Off tomorrow

We are leaving tomorrow for our week-long trip. This is just a quick post to wish everyone a very happy Christmas and a merry new year....arrey, yeh toh ulta ho gaya...but you know what I mean so just have it!!

***

Toys R Us

Us being -

• All remote controls in the house, to be located and put in mouth in the only unsupervised moment when Mama is in the process of sitting down and adjusting cushions on the couch
• Mama's toes, specially with nails freshly painted in the hue reminiscent for some reason of vampire movies
• Teether, never more than 15 seconds though
• The fabric-care instruction label sticking out of a pillow, to be grabbed while proceeding to suck thumb, added advantage of making Mama feel like a bad mother because after all if I suck my thumb it is because she neglects me, right??? MWAHAHAHAHHAHAH
• All newspapers and magazines, wonderful crunchy noise emanates while crumpling into ball, insist on TODAY's paper and the latest magazine for maximum fun
• Hair. Mama's. Pull. Hard. Fun!
• Spectacles. Whoever's. Knock off. Blind as bats. Fun, fun!
• Laptop. Lunge for keyboard. Press random keys. Hope to create password that locks said machine and can never be accessed again. SSSSSssssmokin'!
• Tees. Mama's. Pull down. Regularly. Imminent danger of being disrobed in public looms large. Gee, whiz (kid), me!

Girl with a haircut

I love getting my hair cut. It makes me feel like a new person. For a couple of days or till my next shampoo, whichever comes earlier, I feel so polished, so well put-together, so...ahem...stylish. My hair is of the unruly, bushy and voluminous variety so I know even as I am leaving the salon that it will never look the same when I try to style it at home (read wash, towel-dry and comb). But for the time that it lasts, it is a great boost for me to suddenly catch sight of my reflection in the mirror, an event that hardly takes place these days, and for a split second think, "Whoa there, nice hair!"

Anyway, so I landed at Hakim's Aalim yesterday. To put context to the situation, I had gone there about a couple of months back when my hairfall situation was at its peak, in order to get rid of the rather long locks that were blocking drains quite regularly. I have to admit that I am reasonably tongue-tied when it comes to discussing the cut with the stylist. "Whatever you think will look good" is normally the extent of my contribution. After that, it is the stylist's funeral. At that time, the stylist in question had decided that I needed a Victoria Beckham cut. Go right ahead, said I. Vicky and I are quits. She is the size that will fit into one pocket of my jeans. I have a suspicion that her brains won't require more than one toe-nail though. Anyway, so the stylist got to work and forty-five minutes later I had a haircut that looked nice, though evidently the Posh look had not really surfaced. I tipped the man generously and left a happy customer.

That lasted for about two and a half days. Soon after, the hair started assuming a life of its own and very soon there was less posh and more bush on my head.

And that is why only a couple of months later I was at their doorstep again, asking to be retouched.

Now Hakim's Aalim is the sort of upmarket salon frequented by loads of celebs and filmstars and its quite common for one to see a Saif Ali Khan (drool) or a Sanjay Dutt walk in while your hair is parted into six segments and twisted to be held up by pink curlers. Not the most appetising look to sport while bumping into said hunks but one learns to live with one's limitations.

Yesterday's stylist was a new guy who hadn't had a chance to get at my hair earlier. (Actually my regular girl has quit the place and gone off - FARAH, IF YOU ARE READING THIS, PLEASE COME BACK, CONDITION OF HAIR SERIOUS!!) so I keep hopping between stylists now. Anyway, so I explained to him that I had limited time in which to pamper myself thus because of the small baby at home and all that. The poor guy was not quite done with his earlier customer when I landed so he was feeling quite rushed. But he tried to do his best.

He: So, what should we do with your hair?
Me: (Explaining problem)...so it puffs up from the back...and its short from here...and it looks so dry...blah blah.
He: (Having lost all interest)...right, right, we will see what we can do.
Me: (Suddenly worried)...hey, do you want to consult a senior or someone?
He: No, no, not at all. I can manage.
Me: (suddenly catching sight of Kkjhfkj Kkjshf, earlier spelt as Tusshar Kapoor entering the saloon)...okay, then, lets get to it.

Five minutes later, I was still trying to figure out if Tusshar Kapoor looks worse in real life or not (I had taken off my glasses) when the stylist asked another person to blow-dry my hair. Wait a second, we're done? Already?

Me: Huh? We're done?
He: Yes, yes (looks worriedly outside as next client has arrived and is waiting, next client is also a gora causing worry to increase multifold)
Me: But dude, this looks just the same!
He: Does it? No, see, I cut it shorter from here (picks up random lock from head).
Me: (Panicking) BUT IT LOOKS JUST THE SAME.
He: (distractedly brandishing scissors)Oh, do you want something a little more dramatic, a little more drastic?
Me: (Really scared now) No, no, please don't start randomly cutting my hair. I wanted it to look nicer, not drastic or different. Please let us just it be.

He: Okay, let us blow dry it nicely and then see how it looks.

Me: But the idea is to make it look good at home, not here. I want the style to be good, not the blowdrying!

He: (looking confused as this thought has clearly never struck him in the past) So what should we do?

After that I figured that my best bet would be to take a hurt and dignified stance and get the hell out of there. To be fair to the guy, he did ask me if I could come back later and we could then consult a senior. No way, said I while making an exit, that we should have done earlier. I don't think I could have taken another such stressful session. (Also, it is such A TASK to take an appointment, then fix Adi's food in time, give him a bath and eveything and even then spend all my time at the saloon worrying if all is well at home.)

That evening when (as always) Mahesh did not notice that I had had a haircut, I did not scream at him. I do look..well...just the same.

