Giving thanks and praying for strength

Life is strange. This time last year, I was going to pieces, hoping that my son's Coats disease was under control (it was). But just some time before that, I'd gone to pieces and sought help. I know I still need it, but for the past 7 months, I've managed on my own. Not commendably, and not the way I'd have liked to, but I've managed...

Now, I'm close to going to pieces again. Which is why it's time to take stock. My son's Coats has been under control for a year (his eye exam is around the corner. my fingers are crossed even as my brain reels like it always does in the run up to the eye exam every 4 months). In May, I managed to get out of my dead end job into one that's bursting at the seams with opportunities. I can say I've done pretty well for myself professionally - and there's scope to do more.

I can crib about the state of my marriage (hanging by the skin of my teeth), the state of my body (bursting), the state of my mind (all gone to hell and back) and the state of my house (the zone before time began) and the lack of time (ever got into the car and realized you were still wearing your bedroom slippers?) But that's nothing, really, when I sit to count my blessings.

And I feel truly blessed that I have my son, that I am able to be there for my mother - and she for me, and that all my hard work at the office is paying off. I am grateful to the Almighty that my son's condition was caught in time for treatment, and that the treatment has worked. He has flourished in school - at academics, at sports (he won the gold medal in the hoop race a couple of months ago) and other activities. I have a roof over my head and I am able to provide for my family. I am blessed with good health (the loose joints on the left-hand side of my body are worth another blog post, surely). We have been kept safe, day after day and that, in today's violent times, is something to truly give thanks for.

I need periods like this - to give thanks. Otherwise, I would just beat myself with thoughts of what more I need. Kiddo's sleeping over at my mom's. DH is asleep. And I finally have the time to return to my blog and give thanks. Because I know that although it's outrightly unfair for my child to be suffering from a condition that hangs over our him like a Damocles' sword, I know that the Almighty must have something good planned for him.

It breaks my heart to see him, innocent and carefree, deal with this condition in a very matter-of-fact manner. I dread the day he will ask me: "Why did this happen to me, Mamma?" So far, it's only been: "Will they make me unconscious or are we just going for the drops?" That's heart-rending, too, but I deal with it. I can only pray that when the time comes to answer the "why me?" or "when will this end?" questions, I will know what to say. Until then, I can only give thanks for the strength that we have received to deal with this thus far and hope for the best.

The leakage is back...and I'm falling apart

I managed to get us an appointment with the eye doctor yesterday. The leakage has started again. Munchkin was really irritated about keeping his eyes closed for them to be dilated. And somehow, ever since we left home, I was expecting bad news.

This time, the exudates (old leakage) had reduced, but other blood vessels had swollen and have begun leaking. Amazing, how quickly things can change in four months. The good news is that these vessels are still a decent distance away from the macula, so by God's grace his vision remains unaffected.

I was in such a tizzy after having the Fundus photos taken that I agreed to leave the hospital without thinking. Poppet's father wanted to delay it until after we come back from his parents place - which would make it another two weeks. By that time, Poppet's school would have started again. I agreed at the time but something didn't seem right...I guess what threw me off was his comment: "You can think practically and get the cryo done on Wednesday and cancel the trip. Or you can think religiously and proceed with the trip, seek miracles at the temples we're supposed to go to and come back and get it done on the 2nd of Jan."

I just didn't know how to respond. On the way home, however, what struck me was that the doctor was okay with us travelling a few days after the cryo. Why not get it done now, go on our trip, seek the miracle, and have my Munchkin recover throughout the Holidays?

We weren't able to talk to the doctor on the phone that day but now I'm hoping to fix procedure for next Wednesday. We can then leave for his grandparents' place on Saturday.

The whole general anesthesia thing still gives me the jitters. And there's so much in flux at the office. I have a hundred loose ends to tie up before I can go away without worrying about being fired while I'm away. :-P

More after we've organized everything. Hang in there, Munchkin. I have faith this will all work out...

