Back … and then forth again

• All of you got it wrong. No US trip until my passport is renewed. I should have lived at this address for a year before I can do that and with Baby Button coming here in a couple of months, it makes poor fiscal sense to go after a month or two. So we went to Goa. Goa in the monsoons is my favourite place, actually it’s a close second to Kerala. I love Kerala in the monsoons – did that two years ago. I hate the heat in summer and the sea is too cold for kids in winter – so it’s mostly the rains for us. The rivers and streams and lakes are full, the foliage is lush and green in a way no camera or pantone number can capture.  Steaming cups of tea, an unending supply of seafood, room service, comfortable beds, getting drenched in warm summer rain, swimming in the pool while the rain came down on us, the kids were thrilled beyond words.
• If anyone doubts the increasing fears of obesity, check out a resort in Goa. Huge, and I don’t mean the kind of tyres we whine about and the little dimpled knees we hide. I mean huge men and women appeared out of nowhere and if that were not bad enough, in the most hideous swimwear. They barely fit into their seats, they spilled out of their clothes and they bumped into your in narrower corridors. I wasn’t sure I wanted to constantly buy into the media’s reports on India heading for disaster, but I can’t ignore it any longer. As someone rightly said – why not stop while you are 5 kilos more than you should be. What do you plan to do when you are 50 kilos above what you should be? Surely no one wakes up one morning to realise they have such a large (bad pun) problem on their hands. The one good thing is that I’ve come back thinking that if they can go out in public wearing shorts that are practically splitting, I can jolly well wear them around my apartment complex, something I’ve shied away from for a long time. Oh, and real creepy incident, one day at the pool, a creepy arsehole clicked pictures of me on his mobile phone all the while pretending that he was actually clicking of his son. I was still mustering up the courage to demand that he show me the pics when he left. I give up. Men, many of them really, are absolute jerks.
• I only recently realised that the percentage of Indians who actually travel and explore the country are few. When we went to Sariska and Dharamshala we only met North Indians and a couple of families from Bombay. Here we only saw Gujaratis and Maharashtrians. I know travel is expensive and we did see the odd North Indian family aside from ourselves, but that’s it. Any ideas if it’s just the cost factor involved? Or am I missing something?
• Against personal qualms the Bean has been gifted many bikinis this year. She grabbed them with both hands and insisted on wearing them. I figured I had bigger battles to fight and let it go. The nonstop rain made it hard for clothes to dry so it was really handy to have endless changes.
• The Brat was pulled under by a bigger kid in our complex swimming pool in yet another example of bullying. I yelled, the lifeguard screamed and no harm came, but the Brat was scarred. And there he went in his father’s arms and befriended the force of the sea. There were some scraped knees when the waves spat them back out at the beach, dragging them through rough sand, but on the whole the two of them loved it. The Brat insisted on going into the deep end of the pools too, getting out of his arm bands and practically drowning himself, coming up spluttering and then grinning and going right back. I was proud of him for confronting his fear and conquering it. I keep worrying about him getting bullied and then I see a strength of spirit and purpose that reassures me.
• Travelling with kids makes you see the city differently. The last time the OA and I went there was sans kids and we drove around on a bike in the rain, soaked to the skin and jobless. We were keen on buying a house there and we went with an agent and checked out a lot of old ramshackle places. But one minute you’re attending raves and hanging out at the fleamarkets and sipping beer on Anjuna and Baga, next minute you have kids and don’t think that would be their idea of fun. So I posted on FB and asked friends for food and shopping reccos and feel really silly now because I didn’t use any of them. We stuck to the beach and the pool and it was mostly raining – water water everywhere and not at all suitable for a camera. So not too many pictures but what I do have, are memories. We didn’t shop much either. We built sandcastles, we swam till my flabby arms ached, we wrapped ourselves in fluffy towels and watched the rain come down while we pigged out on fried calamari and prawns. We did something I doubt anyone else plans in Goa – the Brat couldn’t figure out how the calamari he loved ended up looking the way it did on his plate – So WE TOOK THEM TO THE FISH MARKET! It was a terrible idea in white linen pants because I came back splashed and filthy but I think it was the best time he had. The place was smelly as hell and the floor covered in slime and water and filth. But we saw squid, crabs, lobsters, oysters and wait for it – hammerhead sharks! Last I checked they were on an endangered list so I quickly took my phone out and took a picture of it.  I guess the fishermen didn’t realise that they’d pulled it up until much later and it was probably too dead to throw back in. Or maybe, just maybe, no one told them it is endangered. Any ideas on what could be done?
