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Back with flowers

Back after a long gap… and what better way than through Shruti’s Artsy Craftsy Challenge. Flowers it is.. I’d been promising Naisha that we’d make egg-carton flowers but had been putting it off for ages… months actually. I can’t begin to count how many cartons I’ve kept for weeks and then thrown out. Finally today since it was a a rainy day we planned not to go down to play and did this instead. The neighbour’s daughter joined us while Hrit was dispatched to the neighbour’s house (in exchange!) so we could work in peace. What fun.

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Boys!

A few days back I spent over an hour washing and scrubbing my sneakers. That was a momentous event considering it had been months since their last wash. As I was showing off their sparkling whiteness along came Hrit and very very purposefully stamped on them with his muck-laden school shoes and then grinned at me readying to scoot should I try to whack him. I settled for the loudest yell I could muster.
A few hours later, he had completely forgotten his misdeed while I was still bristling at the defiling of my shoes. He came to me and said, “Mama do you know what I want this time when I complete my ten stars?”
I’ve been giving the kids stars and crosses for good and bad behaviour for a long time now. It’s a pretty effective way to get them to behave. They really look forward to the ten-star mark when they get a gift of their choice. Hrit counted his stars today and realised he’d got just two more to go before the promised gift.

“What?”, asked I.
“I want that you never die,” said he. Considering that his original demand was for a remote controlled car which he’d been hankering after for a long long time, it was quite a huge sacrifice.

Devil or angel? What do you say?
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I’ve been struggling to get the kids to sleep on their own with little success. As a first step to sleeping in separate rooms instead of lying down with them I have recently started sitting and putting them to sleep with a story or a song.
Yesterday by the time the kids were ready for bed I was still wrapping up dinner. I put them to bed and told them to try to sleep on their own while I finished up.

“I can’t sleep alone,” complained Naisha. Obviously Hrit’s presence in the room doesn’t count.

“I want a song,” said Hrit
“Sing yourself to sleep. I’ll be there in a minute,” said I hurrying around the kitchen.

When I got to the bedroom Naisha was dutifully humming their regular bedtime song while Hrit was singing quietly to himself Main to Annie Annie Annie Annie ruk gaya… if you didn’t get that, it’s the Ainvayi Ainvayi song from Band Baja Barat.
No wonder he takes ages to fall asleep.

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Eid, Ganapati and some weightloss

