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Boys and girls

Raising a boy and a girl together is interesting, to say the least. All these years the twins have been almost inseparable, joining in each others games even if one was a bit reluctant. Naisha’s no tomboy yet she does enjoy football and ‘bat ball’. Hrit, though reluctant, joined in celebrating Shanti’s birthday with gusto.
Now however the differences are becoming pronounced and they’re not sure how to handle the situation. Last evening when we came down to play there were a host of girls, 6 to 4 years old, playing together and they asked Naisha, just Naisha, to join in, categorically saying, “Aunty please, no boys.”
Naisha happily went off with them and I took Hrit to the swings. Fortunately he met another boy and they launched off with their beyblades. However, every five minutes or so Naisha would come running to check on Hrit and every few minutes he’d say..”Mama may I go play with the girls?” I tried to distract him because the other girls didn’t want him around. Finally the other boy also gave up the beyblade and they ran off to the girls.
When I reached there huffing and puffing I found the girls shrieking and running around with the boys following them kicking and punching in the air. “Don’t run after the girls, Hrit,” I yelled till I saw the girls were actually enjoying the whole thing. The one who’d asked me to keep Hrit away clarified, “Aunty they can play with us. We are all princesses, they can be monsters and chase us.”
With that I had to be satisfied.. at least they were all having fun together.. so what if the son was a monster?
Afterthought: I can see myself some 15 years hence telling my son, “Don’t run after the girls” while the girls will be having just as much fun as him. I do hope I accept all of that with as much equanimity as I did this time. Just as I dismissed this as part of growing up, hope I can do it then too. My sister’s sniggering, already.
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King of Geekdom

Picture courtesy Google pics

It’s official. The son is set to rule geekdom. I’d suspected all was not well with his eyes for almost a month now. I’d find him frowning at the telly or watching it sideways. However, I dismissed it as another one of his vagaries. Taking him to the doc just wasn’t priority, what with the over load of work after the maid absconded. Finally, a few days back we visited the ophthalmologist. And sure enough… specs it is!

He has cylindrical power caused by the cornea changing shape from round to spoon due to eyelid pressure. Whew! He’s just four and a half.. was my first thought. How will he handle it in school, in the bus, during play? Then came the worry ‘What if the other boys bother him? How will he handle it?’

The optimist in me (normally in hiding) showed up for a change. One, lots of kids wear specs and handle them wonderfully. On the teasing issue .. well he’s just too small.. other kids might treat the whole thing as a great novelty factor. Even as I say that my fingers are crossed. The only thing I should really worry about is the constant nagging I’ll have to do.. but then (thus spoke Ms Optimist), I anyway need to nag him for a hundred things.. what’s hundred one?

Selling the idea
The tough part was selling the idea to him. “Not everyone gets glasses, it’s ‘special’ (Ah the magic of that word!)”, “It’s a very grown up thing, Papa wears them and so does Mama”.
Such are my marketing skills that not only was he sold on the idea.. his sister was too. She got majorly envious and went into thoughtful mode then pronounced, “From now I’m also going to watch the telly from close, so I get specs too.” Kill a monster give birth to another one. The irony of two .

The test
I’ve had specs for nearly two decades and never did I give the eye test a thought. With Hrit however it was quite a test.. a test of patience for the doctor. He’s often such a good boy but when he really needs to be good.. he just won’t. Remember the photo shoot ? At the docs he refused to sit still, refused to look where she asked him to and kept blinking when she tried to test him with the comp. When she asked him to read the alphabets he deigned to read one or two and then launched off into a musical rendition of ABCD…
The doc gave up after a while and allotted him a number by tempering the computer reading.

The fitting
The fitting of specs was another issue. First we couldn’t find the right size.. they kept slipping off his nose. “His nose is too flat,” said the frustrated optometirist. Well well well… so the Japanese don’t wear specs, protested I silently, taking umbrage at this insult of the flat-nose heirloom my genes had passed onto my son. Finally we found the right size and Hrit, who’d sat through the trials patiently and become quite adept at them, shook his head vigorously, looked up and down and jumped over and over again.. “Look mama they aren’t slipping”, said he happily. “Can we please now take them home?” Not yet, said I to his total disappointment. I tried to explain the process of making the lens … then gave up. The lady said it would take three days and Hrit was ready to wait it out right their at Vision Express.

Another day to go before we finally get the specs. I so hope Hrit’s enthusiasm remains and Naisha’s dampens.

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Getting artsy craftsy

I’d actually been meaning to do this post on kid crafts for Diwali. I’d written part of it too then just felt too lazy and gave it up. Thanks to Mindfulmeanderer  here I am doing it finally. Thanks Shruti for the push.