That time of the year again

Last Christmas, I was thrilled to post that my son's Coats Disease had stabilized after two rounds of cryo and laser. It was my best Christmas gift ever.
Now it's that time of the year again. And just like last year, the eye exam has been delayed for one reason or another. He's actually not past his due date but I usually start early because I work myself up into such a frenzy that I want to know the results as soon as possible. He's had two more eye exams (one in March, the other in August) and the doctor says there's been no fresh leakage. The exudates (existing leakage) are still there, though. The doctor says they'll get absorbed over time, or he can use laser.
The kid also has glasses now - very, very low power and in both eyes. He also hasn't complained of any floaters or other discomfort throughout the year.
This time, we've kept missing the doctor (he was away for an emergency surgery the first time and the next week, I clean forgot - the stress is making me senile). We were all set for tomorrow, but it turns out the doctor's going to be in surgery again.
On Monday, the kid has his school's annual program. Tuesday's supposed to be a "bad day" for kids to be taken to a hospital; Wednesday the doctor's in surgery again; Thursday's Christmas, so the hospital OPD is closed; and Friday's surgery day again. Saturday we're leaving to visit my in-laws for a week. And then school re-opens again. And I am falling apart with the stress. It always builds up in the days running up the test.
A few days ago, a colleague mentioned my son's case to her eye doctor. He doesn't know my son's doctor but recommended someone else in the city. So that's another thing driving me crazy - do we stick by our doctor or get a third opinion (we've already had a second opinion - and it matched our doctor's).
Anyway, I'm sooo hoping the doctor will be able to spare some time to see my son tomorrow. Hopefully his assitant will be able to give me a clearer reply.
I honestly don't think I'll be able to go two weeks without knowing how my son is doing. The thing is, his condition has been stable since the last cryo in Oct 07 - which makes me wonder if all this is too good to be true.
I'm hoping and praying...

Life without plastic (money)...it's really weird!

I made the mistake of using my credit card in Sri Lanka in May. Just a $3.50 payment to cover for the cash I didn't have at the Colombo airport duty free store. The next thing I know, I get a call from the card company telling me that Sri Lanka is a high-risk location and I would be better off if I had my card cancelled and get a new one at no cost. Sounded good.

Around the same time, I lost my ATM PIN and haven't been able to get around to applying for a new one. I have a new account - because I have a new job and the firm will send my salary only to that particular bank - but I haven't found an ATM near my office or my house. Sigh. The credit card delivery guy has twice arrived in the middle of the afternoon and returned because we weren't home. This is after specifically requesting for a Saturday delivery or an address where I could go and pick up the card. No go!

So in 2008, I'm now dependent on cold, hard cash to manage my day-to-day spending. :-( I've never paid a rupee in interest to the credit card company. I make my full payment each month. But now that I'm card-less, it's a weird feeling. Like withdrawal symptoms from an addiction or empty-purse syndrome, maybe.

Now I better sign off and call the credit card company and see when I can get my new card. Wish me luck.

Happy anniversary to us...10 years and counting

Today was as good a day as any to restart blogging -- our tenth wedding anniversary! I can't believe we are now in our second decade. Sure, there's been trouble, and I sometimes find it tough to be optimistic, but sometimes, being practical works just as well.

Confession time: DH got me a card and money to buy a gift (I got a silver bracelet)...but I didn't get him anything...I mean, it's not like I was being mean. But it's really tough to buy him anything. It's like he has everything and anything I bought him would not be needed. There is one thing he wants. The new Artemis Fowl book, but that releases in 10 days. So I've promised to get him that. I dropped the whole card routine a few years back. It just happened...may be I'll restart that one of these years.

In the meantime, I honestly do need to get more organized than I used to be. More about the book in which I wrote a chapter...coming soon... :)

One step forward, two steps back

Yep, that pretty much describes the past six weeks. But the past six days have been ultra-stressful. It's more like two steps forward, one-and-a-half steps back. So here's another bland and quick update.

1. The damned BlackBerry finally got repaired. Created a serious hole in my pocket, too. But at least it isn't a sword over my head any more. I'm free, at last.