Santa's coming to town

...though how he is planning to negotiate the potholed?, nay, CRATERED roads of Bandra is beyond me. Hill Road is a mess. My favourite florist's shop is now on the other side of a wide chasm. We can now only stare wistfully at each other across this unbridgable gap - I at his lovely lilies, he at my wallet.

All these flaws notwithstanding, Bandra is still the place to be in during the festival season, it is as if the streets around here know that it is x'mas time and don their party dresses. I am very chuffed by all this. So much so that I told my catholic friend I that I would like to attend mass on Christamas eve at one of the beautiful churches around here.

Looking doubtfully at Adi, she suggested the midnight mass at St. Andrews Church.

"SURE THING!" I said. Did I mention I am pretty chuffed by all the Christmas activity?

I don't know if attending midnight masses will be possible though, midnight is normally about the time that Adi is waking up for his fourth feed of the night. But at least I have all these encouraging thoughts circulating in my system. The party spirit and all that jazz, though jazz is not really my music.

Christmas is also the time that I am reminded rather painfully that our landline number is in fact very similar to Kenny Caterers. On non-festival days we get wrong numbers once every week, during this time its twice a day. You know what is coming up, right? One of those 'sample this' conversations.

So, sample this -

Decidedly polished voice, "Hello, I'd like to order a roasted pig please."

I want to answer, "So what's stopping you? Oh wait, you want to order it from me? But I am a vegetarian."

I answer, "You've got the wrong number."

"Huh? Is this not Kenny Caterers?"

Sigh. If only I were as popular as Kenny. I mean, the lady sounds decidedly heart-broken.

"No."

"So would you have his number?"

Arrey main kya Just Dial hoon?

***

Trip trooper

I don't know why both M and I are behaving as if Rajasthan is suddenly going to decide that it is actually the Tundra region in the very week that we are going to be there. As a direct implication of this behaviour, we are constantly asking people about winter in that part of the world. Friends and family north of the Vindhyas are finding us more weird than usual because despite the fact that both of us have collectively experienced no less than 50 north Indian winters and so know perfectly well what they are like, keep calling them to have a conversation that typically runs thus,

"So, it is going to be FREEZING in Rajasthan, huh?"

"Yes, it will be quite cold."

"So, we should go prepared, huh? Loads of woolies, huh?"

"Umm, yes, it would help to take some warm stuff."

"Yes, yes, will be FREEZING after all, no?" And so on.

Basically we are just petrified that we might miss out on a crucial item that will compromise Adi's warmth in that one FREEZING week. M's instinct to counter this fear is to go shopping. On Sunday, all of us (Adi, M, Padma and self) trooped off to shop for Adi's woolies. This after my sister is already sending warm stuff from Delhi. Anyway, after having thrown some money at Mothercare, we were feeling slightly better.

All this took time and Adi started fussing so I even tried to feed him in a trial room!! My first and hugely unsuccessful attempt to do so, may I add, because the boy was just too interested in and distracted by all the lovely overhead lights.

At the billing counter, yet another woman decided to coo at Adi while Padma was holding him and I was standing next to them. She asked me how old he was. Throwing a worried look at Padma, I desperately tried to inflate his age and blurted, "Eight months". I could see M sniggering at this rather unsuccessful attempt to prevent buri nazar from happening to our baby (come on, it is still, what 19 days before he turns eight months). Anyway, the lady had now moved from cooing to making faces and then finally to blowing kisses at him. Padma doesn't appreciate all this familiar behaviour from strangers. So imagine her horror and chagrin when at that very moment Adi made a smacking sound with his lips that could have been and was mistaken for a responsive kissing sound. Needless to say, Padma immediately assumed a very "et tu Adi" air while M and I laughed uproariously.

In the car on our way back, Padma sat silently for a while and then informed us loudly that Adi was only smacking his lips because he had just finished feeding a few minutes back. It had, in her opinion, got nothing to do with the strange, strange woman and her antics. Of course, of course, we pacified her.

More updates!

Adi keeps saying "Gee"! As in, put some more ghee on my khichdi, mom! All day long, GEE! and then GEEEE! and sometimes even GEEEEEEE! All very nice. Coupled with the "Phoo" sounds, it all makes for very entertaining times.

Weekend stories

In order to catch my breath between sets I try to engage Nilesh in conversation. Very often it is worth the effort.

Sample this one about his own workout:

"Madam, pehle main legs ka workout karta tha toh mere ko bahut kantala lagta tha."

"Achha? Aur ab kaisa lagta hai?"

"Abhi mere ko samajh mein aa gaya ki woh pillar rehta hai na, building ka, abhi wohi weak rahega toh building gir jayega, barabar?"

Of course. "Barabar."

"Haan toh abhi mere ko kantala nahin lagta. Abhi main ekdum bindaas lower body workout leta hoon. Abhi aap do sets aur maro. UP!!"

Up indeed.

***

Completely unrelated, random query about blogging etiquette follows.

Picture this - I am surfing through blogs when I happen to come across a blog that is written under an assumed name. However, after reading through some posts I realize that the events have a familiar tone to them. After reading some more, I have no doubt in my mind that I know the person. After reading yet more, I KNOW EXACTLY who the person is! Now what do I do?

a. Ignore the fact that I know the person. Continue lurking at the blog. (Not my style, frankly. I like to announce my presence, preferably loudly.)
b. Ignore the fact that I know the person. Comment with no reference to equation in real life. (If s/he wanted you to know that about this blog, they would have told you.)
c. Comment but with a feeler to ascertain whether the blogger would like to confirm real-life identity. (D-U-H...refer point above.)
d. Discreetly mail the blogger asking if they are indeed My Little Pony Princess in the bloggy world (pseudonym invented purely for the purpose of illustration) and risk putting them in an uncomfortable sort of situation.

