Cheater cheater

Edited to add – this post was written in September 2009 and forgotten! Conversations, cheating and insults have grown more complicated in the two years that have gone by since.

So the OA and his brats play a game where they ‘insult’ each other by calling each other animal and bird names.

OA: You… wombat

Brat: You caterpillar

Bean: You elephant (What else?!)

OA: You eel

Brat: You pigeon

Bean: You amanello (She means armadillo)

Brat: You wolf

And so it goes on 45 minutes while I struggle to get some work done, turning around and once in a while throwing in a few insults of my own – You Kangaroo,  or you platypus!

And then suddenly the OA who thinks he is playing with kids and no one is really listening to him, goes: You clam chowder!

Without missing a beat or looking up from my PC I say: You cheat!

The OA collapses under the weight of his conscience and two children who throw themselves on him and beat the crap out of him for cheating. The truth shall prevail

——————

This nugget is from the present.

Cousin J asks generally, What have Dipta bhaiya and Tina didi named the baby?

Maid answers – Drishti. Bangali hai (in an attempt to explain why the name is an unfamiliar one to her)

The Bean pipes up – Bangali nahi, bachcha hai.

I love the clarity of thought kids have

—————–

Reason # 2348 for loving the Brat.

The Brat banging on the toilet door, “Mama, mama? hurry up and come out. I’ve come to hug you and love you.”

You want to what??

Dear father of my children,

I grew up in a home where we all trained in classical music. My grandmothers played the piano. My father and brother were rockers with the best. And so were the men I dated. I married you even though you had none of the credentials. Because I am generous that way.

I really didn’t even imagine you’d have anything to do with the introduction of music to our children. And without really intending to, I have introduced them to a variety of music from Pink Floyd and BB King to Abida Parveen and Illayaraja. Just while I am around the house, not deliberately.

And then you go and introduce them to  this

and this.

And then the three of you bop around the house screaming the lyrics and dancing while I go purple in the face. THIS is what you’re teaching my kids? Even Cousin J introducing them to Rihanna and Eminem was preferable to this.

The divorce papers are in the mail.

Your heartbroken wife,

MM

The wedding in the family

Fine, you little Oliver Twists! Don’t appreciate my garden post. See if I care.

The reason I’ve been AWOL is a family wedding. The OA’s cousin got married and I was surprised to realise that I was old enough to host the baarat. For my home to be a shaadi ghar. The excitement has been building up for months and when it finally arrived I didn’t know what hit me. I am in the midst of many work projects, I have no proper house help (again! so whats new?!) and I have two little children who I had to manage along with their sleep schedules and yet find a way to host so many people and enjoy the wedding.

I found myself getting up 6.30 am to get the OA’s 93 year old grandmother her bed tea and only going to bed after putting to bed assorted relatives who needed either hot water or milk with ghee before they called it a night. Mornings meant stepping over mattresses on the floor, a rush for the toilets, chaos as I sorted out the vegetarians from the non-vegetarians offering either aloo parathas  or bacon and eggs for breakfast. It’s amazing how even adults (in this case people in their 50s) need to be shooed out and bundled into cars so as to not miss ceremonies. I stopped to wonder when I went from the little girl who would scoot down to the bottom of the bed and refuse to get up each morning to the harried hostess. I guess it is time for our generation to step up and take the mantle. We can’t just show up and party – we have to organise it.

There was the usual wedding chaos, trains coming in late, flights missed, ailments, missing gifts, feelings hurt and misunderstandings. Sometimes the room was too small for us as well as certain family members who can’t stand the sight of me and would look like thunderclouds if they saw the OA hug his children or smile at me. But I met so many people who were affectionate, witty  and interesting that I’ve lost my ace card during domestic spats – “What do you know? You don’t have a single decent family member!” And I couldn’t be happier to be proved wrong. Some new friendships have been built, some old dislikes have been cemented, but I’ve seen my husband in his own environment and its a joy I can’t describe. I’m sorry I didn’t witness it before. We’re all such different people when we’re with family.

The kids were in their element. Such an adoring audience to listen to their tall tales and read to them. They did get freaked out at everyone speaking a language they didn’t understand and came to ask me – “Whats happening Mama? I don’t understand what they are saying!” The OA and I missed the beginning of almost every party, exhausted as we were with getting people out of the house, cleaning up the mess, rolling up and stacking away bedding, doing the dishes, getting our own kids ready and finally piling into the car and getting there. I had every intention of going to a parlour (for the first time!) and getting my hair done. Yet I somehow ended up getting there each evening with my freshly shampooed hair hanging lankly around my shoulders, minus the mallipoo I had planned on a low bun.