2. The idiot 'boss' got so excited over my exit, he couldn't control himself for a weekend and took off big time on the Office Manager. Told the poor girl all kinds of horrid stuff. She was so upset she just left the office and headed straight home, refusing to take calls. The man has no finer feelings. Actually, the man has no feelings that relate to anybody else. If this was the US of A - a phrase the (ex) Lord & Master was fond of using - the man would be sued for harrassment 10 times over. He's actually said stuff like: "You women join work and quit when you get married or take a year off when you get pregnant." D'uh... Looks like someone hasn't realized this is the 21st century.

3. My passport was supposed to have been dispatched this evening, but the passport office website still doesn't state a dispatch number. I'm supposed to show my passport when I join work on Monday, but hey... where.is.the.passport?????? Grrrrrrrrrr.

4. I've lost my doc's phone number! And haven't been able to track him down for the past 3 days. Long story...meant for another blogpost. Maybe. I need a session, really. You think I could just write to him?

5. At home, the room meant for the in-laws (arriving next Wednesday) is not yet ready. The husband cannot do anything on its own. Is always to tired to help when I want to start and sonny boy has been spoilt rotten during the holidays. Took the kid out for a movie, Bhootnath, this afternoon. Nice time pass, nothing life-altering! Like I could even deal with anything like that right now. Sigh.

6. If this much-worked-for passport does arrive before Monday, I'm supposed to head out to Colombo for two weeks of training, missing kiddo's first three days in the first grade. Waaaaaaaahhhhh. Not good.

7. Kiddo had his two lower front teeth pulled out coz the permanent teeth had grown in about 3mm behind the milk teeth and the milk teeth had been shaking but not showing any signs of falling out. He howled and I nearly did the same. I actually felt physically sick when he cried, saw the room spin and was sure I was going to faint or throw up or both...sigh...

I miss my friends at work. I really do.

I haven't written anything in ages. Which makes me feel worse. I wonder when I will be able to get back in the groove...

It's been one heck of a month!

I can't believe it's been almost a month since I last updated my blog. I have good reason, and to tell the truth, I'm soooo stressed out right now, this is the only thing I could think of doing! So here are some quick updates that will explain why I've been out of the blogverse for so long.

1. I quit my job - am serving out the notice period now. {Yay, yay, yay...!!!}

2. I found another job. The work profile is better, it pays a bit more, but they've been adamant about my having a passport before I join. My passport expired 3 years ago and for a variety of reasons I never got it renewed. And now I need it pronto. More on that in a bit.

3. After I gave notice at work, I discovered that my immediate superior enjoys absolutely no respect among the team! Zilch. He's the laughing stock actually! I always suspected it, but I like to look on the brighter side of things. {Either that, or I was so caught up in my own troubles, I didn't notice! :-(}

4. The immediate superior is making things difficult over my last day. I am adjusting earned leave against the notice period (of 30 days) and that's what everyone does. But suddenly, I'm told I have to hang on. (For what?) I mean, just because I quit I'm indispensable? Especially considering that the Lord & Master sitting in the US of A has spent the past year telling me - more or less - that I'm redundant. Go figure!

5. Everyone at work has been telling me they're really sad I'm leaving but understand that I needed to get out of a place where not only was my talent not appreciated but was also ridiculed and dismissed. Sniff...it's really touching, the stuff people are saying.

6. I'm going to radically miss my friends at work. But sigh...no pain, no gain.

7. I finally managed to get something done about my passport. It's taken 10 days of preparation - poring though the website which contains starkly contradictory instructions - taking a zillion printouts and photocopies. Of course, the application was not accepted today because some or the other document was not in order. Come to think of it, nobody in the line got any of their work done. Hmmm....

8. There have been so many papers and copies around the house and I've been reading so much that my son thought I was preparing for an exam!