It just bloggles the mind. Do let me know if you have another solution to offer.

***

I have been tagged to reveal my wicked and evil side. There is no wicked or evil side to me. I am all wickedness and evil. In fact there may well be a 666 on my scalp somewhere, hiding beneath the horns. I am in fact talking so much nonsense because I cannot think of putting down stuff for this tag. *hides face in utter shame* So, fuzzy, I'll take a rain-check on this one, please?

666

Saw the way I cleverly substituted the *** with the 666, huh, huh? Clever, huh? Subtle, huh?

Maybe not.

Right, so Adi got his shots today, except that it was just one shot and the next one is due only after TWO WHOLE MONTHS, phew-thank-the-good-lord-and-stop-taking-the-devil's-name-in-your-blog.

He started crying the moment the good doctor took him in her arms. She was unperturbed and explained that it was just stranger anxiety.

Well, Mahesh knows you so why is he crying, I wanted to ask her (only out of pure and unadulterated curiousity and nothing else, of course) but didn't because after all, he is my pati parmeshwar and liable to kick ass in full public view.

Anyway, so I got to see a whole lot of newborns today (the doctor gave the shot in the pediatric ward) and I was just amazed at how tiny they were! I cannot believe that Adi was that small just seven months back....it can't be! I kept confirming this with Mahesh who assured me that Adi was indeed that size when he came out and not 'just marginally smaller than what he is now' as I kept insisting.

Amazing!

***

TGIF

I think there comes a time in every blogger's life when they do a post with this title.

In my life, that time is right here, right now. [I used to like Abhishek Bachchan at the time of this song, I now think he is a lazy trucker...can't use bad words given parenting blog...specially after Dhoom II...end of digression.]

Anyway, the reason for feeling grateful for this weekend is that I need to go hunting for warm clothes in which to bundle up Adi. We will be taking a trip to Rajasthan soon and we have been warned about the sub-zero (?) temperatures there. Imagine the irony - so far this season I have been barging into stores, looking at all the woolies and politely asking the staff, "Why on earth would you keep all warm stuff for your customers in Mumbai?" This after having had several clothing brands as clients and having worked for a large denim company and knowing perfectly well the reasons.

And now, I will need to go into the same stores, looking rather sheepish and buy some sweaters et al for the boy.

I should also mention here that I need to buy woolies for self too given that none of those bought for various Europe trips in the past few years will fit anymore. Sigh, who would have thought that buying new clothes could be so depressing? People buying larger sizes, that's who.

Also need to figure out how to provide Adi with his vegetable soups and khichdi and applesauce and the like. I can just see one suitcase overflowing with a hotplate, a pressure cooker, a kilo of apples, a hand-blender, distilled water....our days of backpacking are well and truly over, dear reader.

Adi will get his shots tomorrow. I am trying deep breathing to keep myself calm through it all. Last time I nearly socked the doc one. And she was just the RMO assisting Adi's pediatrician. The pediatrician was called away for an emergency c-sec just as Adi's turn for being poked came and she asked her junior to do the honors. I am sure the RMO was perfectly competent and all that but here was my mind screaming,"Why are you going away? Don't let this nausakhiya doctor touch my baby! Come back!"

In fact, I have to shamefacedly admit that after the deed had been done, I snidely mentioned something to the tune of, "He normally doesn't cry this much." Sheesh, what have I come to? I have become such an auntie. I need to start wearing dupatta with nightie in the mornings and troop off to buy veggies from the corner subzi-wala.

Thankfully the doctor was rather understanding and kindly said, "They cry more as they grow up."

Wait a minute!! That means Adi will cry even more tomorrow....AAAUUUGGHH!

Remind me again why I titled this post thus?

What is with me, huh?

And I am not asking this at a generic level but as a very specific query.

Why can I not lose weight?

Before all you well-meaning ladies (and men, are you really there?) jump up and ask me to go off that diet and give up on that exercise regimen because I am after all, a feeding mom (feeding as in breastfeeding a child and not stuffing my own face, though of course that is true too), I have only one thing to say to you,

"THAMBA!"

[This last purely being a direct consequence of the fact that I got my late-lateef husband to finally watch 'Sarkar' - Ramu's tribute to The Godfather. Mahesh has an unassailable record of having watched every single forgettable Hindi movie ever made but he misses out on ALL blockbusters. He can quote dialogues from gems such as Dil Ne Phir Yaad Kiya or some such randomness but he has been consistently missing out on movies that every single Indian on this planet has watched, eg. Hum Aapke Hain Koun, Maine Pyaar Kiya, Dil etc. If you were to throw an ubiquitous dialogue from MPK like "Friendship mein no sorry, no thank you" at him, he would look at you blankly and then proceed to puke violently at the emotion just expressed. Of course he would also quote strange, strange dialogues at you for which you would naturally have no clue or context. One of his excuses is that he has stayed a lot in weird industrial towns during his consulting days where only non-mainstream movies would play in the sole theatre in town.]

I have digressed so much from the point that I have forgotten what my point was. Anyway, since that has never stopped me, let us get on.

Right, my weightloss. Or rather the lack of it. The lack of the lack of weight.

Ooh, I am so witty it could just kill you.

What I was saying was that I am not bothered by the fact that I am not making any progress in the field of weightloss. I know that I am probably one of those women who tend to keep the extra (and how!) pounds till they wean the baby. At least I have managed to convince myself that that is the case.