The Brat surprised us by unerringly hitting the dancefloor each time and actually displaying a left and a right foot. The OA and I had to lift our jaws off the floor. There were a lot of rough edges but it left us both pleasantly surprised. I think I’d done a post on the old blog where I’d mourned the fact that two music lovers like us had ended up with a child with two left feet and the inability to carry a tune even in a basket. I got some flak on that post for being so low  – but hey, the reason you read this blog is because I am honest. And I was nothing but honest when I spoke of how disappointed I was at my son’s lack of inclination towards music. Anyhow. He’s making up for it and how!

I’ve had my share of trouble with the OA’s family but my favourite people are his grandmothers. Having lived to be the age they are, they cut through the crap and get to the point. Warm, gentle, wise, funny and stoic they are everything one admires in that generation. We had long chats, they told me the family history and what they didn’t tell me I read between the lines and understood, getting to know better this husband of mine and the family I married in to. Understanding better the various reactions and sympathising more with certain members. Grateful to be loved by the two old ladies I bent backwards, helping them slip their toes into slippers, tucking the blankets under their chins, warming their hands, and sometimes just soaking up and storing away the feeling of what it is to be a grandchild. Even at 32.

I also feel that kids who don’t grow up with elderly family members around are not very sensitive towards them. For instance my children had no interest in the two older ladies while I walked around feeling like I was privileged to host them  – that their presence in my home would bless it. The children were not rude, but they had little to say to these two frail old ladies who they could barely communicate with. They were too old to run around and too old to read to them. I spent a lot of time just holding their fragile hands and thanking God for giving me another shot at having a grandparent. The OA and I often had to leave parties early because the two old ladies needed to go home and sleep and I don’t think we resented it one bit, so lovely were the two of them.

I think I got my annual dose of joy from the image of the Brat holding his 93 year old great grandmother’s hand and walking her to the car. It was late night, he was sleepy, she was tired and he had no idea of how to moderate his pace to match her old slow footsteps, swinging her into walls and furniture as he walked. And yet, it was such a beautiful sight to see the future hold the past by the hand and lead it home.The present? The present is rather content right now, smiling over a cup of hot chocolate.

More Taurean stubbornness

With the househelp  issues in Gurgaon, the OA and I are doing dishes, washing clothes, sweeping, scrubbing kitchen cabinets and what not. All this along with our dayjobs and child rearing and socialising. And this is not a good time for anyone to idiotically mention what they do in the West because I swear I’ll rip you to pieces and feed you to vultures.

As a result we’re short on patience and time and temper. We’re also having a huge problem now that we live in a  complex and kids keep dropping in to play. Toys are scattered all over the nursery and the house. The Brat and Bean are regular babies who scatter toys around the house, yes, but this is unbelievable. So here is question number one, wise internets – How do I tell other children that they have to put back stuff they pull out? Even though they come with maids, they walk away leaving the nursery looking like a battlefield. Is it rude and unhostessly?

Anyway, so while the Brat and Bean are mostly cooperative in putting their toys away unlike most of our little sahibs and memsahibs who are used to maids cleaning up behind them, there are off days too. This morning the OA and I cleaned up the entire house and came back to flop onto our bed, only to realise it was covered with toys. The OA told the kids to clear up and the Brat who was caught deep in prehistoric times, couldn’t snap out of his time warp and get back to 2010.

He refused to take his stuff away in spite of many warnings and finally the OA swept everything into two little baskets and told them it would go into the dustbin if it wasn’t taken back to the nursery. The Bean grabbed one and but the Brat’s legendary Taurean stubbornness struck and he refused to budge. I was loathe to interfere so I just watched. The Bean who was struggling to carry one, tried to take the other too, but the patient OA snapped too.  No – the Brat must carry his share of stuff, failing which it would go in the dustbin. I don’t really blame the OA. I don’t know any other I-bankers in India who work the hours he works and then come back to housework and childcare and tension. This was a situation waiting to explode.