The kids had two days of holidays for Eid and Ganesh Chaturthi, The Husband was working both days. I thought I’d take a break. For once I’d drop the Scheduler Mom attitude, let the kids be… not worry about whether they were having their daal, roti, subzi… not worry about how much television they were watching… or how long they were at the neighbour’s… that was the plan.
I thought I’d not bother with the festivals, either. Eid used to be special in Lucknow .. but we were not in Lucknow. Our only Muslim friend here, who’s son is also Hrit’s best buddy, had gone home to Kerala for the celebration so we were just not excited.
However, one can’t really live in India and not bother about festivals. First I got a call from my mother. Here’s how that went…
Ma: So what are you doing for Eid? Are you making Seviyan?
Me: Nope
Ma: Why not?
Me: I just didn’t feel like it.
Ma: Arre, why aren’t you celebrating? How can you not involve the children in Eid celebrations? You should dress them up, take them out, tell them why it’s celebrated.
That’s when I wished I could tune her out. But there’s something about my mum. I just can’t tune her out. Everyone else I can.. I’m actually quite good at it. I can read amidst the kids’ ruckus, turn a deaf ear to The Husband, tune out to colleagues’ wives chatter, make PC with all and sundry without bothering my brains but my mum.. she’s a different story. Oh I’ll oppose what she says when I don’t quite agree.. but I’ll always have a niggling doubt that she’s right. She often is… but that’s not the point. The point is that small ‘niggle’ will niggle and niggle and grow and grow till I find myself galvanised into doing exactly what she wanted me to. Humph! So much for turning into a grown up, mature, independent individual.
But I deviate.. on with the conversation…
Me (putting up the token protest and trying to go on the offensive): I’m not sure of the story myself. You never told us, did you? You never dressed us up either.
Ma: Well you were in Lucknow. You were part of that culture.. you got to soak it all up automatically but your kids need to be told about it all. Look up the story on the Net, get out the kurta pajama and chaniya cholis. And I did dress you up once.
Well she did.. but that wasn’t on Eid and she DID NOT tell us the story.
Not that it mattered because by evening I was running around buying seviyans and milk, then surfing the Net, then digging out the kids’ clothes. Then The Husband came and said we were to go to wish a friend Eid. The kids’ got to flaunt their clothes and I got to eat the most delicious Sheer Khurma (that had simmered all night on a sigri… yum!). My seviyans turned out quite delicious too or maybe the neighbours were being polite. But then The Husband said so too and he NEVER tries to be polite so my Eid was pretty much perfect.
Then came Ganapati. Thank God Mum knows nothing about it (There’s no Ganesh Chaturthi up North) and just as I was thinking of a lazy day the SIL called. She was bringing Ganapati home and we were invited. And so I ran from the gym, ran to pick some prasad so I could make my own petitions to the Lord, dressed up the kids and it was puja time. We drove through the roads teaming with drummers even as loudspeakers boomed bhajans in Marathi, waded through the crowds to pick up the idol, watched the SIL set it up, decorated it with flowers and thermacol, then put together the hundred other things needed for the puja, sang the aarti while the kids alternately clapped and fought for the bell. Finally we sat down to a hot lunch of chhole, bhature, kheer… really there’s nothing like being with friends and family.
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And here’s my high five moment. I kicked off the four kgs I’d picked up In Lucknow during the vacations. Now I can look forward to some real weightloss. Since I’d set August as the deadline I’m pretty bang on with my target. Even the modaks I had recently haven’t pushed up the scales so I’m pretty chuffed. Wish me more luck guys.
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A bunch of books

A bad book is best left alone. However, once I start a book I find it very tough to leave it midway and move on. It feels like desertion. And so I soldier on.. sometimes losing the thread out of disinterest, sometimes letting it lie for days before taking it up yet again and sometimes reading it without making much sense.
It’s worse if the book is ‘famous’ and I feel I ‘should’ like it. Okay I guess I should rephrase what I said earlier… ‘a book you don’t like should be left alone’… it eats into your reading time and keeps you away from other books you might enjoy.
These past few days I’ve been stuck with a bad read and finally today I decided to give it up. What made it worse was that over the last two months I’ve been treated to some half a dozen wonderful books in a row. .. I didn’t just get lucky, they were handpicked by my SIL from her massive collection.
The settings have been as diverse as they possibly could be.. from Nigeria to China to 1962s Mississippi, Germany during the World War and India during the Independence struggle. Take a look…
First for some was uncharted territory — the Nigerian Revolution.. I’d never read anything about it before. In fact I’ve read very little of any African literature. It was completely fascinating. Half of a Yellow Sun, Purple Hibiscus by the same author — Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.. great reads. The first one is more about the revolution and the second is the personal story of a young girl set during the same time. I liked Purple Hibiscus better simply because personal stories appeal to me.
Then there was World War Germany. I’ve read plenty of that yet these were wonderful, specially The Boy in Striped Pajamas by John Boyne, which I’ve already written about. The other one, The Reader by Bernhard Schlink, is also a great read.
Then I moved on to China. The only Chinese author I’ve read is Pearl S Buck and she is ancient. In the Pond by Ha Jin was more recent. I loved his style… funny and satirical.

If I had to settle for a favourite I’d probably go for this one — The Help by Kathryn Stockett. The book is about black maids raising white children. I found plenty of parallels between the book and how we treat our maids in India. It’s fast paced and gripping. A must must read. The other book about another black woman I got to read is the Pulitzer prize winning The Color Purple by Alice Walker. Wonderful.

Finally there was Homespun by Nilita Vachani. The book spans three generations, goes slow in bits but tells an interesting tale.
And then I went and picked a bad one from the library. Am at bit of a loss now. What are you guys reading? Any suggestions?
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