However, I do feel bad for poor Nilesh. I think having me as a client is robbing him of any job satisfaction that he may have enjoyed till now.

H regularly asks me, "Madam, have you checked the weight?"

I cheerfully reply," Yes Nilesh and no, I haven't lost a thing."

At this reply, poor Nilesh looks even more dejected than usual.

Lately he has taken to making me (and himself) feel better by finding proxy achievements.

"Madam, the muscle tone is improving."

"Madam, the form is getting better."

"Madam, you can lift the heavier poundages now!"

"Madam, you look smaller!" (this one my clear favourite)

"Madam, you are very regular for the workout." (Alright, we are really clutching at straws here.)

What is next, I wonder. "Madam, your track pants are very nice, black suits you."?? Or "Madam, the playlist on your i-pod is great. You listen to such great music."??

Sometimes, I feel like patting his arm and saying, "Chinta mar karo beta. Sab theek ho jayega." Thankfully, I have desisted so far.

Now that the gym is closing down for renovation, Nilesh is scared that I may go off-track on my fitness program completely when he is not around to supervise my every move. He keeps telling me to join a yoga class or even another gym but AT NO COST should I discontinue exercising. It is all rather amusing.

For me.

***

Rambling on

Having been repeatedly accused of not having a life, I am trying really hard to come up with something that sounds interesting to the reader because after all, I aim only to please.

Trying...

Still trying...

And still trying...

Naah, nothing comes to mind. So I will give up and just go on to blog about my non-life.

***

Our Driver Boy (I am intensely aware of privacy issues suddenly and will not be giving out real names anymore...at least I will try not to...cannot bear the thought of litigation battles later on) called Mahesh (no danger of litigation there) a couple of days back (I just thought of something...I should probably not call him my Driver Boy but Primary Aide for Transporting Household Members...too long, will stick to Driver Boy)...right, so Driver Boy called Mahesh.

"HALLLLO, SIR!! Mere bhai ne mujhe kaat liya hai. Aaj main kaam par nahin aaoonga."

Mahesh was not sure he had heard this right and who can blame him? He decided to just let things be and told DB to take the day off.

The next day DB turned up for work. He has nothing to do through the day so I didn't see him till that evening when I got into the car to go to the gym. There I was waiting to be driven off to Nilesh, who was doubtless putting finishing touches to Daily Torture Plan. However, DB was taking surprisingly long to put the head-rest back (he takes it off when he naps in the car....ahh, the life!) into the slot. I wondered what was taking him so long before noticing that he had a WOUND on his finger. It looked pretty bad to me.

"What happened to your finger, DB?"

"Nothing didi, this is where my brother bit me."

What is with his brother? Thinks he is Hannibal or something? No, turns out that the brother in question got into fisticuffs with DB and proceeded to communicate his point rather forcefully by taking away some of the flesh off DB's hand. The sheer brotherliness of all this just took my breath away. I asked DB to go home and get the wound treated properly. DB decided to act brave.

"Nahin didi, woh stitches lagayenge. Main chhutti nahin lena chahta."

I assured him that there was no need for him to display his commitment and sincerety to work at the cost of getting gangrene in a limb and sent him packing home.

I am happy to report that DB has recovered and is back at work. I haven't dared ask him where his equation with the bhai is at.

***

Our cook (if you have been reading this blog for a while, you already know her name but from THIS MOMENT ON, I am guarding her privacy with my life) is a notorious late-comer. She has great temperament (she brushes off any criticism of her cooking with great elan), is an enthusiastic cook (forgets to add salt to only one dish per meal) and loves to play with Adi (sometimes at the cost of the poor rice that cooks, forgotten and forsaken on high flame). But she cannot, cannot, cannot reach our place on time. This is all very well because M has a ready excuse as to why he turns up late for work every day ("What? Breakfast is not ready? Again? Oh, okay, I will just leisurely browse through the newspaper while I wait for it to get done.")

Anyhow, last Sunday, Kalpana (I give up) was nowhere to be seen till 9:45 am. Now, this households knows no weekends, we wake up when Adi wakes up and kickstart the day. So we sort of need to eat at a reasonable hour. Considering she was more than two hours late to report to work, I thought it would not be considered entirely rude if I called her and asked her WHERE THE HELL WAS SHE???

"Halloo, Kalpana, where the hell are you?"

A very sleepy sounding Kalpana, "Huh? Kaun, didi? Haan main bas abhi aa rahi hoon. Main soch rahi thi kanda khareed kar aaoongi."

An increasingly irate me, "What nonsense! What kanda! Tum toh soh rahi ho and mujhse jhoot bol rahi ho ki abhi aa rahi hoon."

A significantly more awake Kalpana,"Hee hee! Nahin, nahin didi, soh nahin rahi. Thodi sardi ho gayi hai isliye awaaz aisi lag rahi hai."

At this point I realise that this conversation cannot proceed unless I come to terms with the fact that I have become a complete and total and irreversible housewife. It is a little early in the day to be making life-altering decisions such as this one and I haven't even had my first cup of coffee. So I end matters by hanging up.

Ten minutes later a perfectly healthy (no sign of any sardi) but very sleepy looking Kalpana rings the doorbell. There is no kanda anywhere to be seen.

***

Padma tells me that anytime anyone asks me how old Adi is, I should inflate his age by at least two months. This is to be done in order to ward off the evil-eye. Apparently if people go away thinking that he is small for his age, he will be protected from their buri nazar.

Okie dokie. Who am I to argue, specially in the face of such infallible logic?