9. Now here's the icing on the cake. I got a verification certificate today: from an additional commissioner of income-tax, no less. Break out the champagne, this is BIG. But we're merely in the pilot episode, you know. Wait for the updates. God promise, mother promise - as we Indians are fond of saying - I won't disappear again.

10. In the middle of all this, I completed the paperwork for the car, which involved more than a couple of trips across town. All of this has been physically, emotionally and financially draining. The saga continues and I shall spill all the gory details shortly...

Made up my mind...finally

It's been a crazy week. A lot has happened. I didn't want to post today because everything still seems mixed up. But I thought I'd just start with one thing. (Yes, yes, the vacation update and the handbag meme are pending. * hangs head in shame*)

Let's start at the office for today. I've made up my mind to leave this job. Not because I had a fight or because I'm seething about some usual politics. The fact is, I'm really not doing much - even though the pay is good. If I took an editing test tomorrow, I'd probably flunk it because the kind of editing I do is so narrow!! I've just about managed to resurrect my writing, and I think it's time my editing followed suit.

Besides, this place is a fiefdom, a durbar where the king & queen sitting out in the US of A use some very opaque methodology to judge performance. There are just no transparent performance metrics. Actually, there are, but they just prefer to ignore that. Most people are planning to leave after the yearly hikes come out at the end of May. I doubt I'll get anything. Long story, but it's true. So I may as well leave before that. I don't want any sour grapes stories floating around.

So even though the job market out there ain't so good, and headhunters take forever to get back (read 2 months after applying) I'll leave by the end of May. I just don't want to hang around here and watch all this s*&^ unfold all around me.

I may have to sit at home for a while - which doesn't sound too bad. And I could just go back to working from home, although that will require some rethinking with regard to the driver. (Don't balk and don't think I'm rich. Half of the people in Bangalore who can afford a driver for around Rs 6,000 a month - thats less than $150 - hire one because our roads are chaotic, to say the least. And since DH and I both get dropped, the economics works out fine.) But we'll cross that bridge when we get there.

Of course I think about whether or not I'll get a job in the next 6 weeks. It's being ambitious, considering I'm not an IT/ITeS/BPO/KPO professional. And I suck at the whole interview routine. But you know what? Just having made that decision is a great weight off my head. And I love that feeling. :-)

Clawing my way back

The past week was bad. I couldn't write, I was binging, I was constantly hurried, and my fridge was empty because I hadn't shopped for groceries the previous weekend. So we've been eating weird experiments. Tasty, but not very healthy and certainly not good for my peace of mind. And to top it all off, things were going from bad to worse at work.

One step at a time.

I couldn't write: Everybody told me: just write. Something. Anything. Even if it's bad. So that's what I'm doing. Forcing myself to write. (You've been warned! :-P)

I was binging: Sanity has prevailed today. I also realized that I'd first stopped binging because of my meds. Then those were scaled back. I haven't binged in a month and realized I was depending on the meds to hold me back. Now I have to work on this on my own. Managed today. Fingers crossed.

I was constantly hurried: Again, because there was a lot of work left undone. And we're leaving for the beach in less than two days. So I hope to relax there.

Things bad a work: Sorted this one out. The uncertainty has gone on for too long. So today, I spoke to a senior colleague and then decided I was going to quit next month. I'm giving myself six weeks to find another job. It won't be easy because the U.S. is looking at a recession and most of the firms that pay well are affected by the slowdown as well as the depreciating dollar. And I won't work late shifts so I'm narrowing down my options. Again, fingers crossed.

Ooooh...nearly forgot. I am now the proud owner of a car. My first one ever. This is what the company gave me in late 2006 and now I've bought it from them at a really good rate. It's not mortgaged either. It's all mine. (Well, I did borrow from my Dad, but I'll pay him back in less than two months. Just waiting for a couple of bank deposits to mature.) Will take a photo of it and post it in a couple of days.

Also coming soon: The what's-in-your-handbag meme! That'll be my first meme.

Drawing a mental blank...