• If you haven’t seen a coastal storm, you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet. The kids and the OA and I took the resort shuttle out to a beach and spread out in the warm sand after being told that the shuttle would be back to collect us in an hour. I with my book on a beach towel. The kids hunting for shells. The OA (OA should stand for over-achiever, not Other Adult) began to build an impossibly complicated sand castle. His excuse being that as a child all he did was muck about in the waves (so where is the problem?)  and now it’s time to build sandcastles. Whatever. But he was annoyingly anal and would’t let me take pictures until he got it done. So I ignored him until two lifeguards came running. A storm was coming. Yes, okay, we nodded, still hazy and sleepy from the warm sun that had shone down on us not two minutes ago. We began to collect our stuff. The storm clouds were on the horizon and surely they’d take their time getting here – not. Within minutes the rain came down heavy and whacking us like bullets. The huge drops pelted the kids in the face and they squealed in shock and pain and turned their faces towards the ground for shelter. What we didn’t know was that the hard drops whack the sand and spray it up and into your eyes. Blinded, we ran helter skelter clutching buckets and towels and hats and bags and books and cameras and phones and babies. The kids were scared and the OA and I worriedly looked around for shelter. We found an old building that I am quite sure was a deserted old bathroom. It was locked so we sat on the staircase, sheltered from the rain for a bit. We got soaked anyway and around us trees bent and swayed and the wind howled, the sea rose up to show us what it is that makes it a force to reckon with. The OA and I dialled the resort frantically for help. The stupid cow at the reception had no idea what shuttle service I was talking about and how to get us picked up.  And in all this the Brat was reading us the riot act. “THIS is why we must never come to a beach. We should have stayed in the pool.” “err.. how were we to know there was a storm coming?” “You’re supposed to know, you’re my parents!” “Right, no arguing that. Except that how can the OA and I, two completely easy going people end up with a son so grouchy!!?  And then we exchanged looks and began to giggle. The more we giggled, the madder the Brat got at us, sitting in my arms and shaking with rage. I think we were laughing in sheer shock. The storm got worse and I prayed for sailors out at sea and the thoughts of a Tsunami began to make their way into my mind. The OA’s too, he admitted later. And all the while the damn resort doing nothing to send our car back. Finally I saw a tractor crawl by with a trailer and convinced the OA that we should find our own way out. And so we flagged him down, bundled up our babies and made a dash for it. I think God healed my knees for those 3 minutes because I ran like the wind in slippery flip flops, carrying the Bean and assorted beach gear. We clambered on after tossing the kids in – the trailer was carrying potted plants and we seated ourselves in the midst of a mini-tropical forest. I half expected colourful birds and poisonous snakes to show up and complete the happy picture. Okay not so happy because my egg-yolk yellow shorts were getting screwed – I was sitting in the slush from the pots with the kids in my arms, the OA futilely trying to hold an umbrella over us that the tractor driver helpfully gave us. I pointed out that we couldn’t get any wetter and then the umbrella turned inside out thanks to the gale and the OA collapsed on the trailer floor shaking with mirth. The Bean shrieked with laughter and the grouchy Brat finally saw the humour in the situation and smothered a grin. The trailer dropped us off the little mud road onto them main road. We thumbed down a private bus who refused to let us get on, filthy and wet as we were. I promised we would stand at the doorway and not sit on his seats or drip all over the bus. He kindly dropped us to our resort. For every bloody blithering nitwit of a receptionist, there are kind souls out there to pick up the load. And oh yeah, the beautiful sandcastle was washed away and we never did get a picture of it.