***

Post from old blog

I used to have another blog at some point in the past. It was mostly private (if there is such a thing, what I mean is that I had shared the link with only a few friends) and I wrote very few posts there. I was going through them today and I am glad to say that I still agree with most of the stuff that I had written out there. What I lack in most things, I make up in consistency. Apparently.

Given that I did not want to blog about my here and now, I am c&p-ing one of the deeply intellectual and hugely introspective posts that I had written there - Why Sushmita Sen will never make it as an A-grade actress? If you are a Sush fan, drop me a comment and I am sure I can muster something similar for Ash also.

1. She is a mediocre actress at best.
2. She suffers from the delusion that all men consider her a mysterious, enigmatic woman. Now, Rekha is enigmatic. Any woman who made a hit with the AB deserves that much. Sushmita had one torrid, little number with Vikram Bhatt at some point. I remember her "Baby-ing" him in yet another lovely episode of Rendezvous with Simi Garewal. Enigmatic? Naaaah!
3. She suffers from a hugely pretentious accent, a strange guttural sound that is ostensibly an attempt at aural seduction. Hmmmppphh.
4. She refers to herself in the third person. Solely for the purpose for illustration - "Sushmita zab tak zinda hai, apne aap ko alag alag tareekon se express karti rahegi". Last I checked, it was grammatically incorrect, not to mention immeasurably immodest to do so.

No blogging today

I am blogging to say that I won't be blogging today. I have decided to pamper myself and today will only be reading other blogs and leaving behind comments.

Seriously, I sat down to write and figured that I didn't want to say anything. For me that is an unusual state of affairs and one that I hope will soon reverse itself. In the meanwhile, let us be comfortable in our silences!

Till tomorrow then.

Let me tell you a story

The internet is a vast and dangerous place.

But Ms Ommy Ogger had no way to know it. You see, Ms Ommy Ogger had no life, no brains, no wit, no personality. In fact, it would have been difficult to say that Ms Ommy Ogger even existed, if not for the fact that she had given birth to Coupla Kids.

"So cute they are," she would look at them and think. She would also want to rush out and share this with someone else. This was a difficult thing to do because

a. Her family lived in another country
b. Her friends did not consider her worth hanging out with
c. Mentioned above, she had no life

So, despite the internet being a vast and dangerous place, Ms Ommy Ogger got herself a place there. And whaddaya know, soon Ms Ommy Ogger had other Ommy Oggers and Addy Oggers fawning over her Coupla Kids. Sometimes, even Non Ommy Oggers and Non Addy Oggers would come over and say nice things about Couple Kids. It was all rather gratifying for Ms Ommy Ogger who was (one thinks) finally getting herself a life, albeit virtual.

Then on one heinous day, along came Moral Police. Moral Police told Ms Ommy Ogger, "Let us play a game which will be loads of fun. We will tell you what to do with Coupla Kids. In return we get to throw at you all the Barbed Insults we like."

"But that doesn't sound like loads of fun," protested Ms Ommy Ogger.

"You are such a spoilsport," trilled Moral Police and started the game anyway. They were convinced that they would win the game because after all, Ms Ommy Ogger was known to have no life, no brains, no wit, no personality. But what they hadn't counted on was that she was still The Mom to Coupla Kids. She decided to do what she liked with Coupla Kids anyway. This really got the only pet that Moral Police possessed - the goat.

Well, although she did not know it, Ms Ommy Ogger had done the right thing. Because on the vast and dangerous place called the Internet, Moral Police survived only on the rations of Attention. Deprived of this life-giving potion, they had to crawl back to where they belonged.

Thus ended the saga of Ms Ommy Ogger who continued to parent Coupla Kids they way she liked, of Moral Police who are currently looking for a new way to attack Ms Ommy Ogger, of other Ommy Oggers and Addy Oggers who rallied by Ms Ommy Ogger for all they were worth and of the vast and dangerous place called the Internet which still continues to be vast and dangerous, knowing no other way to be.

For reasons known only to the story-teller, comments on this story are closed and will not be published.

Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!

Yesterday was a day of injuries, all of the physical kind.

The first one came bright and early. I was talking on the phone as I prepared Adi's applesauce - yes, I know I don't multi-task too well. I boiled the apple and started to churn it using the hand blender. Some of the steaming hot slush landed on my arm. Just a few drops, so I didn't really pay any attention. Yeah, yeah I'm all iron and steel. Well, a few minutes later it started stinging and I saw a blister coming up. Ouch!

The second one followed soon after. As I was walking around the bedroom with Adi in my arms, I banged my shin REALLY HARD against the bed. Again, I didn't think too much about it after the first wail of SHEER AGONY. I now have a big bruise in a palette of blue, red and grey that I can display to you for a reasonable sum. M took a look at it when he came home and applied some Arnica ointment on it. Ouch!

Even after all this, I went to the gym in the evening. So get this, I actually pay these guys to inflict injury on my poor muscles. Which Nilesh proceeded to do, quite cheerfully. The gym is looking very empty these days because most of the members have taken their refunds and are looking for alternatives. I like the gym like this. It is very scary to be engaged in your private world of hurt and torture when suddenly a muscle-man lets out a scream of triumph?jubiliation? at having completed 20 reps with what is clearly not a dumb-bell but a pillar taken out of a Roman temple. Where was I? Yes, so I finished my work-out and was wiping my brow and looking forward to going back home to my delightful post-exercise meal of a single boiled egg when Nilesh called out to me and handed me a skipping rope.

"Madam, now you do 500 of this."

I stared at him, hoping for a hint of a smile that would give away that he was after all only joking.

Nopes. Dead serious.

So I got to it. And my calves are still reminding me that yesterday they actually skipped rope 500 times. They are clearly not the forgiving kinds. Ouch!

