. At one point the Brat lay down in the lap of the father of the bride and went to sleep. The Bean came to me quietly when her sash opened up. I thought she wanted to stay with me but she got it re-tied and dutifully went back to sit with the rest of the wedding party. The day we left so many folks came up to me and said a special bye bye to her. She’d walked around and befriended them and told them stories *shudder* and built her own relationships with absolute strangers.  The quiet little Brat too had made some friends. And the funny part is that I didn’t know most of them.

It was great fun catching up with the cousins and I am rather sorry that the paternal grandparents kept me and my parents at bay for all the years before this. I could have spent so much more time with the family that side. I cannot get over the sense of loss of time and I sorrowfully watch my kids take the same cycle. Someday they will be free of us and their grandparents and will be able to meet their cousins outside of the family and have an independent relationship with them, free of prejudice and politics. I just hope it is a little sooner than 30 years from now.

We landed in Madras and the Brat looked out of the car window and began counting coconut trees. “I want to live in a place with coconut trees, mama,” said he and I grinned. A kid born and brought up in the northern plains feels the tug of coconut trees. Must be his roots calling!

It was a busy visit from the word go. Moving from venue to venue, organising, decorating the church, checking out the grounds, organising the games, everyone had something to do and in between all this I had to find a quiet spot, plug the Bean up and give her a shot of life.

The OA who arrived a day later came covered in huge red blotches and suffered in silence until we got him an injection the next morning. By evening he was covered in the rash again. It’s funny and sad because he’s one of those who takes pride in the fact that he is rudely healthy and as a result has no compassion, time or patience for those who do. I remember him looking at the Bean in utter shock when she was diagnosed with eczema – What? his daughter suffering from a namby pamby allergy type of thing? What was an allergy either way and why did people make such a fuss about it? So I was torn between worry and going nyah nyah nyah. We found a really cool doctor though, who gave him the shot, allergy medication and then said – Here for a wedding? Medicine and alcohol don’t mix well, so I’d say skip the medicine and go for the alcohol!

We also met an unbelievable number of cranky people this time. Old men at medical stores who took 35 minutes to bill us and yelled at the OA for not having exact change of Rs 371 ready. All while the OA stumbled through in broken Tamil and tried to smile.

I saw a lot of good too. We stayed at the YWCA and one morning while feeding the ducks a blind lady asked me to help her cross the road. I walked her across the beautiful complex and at the gate was caught by the famed, rude Madras autowalas. Except that this time they were not ripping me off. They wanted to help her as they regularly did. But I said I’d take her across since I’d got her this far and to my amusement, they didn’t trust me with her and followed me until I took her across the busy road, deposited her at a bus stop and settled her against the railing there. When I returned, a grizzly old auto driver stuck out his hand – “Good job madam. Which country?”  I took off my sunglasses and hat and glared at him and replied in Tamil -”Very much this country only.” I think they heard my accent and concluded that I was bullshitting them.  But this wasn’t the first. I got asked atleast 10 times in 4 days, where I was from. I’ve often got that in Delhi too, but never at this rate and intensity – usually just once every quarter.

The Brat and Bean on the other hand have watched endless cartoons dubbed in Tamil and the Bean has told G’pa that she wants to learn to speak Tamil from him. He nodded absently and speaking it pretty poorly himself, proceeded to forgot all about it. He was too busy feeling thrilled about the fact that he is looking rather young and fit these days. If he’d not balded so early he’d have been one of the best looking G’pas around. With ma gone to the brother’s place, I was running around taking care of him. Twice he got asked if I was his wife. Each time I was horrified. Do I look that old in a saree?! To which each person hastened to reply that its very common in those parts for older men to have younger wives and what with the custom of uncles marrying nieces, the resemblance is also there. I refused to accept that quick excuse and was damn put out. One lady tried to make up for it by quickly saying that I don’t look old enough to be a mother. Eh? Excuse me? I look old enough to be my father’s wife but not old enough to be mother to a  6 and 4 year old? Let it go, Lady, you’re only shoving your foot further into your mouth. Another said they knew my mother and I am the spitting image of her. Yes, I am, but I’m about 20 years younger, you know! yeah yeah, laugh it up you lot.