• Nothing like your kids being in danger to turn you into a tigress. I told the OA I’d be writing the management a strongly worded letter when we got back. But we both realised that it was just an idiot at the telephone who had effed up the plans. It wasn’t the hotel’s fault. And then we checked the OA’s soaked but still functional BB (yayy!) and saw that there were missed calls from the Hotel Manager trying to reach us and get us home safely to compensate for the logistical error. So they’d done what they could. But then I walked into the reception with my filthy, shivering, no-more-scared kids and saw the receptionist sitting there safe and warm and clean and unconcerned behind her desk and something within me snapped. Not a word of apology or a gesture of concern. She just glassed over. The OA who saw the look on my face and knew what was coming moved out of the line of fire while I ripped her a new one. The kids watched in awe. If nothing else, the Brat got a first hand lesson in self defence and how not to let people treat you badly. I’ve been in hospitality and the first thing I learnt was that you never tell a client – I can’t help you because I have no idea how to. The customer is always right, even when they’re bloody wrong. You begin with an – I’m sorry. And you end with a sorry, and if you can’t handle it, you ship out, like I did. Anyway, all’s well that end’s well and the Brat now tells everyone that his parents can’t take care of their kids while the OA and I roll on the floor laughing, remembering his indignation and ire.
• I caught up with someone I didn’t think I would ever see, because Goa was so not on the radar. And meeting this lovely lady pretty much made my trip. You think you read a blog and you know someone, but then you meet them and realise they have the most beautiful curly eyelashes EVER. And that they wear their skin like a Chanel LBD.
• It’s amazing how much people waste at buffets. I never have understood why hotels have them. It also amazes me how people tend to eat at buffets – like they’ve never seen food before. I’m not really on a diet but what I have inherited from my grandmother is her immense self control. So no matter how much I like something, I never eat more than I normally would. Same goes for food I dislike – I still eat the amount I need to fill my belly. I discovered brown rice at the buffet and after a life time of worshiping at the altar of Basmati I’ve decided to change the way we eat at home. I had it two days in a row with a very tasty lauki sabzi ( I hate lauki otherwise) and wondered why the OA was hiding his grin behind his hand. Turns out I was serving myself from the health food counter. He knows I have a huge problem with diets and healthfood (I believe you should try and eat good stuff in moderation everyday – not particularly pick fads) and figured I hadn’t noticed it and was dying under the burden of that knowledge. The day my hand paused mid-air as I noticed the little sign saying ‘health food’, he let the 48 hours of laughter out and laughed till he cried at the look on my face. The Brat too has become quite the gourmet. He’s always been lead by the nose and now it’s quite funny to see the OA, Bean and I sitting on the edge of our chairs while the Brat leans in, takes a whiff and then nods regally – the food has passed muster, and we can dine.
• It’s easy to see what a person will be like as an adult if they’re as crystal clear as the Brat. He is a stickler for eating in a certain way and needs his fork and knife and spoon. And only takes as much as he will eat, no wastage – walking up to the chef with a plate and a very clear ‘A two egg omlette with cheese, no chillies, please.’ He refuses to pig out on dessert no matter how large and tempting the array, picking one small thing if at all, eating neatly and getting up to wash his hands immediately after. The Bean and he tasted so many new things and I was pleased to see them get started on a variety of vegetables and salads I’d never have tried at home. As a friend wryly said, I’m probably the only idiot in the history of vacations to come home thinner than I left. I blame it on amazing salads, plenty of dessert and lots of swimming and walking and running with the kids.
• I realised that the kids have inculcated some of my habits. Every night they’d come to bed after pigging out on the buffet or some restaurant and still want a hot cup of chocolate to lull themselves to sleep. It is no biggie, but I am so happy to see them love milk the way I do. I’ve even convinced them that the malai that forms on cooling milk is fine and they lap it up quite happily. We stayed away from the fancier joints and had King Crab at our favourite Martin’s Corner and a little restaurant called Hotel Vinete that is housed in a 200 year old old heritage building, the flooring made from salvaged ship deck beams. The entrance is a collage of beads and shells and bangles and I loved it. The balconies are beyond tiny and the kids sat in it with a table that was barely the size of a peg table (the only other google mention is a private album with public settings so no linkbacks from me).
• I’m a biker chick at heart. I harassed the OA into hiring a bike on our last day there. We’d been taking cabs everywhere because he was worried about rain. But I told him on the last day that this was it and I was not leaving the hotel on four wheels. The kids freaked out and took turns sitting on the petrol tank. I’d forgotten what a joy it is and  I am seriously considering either getting myself a scooty or talking him into a nice Thunderbird for after office hours. It also restricts shopping because there is only that much you can hang on to when you’re butt is falling off a seat!