Designer Diyas

What we need: Plain diyas (they come at a rupee a piece), Acrylic paints, Rangeela glitter tubes.
What we did: We began with washing off the diyas so they absorb less paint. Then I got the kids to paint them.. you’ll see a lot of blues because my son was the more enthusiastic one! Then we did some simple designs with the glitter tubes. The nozzles are quite kid friendly but I did lend a hand.

We also did some diyas with sequins. The kids used toothpicks to apply fevicol and then stuck on the sequins. Kept them busy for hours while I got my cleaning done.

 

Diya streamers
What we need: Sheets of plain white paper, Oil pastels or water colours, Rangeela glitter tubes, Gota/ribbon
What we did: I drew a simple diya then cut it out. (I folded the paper over before cutting it out so I got multiple cutouts in one go). Then I got the kids to colour/paint them. Oil pastels work better than regular crayons. Then we outlined them with the glitter tubes and left them to dry. Finally, we punched holes and strung them out on the gota or ribbon.

Diwali cards

What we need: Paper, Oil pastels
What we did: I drew simple designs.. diyas, flowers, stars … sometimes I threw in a basic border and got them to colour it. Simple.
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All for an authentic Maharashtrian thali

My BIL has a penchant for all things authentically Maharashtrian while the husband and I have a liking for all things culinary (provided of course I’m not doing the cooking). When the BIL offered to take us all out for lunch at an old-time thali joint we happily agreed. On a Sunday afternoon we set out … seven of us, the twins and my niece included, to a place called Durvankur in the old city.
Pic courtesy Google images
We were taken aback at the crowd waiting outside.. it was like a wedding reception.. There were over fifty people dressed in all their finery waiting around chatting in groups. It seemed like we’d chosen the wrong day for our foray in the city – it was Bhai Duj plus Padwa and the entire city was out for lunch.
The husband and the BIL were undaunted. “This is normal.. the place is always crowded,” said they elbowing their way into the joint while the SIL and I waited outside with the kids in order to spare the other diners.
“10 minutes,” said the maitre d. The men waited patiently while the SIL and I struggled to lighten up a grumpy Hrit. (As always the one-child-happy-one-cranky rule applied) After about 15 minutes the two men came out with the husband in a bad temper.
Apparently their turn had come and the maitre d allotted them the table then asked where the rest of the ‘party’ was. The H explained they were waiting outside. That didn’t go down well with the maitre d. Apparently, we ALL were expected to be waiting right at the table ready to jump on our chairs at his bidding. He promptly allotted the table to another family and extended our wait.
So much for Puneri hospitality! A rude maitre d is such a total turn off. He wouldn’t have been bothered though, what with the kind of crowds the joint was drawing. I guess some would take it in their stride, however brought up in the nawabi culture where people are polite to you even while shooting you in the head, rudeness is just not our cup of tea.
The H walked off in a huff and we all followed with the howling kids who were getting hungrier by the minute. I had a good mind to let loose the kids in the restaurant and watch the maitre d handle that. He had no idea of the mayhem they are capable of in crowded places with no aisle space and busy waiters walking around with food.
Anyway, we then went from joint to joint only to find all places choc-a-bloc with hungry people. We finally caught lunch at about 3 pm that day.
I wasn’t however able to get the thali thought out of my head. Last Sunday the SIL and I found ourselves making our way to the old city again for some shopping. By the time we winded up it was past lunch time. It really is rare that we find ourselves minus kids and husbands footloose and fancy free. My thali longing took us back to the same joint again.
The first floor has the kitchens and we got a gilmpse of the huge cooking utensils. However, it was the second floor where we were headed. This time round we were prepared for the rudeness. The maitre d however was more business like than rude. “Two people?” he asked and then pointed us to a seat right away. How’s that for luck!
We dodged rushing waiters and closely-laid out tables to our place. Even before we could take our seats thalis and bowls were planted before us. A waiter threw (Yes threw) napkins in our plates and disappeared before we could see where he came from. Then came the food… two gravy veggies, dahi vadas, potato bhaji, bhajias, dhokla, chips, jalebis and the crowning glory Sitaphal rabadi. Add to that a selection of five or six pickles and chutneys plus a huge bowl of koshimbir (a cool cucumber concoction with curd and groundnuts with a dash of salt and sugar….ideal on a hot afternoon). Mmmmmm…. There were puris and rotis to choose from plus a choice of rice served with a dash of ghee.
Ambience and frills there were none but the food was well worth the trouble. The Sitaphal rabadi alone was sweet enough to wash off last times rudeness. The service was almost military in its precision. The moment you emptied a bowl you’d magically get a refill. It seemed some people of the staff had the sole responsibility of peering into plates and beckoning the food-carriers as soon as they spotted empty bowls.
We were out in less than half an hour with a large packet of Sitaphal Rabri for the hungry pack at home.
At Rs 150 a thali — it was a deal.
Afterword
And we forgive the maitre d, he really just doesn’t have time to be nice. He’s too busy seating hungry people and ensuring he feeds as many as possible. If he does annoy a patron here and there … well never mind he’ll come back in his own time. We did, didn’t we?
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Diwali is where the home is

Yessss! I won. The kids did it for me this time. Here’s what the judge Bhawna of An Indian Summer had to say about my post.