Two minutes of father and son staring each other down and then the OA took the stuff and dumped it in a dustbin. Higgledy piggledy, Bean’s Dora binoculars and a bunch of little elephant pictures too went in. The Bean crying that it was her stuff. The father firm that it didn’t matter. And the Brat watching with teary eyes but refusing to budge. I tried to reason with him, then drag him after his father to rescue the basket, but he stubbornly curled his fingers into little fists and refused to hold the basket. I gave up. He’s walked out of our room. The toys are in the bin and will stay there until the garbage guy comes tomorrow. I wonder whether he’ll bend and come and rescue them or not…

Amnesia

Last night we went for a wedding reception. It was late and today is a school day but the couple are close friends and I thought it would be fun for the kids because the guest list was small and intimate and the venue beautiful. Things began to go wrong within ten minutes of leaving home but clearly we can’t take a hint. We were stuck in the mother of all jams. The kids began to whine after a while, sitting in the dark and irritating each other. I kept threatening  scolding to throw them out of the door. I’m glad I didn’t have to act upon that threat because the traffic was too heavy for me to even crack open a door.

An hour and a half of being in traffic and the Bean began to say she was feeling pukey. I took her in my lap and rolled down the window for some fresh air. Unlikely that there’d be any fresh air, stuck in the midst of traffic and fumes as we were. And then as we sat there cursing, there was a sound behind us and the Brat threw up all over himself and the car. I took one look at my peacock blue kanjeevaram and mentally kissed it goodbye. The OA pulled over and we hopped out and I begged a bottle of  water off a kind driver somewhere (Salaam driversaab, I’m sorry we left you waterless). We tried to wash him out but he was beyond repair. His shoes, socks, pajama, everything was caked in puke (I don’t think we feed him as much as he expelled). We cleaned him as best as we could only to realise that now he was freezing to death.

So we pulled off his by now sopping wet but still miraculously puke-encrusted pajama and the OA put his waistcoat on him. It went down to his knees and stiffly stuck out a good foot on either side of his shoulders.  The poor child was wet and shivering in the nippy early winter night and the OA and I were this close to smacking him for not warning us. He can talk ad nauseum about blue whales and stingrays, but can’t tell us he’s feeling like vomiting?! At this point he decided to break the ice by pointing out that the moon was blue and moving. Argh.

At this point I had what I like to think of, as my brain wave. The  Bean was in a brand new anarkali crushed kurta and churidar – I took off her churidar and I made him wear it. It just about went up his legs and left him unable to walk. The Bean didn’t object but looked rather sad. And then the OA and I surveyed the situation and laughed. Our son was in a maroon kurta with his sister’s purple and gold churidar, minus his socks, and floating in the OA’s large oversize waistcoat. The Bean was in a pretty purple and red crushed cotton anarkali kurta with a chiffon dupatta, ending in a pair of black skull and cross bone socks and Mary Janes – what? I hadn’t anticipated her having to take her churidar off!

We walked into the wedding looking bedraggled and smelling of puke (what? we couldn’t have bunked it – the couple were too dear to us and we were starving and in no position to drive another 2 hours back home) . The bride and groom were gracious and laughed with us. We figured the kindest thing we could do to them was to stay away from them and not pose for the mandatory picture. Fortunately some kind souls lent us some clothes and we put the Brat into a pair of tracks under his kurta, took off his thermal and wrapped him in my shawl, and returned the Bean’s churidar and her dignity to her.

By the time we were ready to eat, the OA and my sanity was hanging by a thread. The kids had forgotten the ordeal and were running around happily after eating a good meal. The entire evening had got derailed and it was way past their bed time. We finally left, dragging them behind us, back into our car that was stinking of puke. We got some paper from the caterers and cleaned up the floor as best as we could. Then we laid out fresh paper and made them sit down quietly, telling them they were not to move an inch or they’d know the reason why.

We’d barely driven for two minutes when I realised they’d both fallen asleep in the back seat. We haven’t carried a baby bag in 2 years or more and these are the times that I suppose we should have one. On the other hand, it’s good for the kids to rough it out and not take themselves too seriously. I wish I’d had a camera to record the moment we walked into the wedding venue, looking like a bunch of castaways.

The roads were empty, the night RJ was playing some good music and the OA and I were soon smiling and laughing over the kids’ antics. Mimicking them, discussing their temperaments and so on. He often asks me how women go through a second pregnancy and delivery after the discomfort and pain of the first one. So I gently asked him if he was still exhausted and annoyed.  He looked surprised – Of course not. He’d forgotten all about it. And there you have it, I said. That is how it works. Where your children are concerned, it’s so easy to forget the trouble and only focus on the joy they bring. Do you agree?

As to the songs that put us in a good mood (yes, it’s always about the music…)