• The joys of being fair, the OA is burnt to a crisp. The Brat, Bean and I are merely dark brown from lying on the beach. How that happened through the endless of rain is a mystery to me. But the OA cannot be touched on the shoulder or back, so badly is he burnt. On our return trip people at the airport must have thought less of the tall fit man who strolled in airily while his smaller wife struggled with three pieces of cabin baggage hanging around her neck and on her back. Yes, he was burnt too badly to even sling his laptop on his shoulder. Next time he’ll take my advice as well as Baz Luhrman’s – and wear sunscreen. My skin? Oh, it still looks like shit. Apparently pimples will now be added to my passport as identification marks.
• The kids have learnt to entertain themselves admirably. So while we napped in the afternoons the Brat counted coins, stacked them into towers, played with long strands of bamboo leaf and the Bean piled up cushions and pillows and made castles. No TV, no iPad, nothing. And when they did want something – they unerringly went and woke the OA. I cannot tell you happy I was to sleep till 9am because the OA would get up at 7.30am and take them for a swim and breakfast. I did offer half heartedly but they were having none of it. It was Dada or nothing. Oh joy, oh rapture, oh sleep delicious sleep.
• The Brat once famously told Anamika when she mentioned that she lived in Bombay, ‘Mashi, my dada too lives in Bombay.’ Yes, this is a time when he was travelling alot. So this being the first time they’ve been to Bombay since the mad sibling’s wedding, the OA excitedly pointed out to them that this is where he travels for work all the time. The two sat silently through rain and traffic jams and visits to family members’ homes and then the Bean pronounced, “Okay dada, you come and work here if you want, but I don’t like it. It’s dirty and there are no parks to play in.’ The Brat nodded his assent and added, confirming his true blue Delhiite/small-town-big-house status – ‘And the houses are very small – you can’t cycle or run inside them’ (errr!!) going on to add, ‘but I like Goa and I don’t mind staying there.’ We would all love to live in Goa, darling. We would all love it. Seriously though, have been unbelievably cranky since I got back to Delhi and the everydayness of life.
• So much for technology. The iPad only got used on the last leg of the flight back. I charged and carried the Kindle but still bought err… 6 books more at the airport – flying just got more expensive than ever. For one, buying on Kindle is more expensive. For another, I rarely buy the same author again. I am always browsing and ending up with new names and genres. That is much easier in a bookshop since the internet tends to point you towards more of a similar kind.
• It’s funny how you think the kids will drive you nuts but you don’t want to miss a thing. We had every intention of using the Club Mahindra hobby classes and nanny services, but we didn’t end up sending them to a single one. The OA suggested I go to the spa but I didn’t take up the offer. Everytime we thought of sending them, we’d realise we didn’t really want to. And finally we got back to Delhi and thought we’d send them to their own beds but realised we had got used to them too. And so we sneaked into their room after they’d fallen asleep and brought them to our bed. Yes, we’re idiots and I’m the first to admit it.
• We’re also back home to no maid and an idiot driver, loads of laundry, lots of deadlines and me taking off again on holiday in a few hours. So when the OA watching TV said, ‘Chalo, another disaster averted, I responded excitedly, ‘The agency said they have a maid to send us?! Err… no, said the OA carefully, ‘Greece just got funding.’ Right. Overworked, more specifically overhouseworked is the word you are looking for.
• So tell me what I missed. What have YOU been up to? Yes, you. Everyone of you. Tell me something special that happened to you while I was away soaking up the rain. Go on, fill me in.

You can see the skies darkening and storm clouds moving in on the horizon

The Brat and the Bean tentatively extend their fingers and toes to the sea… and end up being the best of friends

Isn’t it amazing how much colour children bring into our lives?

No other shot could capture the spirit of the Bean – alive and kicking

Examining the catch at Martin’s Corner

The hot pink I favour this season

The OA insisted I set my little fishies free. And I watched with my heart in my mouth

My personal Daniel Craig rising out of the ocean

One of the many sandcastles, built, decorated and offered up to the sea

The hammerhead sharks we saw in the fish market

The mosaic doorway at Hotel Vinete

Me, in the doorway

The Bean swishes across the shell pattern embedded in the floor

The kids in the tiny balcony window at Vinete

Introducing you to my new sunglasses….

.. and incase you missed it, the size of the hat Ma just picked up. It saves pimply photosensitive skin from burning up – not!

Get away, paparazzi!