And then to put a befitting end to a day of injuries, last night I finally managed to rock Adi to sleep, naturally accompanied by loud FM music and then tip-toed from the hall to the bedroom in the dark, sat down on the bed and leaned back rather forcefully into the pillows. Except there were no pillows, only a hard bed. THAAD!!!My back! My back! I wanted to scream. But didn't cos Adi would have woken up if I had as much as whispered. M came rushing brandishing the tube of Arnica yet again.

I was quite glad when the day drew to a close. I had had enough.

I am ok now but leave TLCing comments anyway. Thank you :)

If I were the President

All my posts are emerging out of tags these days. Tagged by Shobana, Naren's Mom to reveal what I would eat if I were the President.

Actually I can tell you exactly what I would eat if I were the President, having partaken of a meal with the ex-Prez, APJ Abul Kalam. I would eat small samosas and jalebis and sandwiches along with some tea.

No, not used to hobnobbing with big guys. The FIL is old time associate of the old man and hence the invitation to tea. Ooh, but Rashtrapati Bhavan is so beautiful. I have a sudden urge to drive to that side of Delhi and buy a balloon and an ice-cream and stare at the gorgeous architecture there.

Ice-cream! Food! Yes, back to the tag. I am sorry but I cannot take up this tag if Indian food cannot make it to the menu!

Also, clearly I don't give a shit about the SHEER CALORIFIC VALUE of this meal-plan!

I would pull out all stops. I would have them cater in stuff from all over for me. Prolly have a couple aircrafts stand (?) around all day waiting to get orders from me to fly in food. Clearly, it is a good thing I am not president. The exchequer would not be entirely pleased to see the taxpayers' money being eaten away like this.

Breakfast - Kachori, aloo-subzi and jalebi from Phoota Kuan, Meerut. Or the breakfast spread from Basilico. And tea. Lots of tea, a blend of Taj Mahal and Green Label please, made exactly like Mom makes it. In fact, fly in Mom to make it.

Mid-morning - Only cut fruit, thank you. Kiwi, pineapple, musk-melon, water-melon, papaya, peach....yeah, that would be all. Cut exactly the right size.

Lunch - Chhole-bhature from Bengali Market, Delhi. Or Andhra thali from Bangalore.

Tea - Tea and Pure Magic biscuits!! Or idli from Bheema's, Bangalore. Or Veg sushi (yeah, yeah bring on the cracks!) from Seijo's. Or panipuri from Bandstand...sheesh, I can go on and on...

Dinner - Fly in some pizza from a street pizzaria in Rome along with some Zuppa de Verdura and a couple glasses (!) of Chianti. Or get the chef at India Jones, Oberoi to whip up that set Thai meal. I like all the tricks he does while he is cooking!

Now dessert. My Z-grade security will fight off my husband so that I can have all the dessert myself without him constantly taking away huge chunks on the pretext of 'sharing'. I will have something from Painted Platters. No, how about Chocolate Chiffon from Dairy Den, Ahmedabad? That place is closed now, though. So what, they will just need to re-open or something. After all, I am the prez.

No Mahesh, we cannot have three scoops each of gelato.

I would have actually liked my friend K to take up this tag but she is not part of this blog world. So, the tag is open to other foodies! And only foodies! Take it away, fellow gluttons!

10 things I would have done by 40

Tagged by the irrepressible Kiran of karmickids, here is my list of things that I think I would have done by 40 or at the very least will die trying (hope not literally).

1. Opened/supported an animal shelter or started a foundation that works for animal rights or worked for one such.
2. Written a book. And published it. Would you care to read it?
3. Invested in art. Good art. Beautiful art. How about this
   
   
   
   
   Or this?
   
   
   
   
4. Read Thomas Hardy. No, really!
5. Owned and (lavishly) done up my (big) flat (mansion). I am thinking on the lines of Manderley. However, I will copying the floors from the Udaipur Palace. No half-measures for me, clearly.
6. Got my husband to change his hairstyle. Least chance of succeeding, even assuming full head of hair.
7. Attended a Metallica concert. Jeez, sure hope happens before 40, else would be too old to enjoy self. Also, a U2 concert. Please, God? And while You are about granting wishes, I'd like to follow the band about through the length of the tour.
8. Fit into my oldest jeans. Not to be confused with pre-pregnancy jeans. These are the older than the hills pair that I have kept just so I can feature them on lists such as these. More serious fitness goal - run the Mumbai Marathon.
9. This one will be done because M will ensure that it does. Watched every single race of the F1 season in person.
10. Owned a full Louis Vuitton vintage luggage set. At the rates, it should take me about that long.

And the list of things that I miss right now

1. Sleep. I know that you saw that coming. Who says I need to be unpredictable?
2. Dad
3. The pregnancy bump
4. Delhi - The foggy winter mornings, family, Lodhi Garden Restaurant, India Habitat Center, Lutyen's Delhi...
5. Bangalore - Coconut Grove, thali at Bheema's, Forum Mall, Styx, my little flat at Cox Town, FoodWorld, Indira Nagar, the person I was there...
6. TV and all its inanity
7. The ability to play loud music in my house when I feel like it
8. The ability to drink as much wine as I'd like to, whenever I want to, wherever I want to, with whomsoever I want to...
9. The ability to go on a holiday minus the tension of the flight, the naps, the feeding....
10. A free mind. A mind that was not weighed down by the unbearable anxiety of having a child outside my body.

I am tagging my old friend and new blogger purplehomes to do this tag. Go, P!