I'm drawing a blank on what to post on my blogs. Writer's block? Maybe. I have a sneak feeling that the absence of misery in my life might have something to do with it. :) Yea...I've been miserable for the past five years. It's just that I didn't know I was miserable and depressed and thought that's just how my life was meant to be.

Then I couldn't cope anymore and sought professional help. Suddenly, everything was clear: like I had a bird's eye view of the past few years. I wondered how I had managed to muddle through that time. And when the professional help started to work, I had this huge burst of creativity. I was brimming with ideas on what to write on my blog. I had ideas for short stories popping up at all kinds of odd hours. I even wrote a few. I loved that.

I managed to get a grip on the uncertainty at work, learned not to let DH's mood swings affect me, developed an even better relationship with my son, and well...things were great. Even better was the fact that my son's eye condition was under control.

And now...I'm blank as far as my writing is concerned. The doctor says I'm progressing very well. So I can't help but wonder if the two are connected. It also looks like I'm slipping with the control I'd gained over my eating habits. At first I thought it was the usual PMS-related carb cravings. But I don't think that's it. For the past week, I haven't been able to write anything. (Trust me, even this post has been a major effort.) And as for ideas for short stories...muahahaha...(that's my insane laughter, btw...insane and hopeless...*sob, sob, sob.*)

Is this the end of the road? Or am I really not meant to write again?

Update on my son's Coats condition

I'm smiling. I'm relieved. I'm thanking the Almighty once again. And I'm taking my son on a beach vacation. All because he had his doctor's appointment on Tuesday (1 day later than planned) and it turns out that there has been no fresh leakage since his second cryopexy treatment last October to treat the Coats Disease. The exudates (residue of the leakage) are still there but the doctor believes this will be absorbed by the body over time. Otherwise, some laser can be done. But there's no treatment required for now.

So of course, this was reason to celebrated. The little fellow has been hankering to go back to the beach for over a year now. And it wasn't possible before this because everytime there was a school break, he had either a procedure or a doctor's appointment scheduled. In the meantime, his friends have gone on several vacations so he's been feeling a little left out.

More on that later. Just wanted to share the good news. :-)

Thank you SOOOO much, everyone who prayed. God bless you.

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Pray for my son, please

Happy Holi, Happy Easter: What a weekend!

Time magazine reported that six major religious days co-incided this past Friday.

"Good Friday! Happy Purim, Happy Eid, Happy Holi, etc... In what is statistically, at least, a once-in-a-millennium combination, the following occured on the 21st: Good Friday

Purim, a Jewish festival celebrating the biblical book of Esther Narouz, the Persian New Year, which is observed with Islamic elaboration in Iran and all the "stan" countries, as well as by
Zoroastrians and Baha'is.

Eid Milad an Nabi, the Birth of the Prophet, which is celebrated by some but not all Sunni Muslims and, though officially beginning on Thursday, is often marked on Friday.

Small Holi, Hindu, an Indian festival of bonfires, to be followed on Saturday by Holi, a kind of Mardi Gras.

Magha Puja, a celebration of the Buddha's first group of followers, marked primarily in Thailand..." (Read more from Time)

I played Holi for the first time in decades. This time because my son wanted to. He and a few other children on our floor got together with some "safe colors" which they rubbed on each others' faces and clothes and hair and well...you get the picture. No colored water because it was sooooo windy and we didn't want the children catching a cold. DH was a sport although he claims to hate the festival. (Things can get out of hand because men will sometimes drink too much and we all know the kind of trouble that can cause.)

My mother got some natural color out of a beautiful red flower. That's how they originally played Holi in the olden days.

None of the other mommies on the floor wanted to join in - it's really a north Indian festival and Bangalore is in the south - so the kids had to be entertained by just me. I don't think they minded in the least. I put colorful moustaches on all their faces, followed by warrior motifs and everything else they thought up. :-)

Last December, my son gifted me my best ever Christmas. And now, I got to play Holi because he wanted to. Once again, thank you, Poppet.

Whatever made me think I could write again?

