Category: Rant

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Of Navaratri and Kanjak puja

NOTE: Long post alert.N’s been out since 8.30 in the morning and I’ve no clue where she is. I’ve made two trips down scouring the society (and it’s not even such a large one) with no luck. I’ve now sent down H to look for her. Gawd I’m so angry!!

But let me begin at the beginning…
Today is Ashtami – the eighth day of Navaratri. A lot of North Indians celebrate Kanjak Puja today and tomorrow. The standard thing is to invite seven girls, feed them and give them a small gift. The menu is simple enough – a standard – Suji Halwa, Puri and black chanas. It has remained unchanged over years, for that I’m grateful. The gift – which used to be a fruit or a rupee has changed, however.. into Rs 101, a chocolate, a box of sketch pens or a tiffin box. I’m afraid it’s going the return gift way. Anyway that’s another rant.

The thing is there aren’t enough girls in the society to go around. So the same girls end up going to many homes. While some people take the trouble to call and invite, the others simply watch out for the girls and ‘kidnap’ the entire group. I understand it’s not easy for the girls to say no – one, because they’re their friends’ mums who they see almost every day and two, (and I’m not being mean spirited.. just truthful) there’s the lure of the gift. They might have a hundred sets of sketch pens lying at home but they will still go that house for another one.

What’s worse, some women fast till the girls have eaten. So while these girls are traipsing around.. the ones who’ve set a schedule and invited them are waiting.. hungry .. sometimes till afternoon. How unfair is that!

Then there’s the food wastage…
They cannot possibly eat at each house – with each of the hosts trying to fill the girls up to capacity. As a result they simply carry the food home. I’m a bit confused what is to be done with it. Is she supposed to eat it through the day? Can it be given away? Can anyone eat it? Since it’s food made for puja I can imagine how much trouble would have gone into it. I well know how tough it would be to make time to get it all ready in the morning. So what do I do with the food? As of now I have some 20 puris and a big box full of chana and halwa.

Wouldn’t it be better to give it away to someone who really needs it? How about taking a round in the car and handing it out to roadside beggars? Apparently the ones at the temples are so full they just want money not food. How much can even they eat in a day? Of course that’s just a thought. It’s to do with people’s faith and coming from someone who’s barely ritualistic it makes little sense. However something better can surely done with all that food.

Keep me informed..
The second thing that bothered me .. was N going to someones home without informing me. It bothers me if I do not know where the kids are, even if they’re at a friend’s house. It’s a habit that, I hope, will stand H and N in good stead when they grow up – ‘Inform me (or The Husband) where you are at all times’. Is that too autocratic? I don’t know.. but it’s a rule more lenient than my mom’s – ‘Ask me before you go anywhere.’

Saying No
N needs to learn to say ‘NO’ (don’t we all?). It’s easy to get carried away when in a group. And that perhaps is the time when one needs to say ‘No’. It’s easy to think ‘her mom doesn’t mind and she’s my mom’s friend so my mom won’t mind either’. Not true at all.

I do not want to take away the pleasure from the festival. I have sweet memories of it and I want N to have them too but not at the cost of larger issues.

Linking up with Deepa and  Amrita for #MondayMommyMoments.

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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.

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A nag? Who? Me?

I hate nags. I hate ads that promote women as nags. I was never a nag. I certainly wasn’t born one. However of late I’ve been accused of being one, repeatedly. Some soul-searching is certainly in order.

First the definition
Nag: To annoy by constant scolding, complaining or urging…

Yes well some of my interractions would fall in that category but so would many others.

Take a look

Annoy by scolding
– Finish your food; I want a clean plate; No you CANNOT get up will you finish; Leave the salt shaker alone and FINISH.
– No maggi, no chips, no maggi no chips, no maggi no chips.
– Wash your hand before you pick that apple; Leave it.. leave it NOW.. Wash your hands.
– Go for your walk; You missed it again today; Why didn’t you go for your walk today?
– Butter? You’re eating bread and butter at 10 in the night? AND a laddoo?
– You’re diabetic; remember you’re a diabetic; have you forgotten you’re a diabetic?

Annoy by constant complaining
– I want a toy; a small toy; just a small toy; please, pretty please?
– get my cycle repaired; when can I ride my cycle; everyone has a cycle; have you got my cycle?
– can you feed me; I can’t make bites of the roti; only for today; I’m too tired; feed me please.
– may we watch TV? You never let us watch; Just ten minutes? Five minutes?
– may we play for five more minutes, five more, just five more, okay last five.

Annoy by constant urging
– withdraw your PF, when will you withdraw your PF, you still haven’t withdrawn your PF.
– Keep your cheque book properly; keep it somewhere safe; why’s your cheque book lying on the centre table?

Consider at the things I (read women) nag about most often..
– food and eating
– hygiene
– health

Mostly life threatening stuff.. right? While I get nagged about money matters (which are important but still – just money). And as for the kids.. I won’t even go there.

The point I’m trying to make is that women aren’t the only nags. Kids, husbands, parents, neighbours, … they’re all nags. Why label just women? Yes.. so I might be a nag.. sometimes… but so is everyone else. A nag has no sex.. if it does, it’s definitely not only female.

Finally aword in defence of nagging.. it does get stuff done.. causes some bad blood, but it gets stuff done.

