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03/03/201315/04/2017

A ‘scarepigeon’

Some time back I was reading this post at momofrs’ and it so resonated with me I thought I must do one of my own on pigeons. Actually I too have nothing against these bird brained birds. I totally respect their freedom to fly where they want, sit where they want and poop where they want. What I do mind is that they do not respect the ‘Your freedom ends when my nose begins’ thing. An open window is enough invitation. Try to shoo them out and they panic crazily enough to make you panic too. They then lose all sense of direction, get totally lost and proceed to mess up your entire room.

What’s more they walk all over the balcony, hop into freshly watered pots, then leave messy footprints everywhere. They feed on your fast depleting Tulsi plant and denude it by carrying away twigs leaving one to stare at empty planters. A sad task for someone already cursed with a black thumb.

Then they go and lay eggs with abandon and if you as much as go near them while clearing up the balcony they never come back. Then you have to deal with the maid’s accusing glances for ages for having murdered those baby pigeons, which BTW are called ‘squabs’. Plus you have to deal with the ‘paap’ of having a wrecked a family and NO you do not get to share the blame with the squabs’ parents who are brave enough to come mess your balcony the very same day yet don’t spare a thought for their abandoned progeny. Nope they’re not responsible.. you are. Oh the unfairness of it all!!

Anyway, the other day I was complaining yet again and the kids decided to make a scarecrow…um.. ‘scarepigeon’.

Two sticks were sourced from the garden, tied
together and a paper face cut out

Hrit spared an old shirt and the man’s ready to
guard my Tulsi plant. BTW he’s holding a sword.
Dare you come now pigeons!!

Wierd as it looks it served it’s purpose… the pigeons are keeping their distance.

01/10/201215/04/2017

Has it ever happened to you..

.. that something you’ve read or studied gets clean wiped off your head when you try to recall it?

Yesterday we were watching the Delhi Marathon and Hrit asked me what a marathon was. All I could remember was that a Greek, with a name difficult to spell, with a P and D in it, ran somewhere and ran back and died. Good bless Google for coming to my rescue.

That’s a story I liked. How could I forget it? If I forgot something obnoxious like calculus or chemistry I’d not complain. If those were wiped clean off from my mind I’d only be grateful for the extra space. I do have to cram a lot in that brain of mine. What’s worrying me is not finding the other interesting stuff, things I read and enjoyed and had been really really good at during school.. tectonic theory, the Moghul Empire, the working of a pinhole camera.. I loved all that and remember knowing it so well. But now… nothing.

On the other hand there are things I remember so clearly.. speeches from The Merchant of Venice, poems by Wordsworth, Kabir and Rahim, pictures from my textbooks way back from when I was in Prep.

Weird it is.

It doesn’t help that I had a grandma with Alzheimer’s.

Today was the last straw — I couldn’t remember the name of Harry Potter’s school — Hogwarts.. for godsake! I need to install google in my head. Maybe they’ll come up with something. I hope it’s soon.

PS: He was Pheidippides. While on Marathons.. the gym is having a mini Marathon.. all of two kms, this Sunday. I’m still trying to decide whether I should go. What if I’m the last person walking at the finish line?

11/04/201215/04/2017

A miracle

Quick … what comes to mind when I say autodrivers?
Rude, cheeky, rowdy, dishonest.. right?

— They’re the ones who are almost never available when you most need them
— When you do spot one, he won’t go because you’re not going far enough
— They’ll take the longest route possible while convincing you it is the best one
— They’ll declare their meter dead and charge an exorbitant flat rate
— In fact they’ll never go by the meter unless it is fudged

That’s why I call this a miracle. Read on..

We went shopping – the twins and I. Of course that was miracle no 1. Yes the kids are growing up. What with their busy social lives they just do not have the time to go shopping in the evening with their ma — even if it’s for their own stuff. This time round, however, I squashed all protests and refused to do multiple rounds exchanging their clothes. They agreed grudgingly, specially Hrit who hates any time at all that is spent without his best ever chum, Y.

We shopped for shoes and swimwear in a matter of minutes and headed home. Hrit whined all the way about the ‘wasted’ time while Naisha drowsed off amidst complaints of having missed playtime. And so it was that as we arrived I was at my flustered best squinting at the auto meter, hunting around for change, telling Naisha “yes you may go to the playground” and Hrit “Yes you may call over Y”. In all the craziness the shopping packets lying quietly at the back of the auto were quite forgotten.

As I was unlocking the door to my flat my empty hands reminded me of my blunder. I sprinted to the building gate but the auto was long gone. I wish I had the words to explain my frustration then. It was not so much about the money but the HUGE effort that had gone to waste.

I was coming back deflated, cursing the side effects of old age and there I saw Naisha standing with all the bags. What was this? A miracle? Well yes sort of. Apparently the auto driver discovered the bags, came back and having overheard Naisha saying that she was going to the ground he went there, found her and handed over the bags. How’s that for a surprise!

Thank you dear auto-driver. You didn’t simply return me a few clothes and shoes, by your small act you reaffirmed my faith in humanity, reassured me that goodness and honesty are well and truly surviving. You have inspired me to look for the ‘nice guy’ in everyone around me. And that, my friend, is worth a million bucks of shopping. Wish there were more like you.