Tulika: I relived my train journeys to Lucknow as a child through your post. Not that I travelled without a reservation ;-) , but the experience of taking a night train and then taking the rickety auto rickshaws (what are they called again?) once out of the railway station – all came back to me. The fact that you made it for Diwali as a surprise – I am sure, it must be your family’s favorite dinner table story :) . But the winning stroke of your post was the gorgeous handiwork of your four year old twins! Thanks for sharing the early works of the two very talented artists currently residing in your home! :) ”

Pic Courtesy: Google Images

There’s something about Diwali that makes me want to go home. And each year I did, for many many years. All was well till I was in Delhi.. home was a night’s journey away and life was cool. Then I moved to Bombay. I thought I was all grown up and could handle being away from home. A few weeks to Diwali and the longing started. I can handle it, I reiterated, I’m a big girl. Diwali got closer. Activity in office hotted up, more so because I was in the business of stocks. Brokers poured in with gifts and sweets. Everyone, yes everyone seemed to be headed home. They waved their reservation tickets proudly. Everyone else seemed to be perpetually on the phone checking their reservation status. I didn’t even have a ticket. The longing kicked in real bad.

A week before, I became desperate. Of course by then reservations were full and there was no chance I was ever getting home other than by travelling on the train roof, something I wasn’t really keen on doing. Then, like a messenger from God, I got a call from an ex classmate who was also going to Lucknow and had tickets to spare. I shamelessly piled on along with another friend, double pile on. Then I discovered all his tickets were waitlisted. “They will get confirmed”, he assured us, “my uncle’s in the Railways”. The three of us reached the station only to find the uncle had failed us – just one ticket had been confirmed.
Interestingly, the moment other passengers realise you do not have a valid ticket you become an outsider and they tacitly gang up against you, and so they did. Oh I’ll never forget those scornful stares that seemed to say, “Aajkal ke ladke ladkiyan….” followed by thoughts of unmentionable things they were capable of. They checked the locks and chains on their luggage as if we would make off with it all. We sat through it, closing our eyes and ears to everything, chatting about our respective jobs and reminiscing college days.
Then the TT came along and we seemed to be in imminent danger of being thrown out. We talked and pleaded, argued and haggled to be allowed to just sit in the compartment. We did have one seat, didn’t we? The ‘uncle’ came to our rescue. Name dropping does wonders in India and we had our permissions. The TT retired grudgingly saving the worst stare for me.
That 26 hour journey squeezed together on a single seat with two boys is unforgettable.
I was given the privileged window seat by my chivalarous friends. By 10 the co-passengers switched off the lights and by 10.30 I was nodding off too. By 11 I was longing to stretch my legs and by 11.30 I was wondering why I came at all. I rested by head at the window and stretched out my legs sprawling on my one third seat. My head rolled with the train’s pace and its steady rhythm seemed to say.. sleep sleep sleep.. except there was to be no sleep.
The night was interminable. We got off at every platform through the night, welcoming the sounds of “chai chai”. Drinking endless cups of tea gave us something to do. Somewhere during the early hours we all fell asleep in one tired heap. We woke up on Diwali day with the muted morning sun upon us through the dark glass windows. The co-passengers seemed in a much better humour. Perhaps the morning cup of tea had warmed them, or maybe it was just the relief that we weren’t the goondas they’d thought us or was it simply the miracle of Diwali… they struck up human conversations with us. By 9.30 the train ambled onto the platform. We said our goodbyes and hopped onto rickshaws. That was another first.. a pampered me had always had my dad receive me at the station.. but this was different.. it was meant to be a surprise.
Anyone who’s sat on a cycle rickshaw knows of its dawdling nawabi pace. By the time I reached home I was almost hopping on the seat from frustration and excitement. That homecoming will always be very very special.
I don’t think I have it in me to do it again, ever. But that year I did get home…. and it was well worth it. The look on my mom’s face when she saw me made it MORE than worth it.
Afterword:
I kept up the trend for many years even after I was married. Diwali saw me making my way from Delhi, Mumbai, Bhopal, Pune.. wherever I was, all the way home and it was always worth it.. always. Things changed only after I had my twins. I leave you with some pictures of their handiwork this Diwali.
Hard at work
The finished products

A diya streamer

Some of their Diwali cards
If this seems a tad drab remember it was done entirely by the kids (other than lighting the candles) for I was down with fever on Diwali day this year and couldn’t leave the bed

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