This trip I saw the change the years have wrought in my father. He calls it a night early and takes the kids home, letting the OA and I hit the pubs at night with the other cousins instead of being the life of the party, singing, playing the guitar and burning up the dance floor. It hit me when I walked into his room and saw three beds, his grandchildren, his blind mother on one and even the fulltime nurse who stays with her. I really missed my mother in that moment. He shouldn’t have had to do that alone and I said I would take the kids back to my room. But the kids clung to him and he shooed us out and that is how he spent  his 4 days. Putting the Bean on her nebuliser when I was helping with the arrangements, taking his blind mother by the hand to her meals and feeding her, taking the kids to watch the ducks and for walks in the compound, and trying to give me and the OA a break. He is going to be 60 this year and he is the sandwich generation, taking care of his 84 year old mother and 4 year old grand daughter in the same breath, without batting an eyelid. It’s a life lesson right there and there will be more related to this coming up in some days. It opened my eyes, made me rethink some things and really appreciate him for the person he is. And maybe aspire to be more like him and give more to family.

Wine. I wanted to organise some wine for a party and I was told you can only get it from a bootlegger or a five star. Excuse me? What is the deal?! The bleddy thekas have men falling out of them at any time of the day and there is no wine to be had for love or money? Can anyone tell me what the logic behind this is?

And the trip had Beanisms galore. I was screaming at her each time she went to the fish pond – Don’t do that, don’t bend so low, you’ll fall in and drown.

To which she finally replied – And I’ll die and then you’ll have to pray to God for a new baby and say “God, give me another chance. I promise to take better care of this one.”

Yes, total wtf moment.

 

 

The compulsiveness instead of the impulsiveness – 18.05.2006

THURSDAY, MAY 18, 2006

The compulsiveness instead of the impulsiveness

Ok, so I don’t really have any devoted readers hanging upon my every word yet, but I still feel the need to update my blog once in a while. A bit of compulsion – not the impulsive need to put down something about a burning issue!
I would have written about poor Budhia running 65 kilometres before he collapsed – particularly because as a new mommy I feel a lost more strongly about little children than I ever did before – but seeing the amount of media space he got, I realised I was adding to the frenzy. So where is poor Budhia now? While Sabrina Lall and the medical students can keep their cause alive, who will fight for little Budhia? And after all the hullabaloo, he doesn’t even get his Limca Book mention.
I could of course add my two paise worth on reservations and quotas but there is little left to say when all has been said. Besides, who is listening? It is also rather ironic that the existing quotas are not fully utilised and that the very same SCs and OBCs for whom the quotas are being granted, are dying in hospitals while doctors go on strike to protest it.
So then let me talk about something that no one else cares about yet means the world to me. I lost my grandmother 5 days ago. She had Alzheimer’s and was suffering, but saying she is in a better place is such a cliche and really doesn’t fill the void. And it was while we were sitting around her body and grieving that my aunt mentioned in an embarassed way that it was Mother’s Day. My mother broke down further but I got up and kissed her anyway, and my cousins hugged and wished my aunt. And then suddenly everyone kissed and wished me and I realised I was the youngest and newest mommy on the block. Yes, we had lost one mommy and were all grieving, but the circle of life goes on and I was part of the continuity. In all the hugging and kissing, my little one year old toddled up to me and aping the rest of the family, gave a sloppy little kiss. I know my grandmother was smiling down on her little great grandson for consoling her favourite grandchild. May her soul rest in peace.

 

A very Merry X’mas was had

… a couple of days ago when Tambi aka THE Mad Sibling was in India for a quick short visit. And of course the parents and cousins came rushing to my place to spend those 1.5 days with him. But it just came and went so fast that as I told my mother – I don’t feel sated. It’s like a meal ending midway.

He was here barely two months ago and the kids are now old enough to remember him. Which is why the Bean went running into his arms with a scream of happiness. And the Brat just walked up to him, climbed into his lap with his Dino book and began to talk as though continuing a conversation.

We spent the entire time just chatting, eating Christmas cake, drinking, and playing guitar and singing carols. We also put up our Christmas tree and wait for it… distributed our gifts too! Yes, we’ve already done X’mas. At this rate we should be celebrating New Year’s today. It made great sense to do it that way since he was here with his suitcase bulging with gifts, we were here waiting with armloads of gifts for Baby Button. Besides, every family has a noisy person (moi!) and a person who keeps the family together (Tambi). And with both under the same roof, its always a good time to celebrate. So what difference does it make if its not the 25th of December, huh? Who got the memo from God saying Jesus was born on that day?

In keeping with tradition we put gifts for Baby Button under the tree (anyone remember my X’mas post when I was expecting the Bean?). A pleasant evening was spent with my dad wearing Ma’s red fleece and an orange woollen cap, distributing the gifts. The Brat and Bean were supposed to be Santa’s helpers but the Brat after opening his first gift, a book on animals (what else?!) climbed into the pappassan behind G’pa and began to read. When Santa offered him his next gift he replied distractedly, Thank you, but you can give it to Bean.