I spent some time last night poring over the profiles and comments of fellow members of the online writers' group that I'm a part of and that's left me...awestruck doesn't begin to describe it. People have written SO much. They ARE WRITING SO MUCH! All.the.time.

There's one woman who has a husband, two kids, two dogs and she's written two books in her spare time. Also ready to wrap up the third!! How does she even create spare time? I should adopt her as my Guru! Seriously.

And then there are folks who have scores of magazine articles to their credit and they say they are still 'trying to get somewhere.' Hmm... Others have been training people to write or collaborated on books with half-a-dozen others. The moderator churns out wonderful material for the front page at an amazing pace and it's all so readable.

Makes me feel quite inadequate. I know I shouldn't feel that way, because I am just finding my way back to the world of writing. And I certainly don't write for a living any more. (Sigh...it's like the ABBA folks said: Where are those happy days? They seem so hard to find.) But you know what, I just sneaked back and read some of my older blog posts and cringed. Physically cringed. What made me thing that was 'writing?' My apologies to those who were tortured by reading that stuff. *shudder*

I had half a mind to shut down this blog, actually delete it. But obviously I didn't. Simply becasue all those crappy sentences tell the story of the person that I had become. If they look messed up, its because I was messed up. I have no idea how I lived through those years. The posts chronicle the tale - nothing heroic - of my efforts to reclaim my life, to create a corner that is entirely my own. Behind the clumsy syntax, ill-chosen words and glaring grammatical errors was a woman who had decided to fight back. I don't claim to have found my way back. I'm still groping in the dark...but there seems to be a ray of light struggling to get through.

Of course, when I see the mom-of-two-kids-and-two-dogs, I still feel inadequate. But I know writing isn't about keeping up with the Joneses. And so, I take a deep breath and go back to writing some more. Because that's the only way I'll find my way out of this darkness.

ps: I'm still worried about the outcome of my son's eye exam on Monday, but I also realize there's little I can do to change anything. In the meantime, its Holi tomorrow - the festival of colors. And the kid wants to have a blast. So I've bought him a box of non-toxic, food-grade colors that he can play with. He's promised to wear glasses to avoid anything getting in his eyes.

Photo from Freerangestock.com

Pray for my son, please

I was at the kitchen door when I saw my son trying to pour out a glass of juice. He’d never done that before. So I grabbed my camera and clicked. He turned around and beamed. I took another picture. He ran over to see it, smiled, and left to watch TV. I looked at the photograph in the viewer and my heart sank. His right pupil was reflecting not a red eye, but a golden one – called a ‘tiger eye.’ It told me the leakage behind his retina had not been entirely absorbed. He would probably need some more treatment.

Everybody says my son has big, sparkling, laughing eyes. He also has Coats Disease in his right eye. Abnormal blood vessels form behind the retina and begin to leak. The cholesterol in the blood settles in the space behind the retina. When too much of this collects in one place, it can detach the retina, causing blindness. In rare cases, the eye has to be removed. Coats is rare, genetic, but not hereditary. The cause is unknown, but it usually affects only one eye.

The best thing is for the leakage to stop. He will need frequent eye check ups for the rest of his life. I am grateful it is nothing worse, but I worry. People have beaten Coats and in some cases, it has reversed itself. I want that for my son. I want him to be healthy and to beat this thing. But when such unexpected reminders pop up, I can hardly stave off the panic.

I need to call the doctor and fix an appointment for early next week. That's when we were asked to come. And while I know that he may need more laser - hopefully no more cryo - something inside me is trying to put off making that appointment. It's stupid of me because even if he does need laser, we'd like to finish it off as soon as possible so that he can recover and attend an arts camp starting the 8th of April.

Keeping my fingers crossed and praying that everything goes right.

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I don't look like 'Mommy'...Hmmm...

I finally got my hair cut after months of trying to grow it out and not losing it all in the process. There was a minor hiccup at the salon. The woman who normally does my hair is no longer with the salon so I settled for a fellow who'd styled my unruly tresses for the company gala last month.