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Five reasons why I hate housework

Housework’s one of those things not noticed if they’re done but noticed if not done. Yup you’ve guessed it.. it’s not my forte. It’s not something I signed up for when I decided to be a SAHM. I opted to be a full time mum and that I still enjoy.. well mostly I do. But housework.. not my thing. Unfortunately it comes with the territory. When the maid’s play hooky, which is often, you are simply expected to double up as one.

And so here I am maidless and venting, with a vengeance.

5 reasons why I hate housework

1. It’s unending
It really is. Like draupadi’s sari. Even with all the modern day appliances. Washing, cleaning, cooking, dusting, clearing up, making beds, putting clothes to dry, ironing, settling cupboards… on and on and on.. to infinity. And I’m not even beginning to include the kiddie stuff. It sucks one in like quagmire.
Corollary: It leaves no room for thought for anything else. You’re only thinking of the next task and the next one and then the next.

2. It requires an extremely high level of multitasking (which I obviously lack).
Sample this: I put the milk to boil and spot the Hrit’s beyblade near the gas stove (which he’d brought in for me to fix and I couldn’t because my hands were all floury). I fix the bey blade and go to give it to him in the kids’ room where I trip over a bunch of toy animals. I start putting them away till I smell … you’ve guessed it.. milk. Then it’s just happy mopping.
I routinely burn my veggies. Routinely. The other day I decided to sit it out in the kitchen and carried my book and beanbag there. Big Mistake. I was roused to the smell of.. right.. burning vegetables this time. Rush rush to salvage what I can.. Wash the pan.. fresh oil.. more cooking… aaaargh!

3. It tires me out without letting me lose weight.
Oh yes, it does. If I were to lose even half a kg a day doing all of those chores I’d do it gladly. Where’s the point of getting bone tired and not losing an ounce? On the contrary hanging out in the kitchen in close proximity to food spells pure danger. Plus you’re only too happy to eat what the kids are eating rather than making special low-cal stuff for yourself.. more problem on the weightloss front.

4. It spells the end of ‘quality’ time with kids.
No way can I spare the time for crafting with Naisha or trying out a recipe with Hrit. The dread of clearing up paint or picking up bits of paper.. prohibitive. As for the cooking, I just want to get over with it and get to the other tasks before the next meal comes along.
Corollary: It takes away the pleasure from otherwise pleasurable tasks…. like taking the kids down to play or putting them to sleep. While I’m telling them their bedtime story my mind wanders off to the dinner table that needs clearing or the kitchen that needs to be tidied.

5. It spells the end of ‘me’ time
Well you might catch some television while doing your ironing but reading, blogging, even an hour at the gym can be considered pure luxuries. (That explains just four posts in November and the increasing weight).

Housework makes me crabby and irritable mostly because I’m just not fond of it. How oh how do scores of women do it every single day of their lives without turning into complete harridans? I’m turning into one for sure. I’ve even taken the God’s to task… so there’s your proof.

Disclaimer: These are the ramblings of an overworked housewife sorely missing her maid, who is pregnant (the maid, not the housewife, Thank God) in her husband’s quest (for the fourth time) for a ghar a chirag. The post is to be taken with oodles of salt.
Thank You.

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A letter to Lakshmi ji

Dear Lakshmi ji,

Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be a stay-at-home-mom? A SAHM with a pair of super energetic kids, a super busy husband and a house with a perpetually open door through which umpteen kids stream in an out continuously dripping food and toys?

I don’t think so.

The only kid you’re ever even seen with is your nephew Ganapati, who, with due apologies, is not the really sporty kind. He doesn’t bug you to death to look for his bat or to fish for his ball under the car. He doesn’t hang from curtain rods bringing down pelmets giving you a minor heart attack besides saddling you with the task of carpenter hunting.

You’ve never had to sit with him over his milk and vegetables appearing to be patient while your mind buzzes with the thousand tasks awaiting your attention. Give him his plate of modaks and laddoos and you can get on which your chores (which aren’t really too many).

And no, you’ve never needed to mess your hands making those laddoos either, what with the millions struggling to get into your good books. They load you with enough food to sate even the six heads of your other nephew Kartikeya.

Then there’s The Husband. Yours is supposed to take care of the world so he’d hardly need looking after. He’s not diabetic. He doesn’t need to be pushed to go for his daily walk or watched with a hawk eye lest he empty the mithai box. All you need to do is provide him with your sweet company.. which wouldn’t be so tough given your stress-free life.

As for the cleaning … how much cleaning would one need when one lives on a snake in the middle of the ocean?

So then…

What right do you have to go looking for the cleanest, prettiest houses with beautifully done up tables piled with homemade goodies each Diwali?

For a change… just this once, don’t let that barbie littered doorway scare you away. What? You see no one praying? Hey they’re too excited to sit quietly with folded hands. They’d rather sing and dance.. they’re expecting you, don’t worry.. do walk in. Step around the dolls, Oh and mind those cars –  they might trip you, Oops sorry! did you mess your sari? Those diyas are being painted to welcome you. Don’t mind that sink full of vessels.. that food was made in your honour.

Don’t look at the dust on the shelves, look at the smiling faces in the frames on them. Don’t look for the most scintillating fireworks, look for the happiest face behind the smallest sparkler. Don’t look for the fanciest lights, look for the attention and care with which those diyas were painted. Don’t look at that crooked rangoli look at the thrill on the girl’s face, it’s her first.

Rather than the cleanest, prettiest and most peaceful houses, how about looking for the noisiest, cosiest and happiest homes? Try it this Diwali. You might find them more fun than the squeaky clean ones.

Warm regards

Obsessivemom

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