Seven months today

Dear Adi,

You are seven months old today. I remembered because unlike most nights in the past seven months, last night you allowed your father and me a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. That is a gift you have, son. You make us appreciate the value of things that we had taken for granted all our lives, going to sleep at night and then waking up straight in the morning is one. As also, using both hands to eat. And also, taking a shower without the urgent need to come clambering out, dripping and all, to check if all is well outside, in the world outside the bathroom, where you rest.

You have started traversing short distance on your own. And you can also sit up now, for a few moments at a time. This is all great stuff, stuff that makes you appear like a little person, a miniature me or a miniature M that is waiting to grow up. But Adi, you creep, crawl and sit up even in your sleep, darling. Many times in the night, I get up and find you with your head resting on your father's legs and your feet on mine. This is a strange sight, Adi and one that scares me. Specially because I would not dare reposition you and risk waking you up. That would be just too much.

Since you discovered the power of movement, Adi, it has become impossible to dress you or change your clothes or diaper. The moment you are lain on the changing table, you immediately flip over and then proceed to position yourself on all fours. This is a difficult position for parents to change the clothes/diapers of their children. I do you will find out first-hand in thirty odd years.

You stick your tongue out at everything, baby. And I would not dare make a list of all the things you have been licking. I wish the world were one giant ice-cream. But its not. That means that we spend all our time trying to stop you from licking objects or failing that, sterlising the aforementioned objects.

It helps that you look incredibly cute doing all this. You're all set to become a heart breaker. Make sure you keep your grades up or no hot girls for you.

I mean it.

Many moms say that time is flying. Not for me. For me, its crawling at a really slow pace. I can't wait for it to be the time when I can finally ask you to go and CLEAN YOUR ROOM, AT ONCE. Or something. That will be fun, eh?

In the meanwhile though, time is really flying. Where did the last seven months go?

I am trying to lose all the weight that I put on during the nine months that I was carrying you, sweetheart. This is the first time in my life that I am trying to get fit not because I'd like to fit into a smaller pair of jeans, but because I'd like to be able to catch you when you run out of the house when I ask you to clean your room. I also hope to do the same wearing a smaller pair of jeans.

Can I tell you a secret? I'd really like you to love me. And I am willing to do whatever it takes to make you do so.

Even sitting on your dad.

Your dad is a hopeless sack of mush when it comes to you. I don't think that you will ever have any trouble getting things out of him. All you will need to do is flash your dimples at him.

I can only thank the Lord that you are not a girl.

You have started taking three solid feeds a day, except that they are blended to death so they are actually all liquid feeds. Thank you for being an easy feeder, Adi. If you were fussy about sleeping and feeding, I would have lost it a long time back. You want your mom all rosy and fresh, right baby, not a raving loon?

Coming back to your sleep - it is always the sleep, isn't it - you've been a light sleeper since birth. I had put in our bedroom (you don't have a separate nursery) yellow silk curtains, vaguely hoping that you would like yellow. Well, those yellow silk curtains were a bad idea because they let the sunlight in. You hate the sunlight, Adi. It wakes you up. So now I have put thick, navy blue curtains on top of those dainty yellow curtains. They look ugly and hold out the light.

Pigeons wake you up too, Adi. When they decide to hop and skip on top of the air-conditioner. Maybe I will put padding there too. And yesterday, when you were napping in the afternoon, a college kid from the nearby college decided to impress the girls by revving his new motorcycle. It took me all my will to not tear him apart limb from limb.

I wish it were not like this. I wish I could scoop you up and carry you away to a serene and quiet place where you could sleep undisturbed. But this is Mumbai, Adi. In order to buy a proper house here, we need to have a houseful of cash first. See, it just doesn't end.

At night, you will only go to sleep in my arms these days, not even with your dad - your number one guy. This really thrills me, and I think what your grandmother said about mothers being beyond favourite people's list was probably right. It is truly awesome to wake up next to you when you are all snuggly in the crook of my arm. At these moments, I don't need the sleep. Screw sleep, I would rather look at you.

That is it, my boy. NOW GO AND CLEAN YOUR ROOM!

Mom

A mixed weekend

Another weekend over. At least I got some stuff accomplished. On Saturday, we finally ordered the tv that we've meaning to buy. Yes, ordered. Apparently, we've bought into the most popular tv choice which means that it is perpetually out of stock. It will take Kroma TWO WHOLE WEEKS to get us a piece. This feels like a regression to the licence raj. Anyhoodlums, it will be good to have a spanking new tv, the old one is a relic from our dating days and will be moved to the other bedroom where ma can follow Sa Re Ga Ma and the in-laws the stock market when they visit.

Buying a tv is clearly the wrong decision. We haven't watched tv in the last seven months, we're not going to start now. In fact screen time is strictly limited to DVDs that are sometimes watched, naturally in parts as per Adi's nap schedule. In fact, this new tv is only going to serve as part of the decor and nothing else. An expensive wall hanging, no more. We will stare at its blank screen from time to time and wonder what it would have been like to actually watch some Zoom on it. I have told you in many earlier posts that I miss watching Zoom. Let me tell you again. I miss watching Zoom.

Talking of in-laws a moment back reminds me that all of M's conversations with ANY MEMBER of his family are always peppered liberally with words such as derivatives, IPOs and various references to the quarterly performance of companies hitherto unheard of. Fascinating.

But hey, that's all right because yesterday M totally redeemed himself.

Going through Vogue and leching at the Louis Vuitton Neverfull bag (anyone feeling generous lately?), I absent-mindedly say, "It says here Louis Vuitton is avant-garde. Do you know what that means?"

Pat comes the reply, "Keeping ahead of the times, innovating in arts."

Stunned silence.

That word list that he must have mugged for CAT does come in handy sometimes. He knows the meaning to words that I don't expect him to.