Problem is, my knowledge of spoken Kannada - the language spoken in Bangalore, where we live - is elementary. And the stylist spoke nothing else. Anyway, with some basic phrases and some gesticulating, I managed to convey that I wanted my hair cut in steps. The word 'layers' cropped up in his half of the conversation and I supposed that it meant the same thing. Towards the end, he said he was blowdrying it straight and that it wouldn't look nice if he curled it. I was game for that. At least my hair would look nice and different for a couple of days.

When he was done, my hair looked....well...hip, actually. I've never had a hip hairstyle in all my thirty-and-loose-change years! Not bad, I thought. It is feathered and of medium length. A wonderful change from insipid version of the same cut I've had since middle-school. Kind of like Posh Spice (cringe, cringe) in the front but not at the back.

DH liked it too. (I did not ask for an opinion. I've been married for almost ten years so I know better than to ASK for an opinion!) And then he asked the offspring: "Isn't Mamma's new haircut nice?"

The offspring lolled on the couch for a bit, observing silently. "Your hair looks very nice," he finally said, but the sentence was loaded. There was more to come. "But you don't look like Mamma."

Huh? Wait a minute, what does that mean? DH shrugged. I raised an eyebrow and the little rascal grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You hair is nice. But you look very fashionable." That's the exact word he used: 'fashionable.' My son knows words like 'fashionable.' He's six and he knows words like fashionable. Gulp.

"So is that good or bad?" I asked him.

"It's good for you. You'll look nice in the office. But you don't look like my Mamma." Direct, point-blank, no beating about the bush. A brave man, don't you think? Even if it was his mother and not his girlfriend he was talking to.

"Do you want me to change it?"I volunteered

"No. You look nice, Mamma. But not like my Mamma," he repeated.

Ah, I see. I was looking non-Mommy-ish. Not bad, I thought. I haven't looked like that since much before he was born. But then, mommy-guilt surfaced. And how. I was ready to find hairpins, hide the fashion and stick to the severe, 'able' look. Before the guilt could overwhelm me, the little tyke scooted over and gave me a hug. "I still love you," he announced.

Thanks, Munchkin. I needed that. :-)

Thank you, Vodafone

I'm still on my TV boycott, but when I was in the kitchen earlier today, I noticed that wonderful classic, Kabhi Kabhie (from a movie of the same name) feature in a commercial in different voices. It was being sung by ordinary folks who love the song, but cannot necessarily sing (myself included.)

I caught the commercial again later in the day and discovered that it was an ad for Vodafone's music services in India. The crux of it was, listen to more songs. Widen your horizons. Don't get hung up on one number your whole life.

As creativity goes, the makers of the ad were spot on. This song (since the movie came out way back in 1976) has been an all-time favourite. It's the kind of song that comes to mind in an antakshari with friends when anybody has to sing a song starting with the sound "K." It's the kind of song that is used by wannabe romeos to subtly romance a girl by making her feel special. It sometimes feels cheesy but it never fails to make the heart go all soft and mushy. That's the power of the poet Sahir Ludhianvi - he touches your heart with simple words. Add the haunting music of Khayyam to that and you have something immortal.

Back to the ad. I was upset that this particular song had been chosen to symbolize something old and worn out. Because it is may be old, but it certainly IS NOT worn out.

Anyway, this was my opinion and all I could do was rant about the injustice on my blog. Sigh. Until a few hours later... My six-year-old son was on the potty and singing the first line of this song, as featured in the commercial. (He usually has deep, philosophical questions to ask when he's carrying out this particular activity. Singing has usually never featured on the agenda.)

Suddenly he called out: "Mamma, what comes after the first line?"

"Where did you hear this?" I asked him.

"On the TV. Is there any more to sing?"

Oh, you bet there is, sweetheart. I put on the CD and let him listen to the whole thing. "I like this song," he said simply. "We'll listen to it again later."