01/04/201215/04/2017

Matchmaker matchmaker

Thanks to a challenge thrown by a blogger friend, Pooja aka Princess Poo, on Indiblogger
I am taking a break from obsessive mothering to give some thought to my marriage. And this one doesn’t even involve The Husband. Exciting or what?

Her challenge: If you had the chance to MARRY anyone in the world. ANYONE. Then whom would you marry? And why?

Yippppeeee…. Shah Rukh Khan … is my first thought. Corny, I know. However, SRK and I do go back a long way. I’ve loved him longer than I’ve even known The Husband. He IS the most romantic person on screen, you have to admit. He’s cute and he seems like a good guy. SRK in glasses with a powder-blue sweater flung over his back, SRK with his sexy dimpled smile and S-shaped eye brows, SRK running in slow mo in the mist covered Swiss mountains… Mist.. or errrr… is that smoke from the cigarette perpetually dangling from his lips? Ugh.. .. a man who smokes is SUCH a let down. He smells awful, brings on the cough in me and would make Hrit wheeze (That’s the OM – she just can’t keep quiet). No thank you sir I’ll pass.

Maybe Miss Garewal can help. She’s the one who made that list right, India’s Most Desirable? Let’s see there’s Ranbir, Ranvir, Yuvraj, Siddharth …. No, no, no and no again. Some are party animals, some mama’s boys. And, they’re boys.. the whole crowd, way too young.

Hmmm.. the world of glamour’s not for me. Let me look elsewhere. How about …. Baba Ramdev? Weird? Well, I may not be able to decide whether he’s a crusader or a crook but we do have the fitness thing in common. Picture this… early morning, cool breeze, chirping birds, rising sun… there we sit, Baba and I, in perfect sync, doing our kapalbhatis, with our concave abs showing to perfection. Did I say ‘early morning’? Ruled out then. Nothing can get me out of bed early, nothing (“other than sending the kids to school, of course,” chimes in OM). So excuse me Baba, it’s a no.

A yogi’s really not my style. Surely ‘love’ needs to figure somewhere. The man has to have a heart.. bingo.. got it. Healthcliff (of Wuthering Heights, NOT the cat, in case you were wondering). Heathcliff’s all heart. Romantic, intense, passionate. Life with him would be … tempestuous. Umm.. would it be just a tad too stormy for a gentle Capricornian? I mean I do want the guy to love me and all that but I certainly do not fancy him chasing me around the moors at night driving me to my death. *Shudder, shudder* Won’t do.

A gentler soul then. Someone who watches from a distance and steps in quietly to ease away your troubles. Fitzwilliam Darcy. He’s rich too and gorgeous to boot. We’d walk around Pemberley hand in hand while he’d tell me “the pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in a pretty woman
can bestow”. Ooooh how he made my heart beat in my teens. The strong silent one.

Ummm… ‘silent’.

Well… just a thought… if I HAVE to go for silent what’s wrong with The Husband? He’s silent when he watches the tele. He’s silent when the kids are creating a ruckus. Heck he’s even silent when I’M creating a ruckus. I mean ‘silent’ is what describes him to the T (unless you talk about things on wheels).

He’d rather get me fruits than flowers and prefers his kachoris to the kapalbhati, but better a known devil than an unknown one. Right? Besides, not for nothing have I spent a decade and a half training him. He’s getting there. He hasn’t forgotten my birthday for the last two years and even remembered to get me a gift. Another few years and the flowers shall follow.

Did you guys notice how he crept up quietly into my post? That’s exactly how he’s wormed his way in my life…. and there he’ll stay. No space for anyone else then… sigh!

The Husband it is. He’s the one I’d choose.

Edited to add: Happy April Fool’s Day. No, this has absolutely nothing to do with the post above.

18/03/201215/04/2017

While at the gym

Pic courtesy Google

The other day at the gym there I was eyes glued to the treadmill timer, praying for my five minute run to come to an end before I ran out of breath and this gentleman on the machine next to me says, “So you’re all Marwaris, na?”
“Whaaaat?” panted I.. my hand going to the speed button involuntarily to slow down, “Sorry?”
“Your group.. you’re all Marwaris, isn’t it?’
“Mmmm..” mumbled I wondering “Am I in a group?” I’d never really given it a thought.

Over this past year the gym has become a happy place for me. I look forward to going there each morning. I love the workouts and Yes, I do like the company too. The ‘group’ the gentleman was referring to is a bunch of women ranging in ages from 18 to 65 including college girls, housewives, some working women, a doctor and a few grandmums thrown in for good measure. I don’t think we have anything at all in common other than that we all share our achievements and enjoy our workouts. Even there, we have totally different levels, different targets even different concepts of a ‘good’ workout.

What bugged me was this idea of bracketing people just because they seem to be getting along.. pretty annoying.. what’s worse – based on region/religion… please that’s so unnecessary.

When I was working in Mumbai we had another girl from my hometown in the office and everyone assumed I’d be best pals with her. However it was my hostel ‘gang’ who I gelled with best.. who were from the other end of the country, not that it would have mattered.

And so dear gentleman-at-the-gym.. No we’re not Marwaris but that’s not the point. There really is more to each one of us than belonging to a region and there are other things that bind people rather than region/caste/religion.