Also talking of DVDs a moment back reminds me that I finally managed to watch an old movie that M has been after me to watch for the longest time - My Cousin Vinny. He actually went to Crossword and picked up the DVD so that I would watch it. I am glad he did. It is a really funny movie and no, I am not going to do a review here. If you'd like to read a review, you click on THE LINK. I am so lazy, I give Garfield competition.

My fitness woes continue. I thought I had it cracked open with Nilesh, my personal trainer and then just to make sure I did not fall off the weightloss wagon, I had also taken a three month package with the gym's dietician. Now the dietician has resigned and the gym is going to shut down for three months for renovation. Uh oh! And just when I was being so darned religious with exercising every day of the week too!! Maybe I should order in a large pizza and lounge on the couch and watch some Zoom to mourn (celebrate) these events. HAH!! You wish!! No siree, I am in fact going to join a BETTER GYM (Gold's Gym? Maybe...think how much fun running on a treadmill next to Bipasha Basu could be....such a wonderful and instant boost to the ego) and get myself a BETTER TRAINER and a BETTER DIETICIAN. Typing so much in CAPS has tired me out, I better go lie down. Please forward all my calls to Garfield.

Back to the weekend, after buying (ordering) the eminently useless tv, we grabbed some food at Brio at Shoppers Stop at Juhu. May I suggest that you never, ever have their spicy cottage and/or mushroom puffs. I hate wasting food but even I could not shovel it down my gullet.

But to my credit, despite being only a few steps away from the MAC store, I did not go in to buy tonnes of make-up that I would never use, so at least that is some money not thrown.

This post is really turning into a blow by blow account of my non-life over the weekend. Well, it just so happens that I have so much to crib about. Spoilt, spoilt me.

Let me talk about something nice then. My new bookshelf!! I love my new bookshelf!! I am going to fill it up with all the great books that I have been buying and haven't read. Also, I am going to try to break the habit of finishing a book that I have started, COME WHAT MAY, and however much I hate it. It is a stupid habit, but like food, I hate wasting books. I feel that if bought, I should read it at least once. I have read a lot of bad, bad books in my life, as you can imagine.

Anyone watched Aaja Nach Le? What are your reviews, people?

Adi turns seven months old tomorrow. I will do a 'Dear Adi' post tomorrow in which I shall crib non-stop about how he keeps me up nights. Forewarned is forearmed, my friends.

Ek thi Padma

The title of the post is a tribute to a story called 'Ek thi Ramrati' by my favourite author Shivani. Ramrati was Shivani's maid and companion for many, many years. Any Shivani fans out there? They are notoriously tough to find.

Padma is a great find, there is no doubt about it. She is great with Adi. She loves spending time with him, can engage him really well (much better than I can, let me shamefacedly add), is not at all squeamish when it comes to cleaning up after Adi, though I can claim proudly that I do manage to do all the potty-related tasks myself. Yes, she is an awesome find.

However, if you look closely, she is immensely proprietary when it comes to Adi. So much so that she is liable to tell us (M and self) off if she sees fit. She doesn't do it openly of course. But in her own sing-song way, she will always express her opinion of the state of affairs. Sample this:

I am running behind schedule on making Adi's apple-sauce.

Padma sings:

"Aaj toh Mama apple banana bhool gaya hai
Mera baby toh bhookha hai."

Right. I immediately abandon all that I am doing under this attack and proceed to kitchen to prepare the meal.

M thinks baby is sleeping in the hall and does not kiss him goodbye before leaving for work.

Padma sings:
"Daddy ne baby ko bye nahin bola
Ab toh baby royegaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."

A suitably chastised M immediately backtracks his steps and runs to kiss Adi who smiles contentedly and sticks his tongue out.

M and self are shopping at break-neck speed at Patel Stores. We pick up Pampers and wipes and proceed to pay.

Padma whispers loudly (ostensibly) to Adi.

"Mama Papa Adi ka oil nahin le rahe.
Ab Adi ka skin dry ho jayegaaaaaaa"

Ooh right, the bottle of baby oil is nearing its end. We rectify this situation at once and buy an extra-large bottle in order to pacify Padma.

This goes on through the day. Sometimes I get exasperated at this taanebaazi. Most of the time I am grateful that she remembers things that I forget. And above all, I am really, really, really happy that she puts Adi above all else, clearly way, way above M and self. Ah well, we are getting used to being meted out second-rate treatment by friends and family anyway (since the baby came along).

Had things been slightly (VERY) different and had I been a mom to an infant, part of a large joint-family and living in a congested mohalla in a small town somewhere in western UP, I have no doubt that this sort of gentle chastisement would have been part and parcel of my life. Under several pairs of eagle eyes belonging to various aunts and grandaunts, all in-law, it would have been given that we would be under constant scrutiny for our parenting style. Padma is bringing in a teeny-tiny bit of that flavour into our lives on a daily basis. And I like it, I do. Talk about being a sucker for punishment!

I know there may be people who would be offended at this...what can it be called...interference. But I am not. In fact I am delighted at the fact that she doesn't give a shit about what we may think of her as long as we serve the little 'Guddu Singh' well.

Of course, sometimes things are taken a bit too far. Whenever Adi refuses to breastfeed, she looks at me accusingly and asks if my supply is reducing!! Whoa there, lady, slow down!! Surely, I am entitled to a little bit of privacy in my own home. Or maybe not.

In fact, despite being of the same age as me, she behaves as if she is an old, old, old servant who has been hanging around in this house for donkey's years and has earned the right to say whatever she wants, never directly, always muttered, but communicated clearly nevertheless!!