We did what I often complain about – set up the laptop and skyped my SIL far away in the US. And let her join in the chaos, putting on our new clothes and modelling for her. I took great pleasure in showing off my new black knee length boots with two inch heels – gift from the OA, thank you very much! And yes, the knee is healing so I’m strutting around in heels once in a while. I got the OA the most awesome bomber jacket that the family is making fun of as being too shiny. Me? I think they’re jealous that he’s hot and they’re not. The poor man keeps pointing at his grey hair and asking me if I don’t think he is too old for it. And oh – the horrible brother says it reminds him of the scene where Chandler and Joey get friendship bracelets and Chandler is too decent to tell Joey what he really feels about it.

The next afternoon was a big poori-subzi picnic lunch out in our complex lawns. I miss the old house where we merely walked out with our plates and sat in the balcony. Here it was a project – collect rugs, picnic basket, food, water, napkins, beer concealed in tea flasks… We lay around in the sun soaking up the warmth while the babies ran around exploring. Here’s the Bean with a ladybug she found in the grass.

Here’s the tree going up.. Nani, G’pa and the Bean.

The Bean methodically hangs everything she can lay her hands on, on the very same branch until the tree almost tips over. Then proceeds to sulk as we move things around to balance it out.

Then takes a stuffed snowman to her little reading nook under the staircase and reads to it, much to our amusement. Clearly we were no longer worth mixing with.

Grandfather and granddaughter fell asleep on the couch while the rest of us chatted.

G’pa singing to us from the balcony….

Some glimpses of the X’mas feeling..

And thank you those of you who sent me special gifts for my tree. You know who you are….

Christmas is all about spreading the joy and so the Jagannath from my tree (thank you Art!) and a little bauble that says Baby’s First Christmas, have been packed away carefully in Tambi’s suitcase. They go to share some Christmas love on his tree as they prepare to become a little family.

In other news, the Bean has been sitting in Nani’s lap and learning to knit – Baby Button, when you wear the sweater, know that your sister knitted a line of rubbish for you. Wear it in good health and with pride.

More trouble than they are worth

Nani and the TV wars continue. The Brat and Bean want the TV just when she wants to watch the news or the Commonwealth Games. They argue. The Brat decides to switch off the TV. The Bean goes one step further – “Dovey,” she calls out to her brother..”Just pull out the wire from the back…”

Yeah okay. Let’s all play with wires and electrocute ourselves, shall we?

——————

G’pa has taken the car to the garage and the mechanic has it up on the hydraulic lift. All my life the brother and I have gone with my dad. My mum usually goes under the car to ensure that a decent job has been done and that is nothing new to the Mad Sibling or me. Garages are second home. Even though I don’t drive I am able to have a conversation with you on what that rattling sound in the engine might be. And so it’s of great importance to me that the babies also learn to be comfortable around the car since their father only drops and picks up the car without ever checking if all promised has been delivered.

And so it was that G’pa was at the garage with the Brat who wanted to go along for a ride. And while grandpa talked, the Brat wandered around with a bit of string that he was calling a snake. All was going well until a mechanic shouted and an ashen Brat came tearing back to G’pa and buried his face in his stomach. Apparently he’d pulled the lever on the hydraulic lift and the mechanic found that the car he was working on, shot up and out of his reach. Had the Brat turned it the other way the car would have come crashing down. Of course thanks to the wheels it would still not have touched the mechanic, but it shaved a few years off the mechanic’s as well as my dad’s life.

The Brat got a mouthful from everyone of course and went ashen – I doubt he’ll ever touch anything in a workshop again. But I just had to store this away for future reference. Maybe his wedding toast. What say?

—————

And finally, I present to you, Cousin K being beaten to death. The Brat suggested it and smartly suggested that the Bean take the first shot. The Bean, being the Bean, went at him with all the fury of a little tornado, swirling arms and fists. The Brat jumped in once she incapacitated Cousin K who went down in a fit of giggles. That just got them madder. How dare he not take them seriously. The more they thrashed the more he laughed helplessly. Last heard, they were inviting G’pa to  dive off the bed and land on Cousin K’s 50 kilo frame. Serves him right –  I believe he started it by teasing them.

The advantage of becoming a grandfather

-slash-granduncle, at 40, is that you get to indulge your grandchildren and let them soundly thrash you without worrying about breaking a couple of bones.

Chhota nana – we’re missing you…