Ha! Eat your heart out, Vodafone. Oh, and thank you for getting my son even more interested in Bollywood music at its best. :-)

Kabhi Kabhie Poster © Yash Raj Films, Directed by Yash Chopra
Rediff on the movie

Goodbye, my lost friend

Dear H,

I am writing to say goodbye to you. I should have done this a long time ago but a part of me was waiting for some kind of closure. Or perhaps a renewal of our friendship, although I admit that was being hugely optimistic.

We met as fellow outcasts in college, thrown together by our love of English literature and teenage troubles. We dressed differently from most of the others, too. Not to make a statement, but because that's the way we had always dressed. We loved to write, and to read, spending entire afternoons at the British Library. We also suffered at the hands of lecturers because we were the "Gulfie Girls" and that somehow implied a certain amount of snootiness, not to mention the petro-dollars. Laughable, wasn't it?

I was waiting for that three-year sentence to end so that I could get on with the rest of my life. You were angst-y, dealing with a whole lot of emotions every which way. I loved the rebel you were because I had never mustered the courage to execute a rebellion against the messy extended family I was thrown amidst. I loved the fact that you were 19 and trying to find yourself, when I was merely counting the days when my sentence would end and I could leave that awful place.

I loved the way you would launch into a song on the campus while others watched. Remember the time you really let loose when we were walking past the old auditorium. I was a little embarrassed at first, but when I looked around, people were enjoying your rendition of Saving all My Love for You. You were the proud - and probably the only - recipient of a standing ovation in those tree-lined pathways.

We made other friends, it was a comfortable group and I know that you and they were the people who made life possible to live from one day to the next. You were a brighter star on the radio - that clear, honey-dipped voice had many a fan on the airwaves. You were the one who came up with a deeper analysis of the literature when I was wondering if I should have majored in Economics (considering that a few of our professors insisted on explaining Keats, Arnold, and even Shakespeare in Malayalam, not English).

I could drop into your house on weekends and was grateful that your Mum would let me cook something I sorely missed at that lousy hostel I lived in. I loved that you called the maid your "mother's assistant." That you were angry at the fact that a woman could not walk in Trivandrum without fear of molestation after 7 pm, that you stabbed perverted bus conductors with your umbrella if they tried any hanky-panky, that you tried to make the most of that outdated coursework we had in the college, that you put life into some of those mindnumbing plays that we enacted.

And then, things changed. It was just two years, but how things changed. You had finally broken out and were free to live your own life. That idiot who ditched you to marry a girl chosen by his family might have been responsible in a way, but you were also enjoying your freedom. And that was great. I helped you with whatever you asked for. It wasn't much but it felt nice to be there for a friend.

After that course, you moved away to begin working in Delhi. Then you were engaged. I too moved to Delhi after I got married. We lived barely a few miles from each other and worked in the same office, and yet, I did not recognize you. Our wonderful P had died in that tragic accident and I knew little about the horrifying background that must have made life miserable for the both of you.

Still, I did not understand why you were cold shouldering me? Was it because we were working in the same office and I was hired one grade higher? I had more experience, so it wasn't unfair. But things only went downhill from there. You ignored me when you were with your new friends. Was I not cool enough? Or had I done something to upset you? You never told me. When you returned from your honeymoon, I never even got to see the wedding pictures until I asked to see them, whereas the rest of the office was invited to view the albums. Hmm...I got the message, but I didn't know what I had done, or not done to deserve that.

You and your husband had moved to the south. I had a baby and decided to quit working full time. You were the only one - yes, the only one - to never respond to the email in which we announced the birth of our son. And then I heard that you had commented that I would lose out on my career because I was taking a break. I also heard that you didn't want to have children because the world was going to the dogs and we didn't have much to offer to a new generation. That was so you. I always wondered why you had drifted away. I wrote to you a couple of years back but again, there was only silence.

Anyway, to cut a long story short. I didn't lose out on my career because I took a break. Instead, I learnt and did a whole lot more than I would have as a regular journalist. I'm back at full time work, my son is six years old and a perfect delight. I don't know what fate has in store for him. He has a rare eye condition that will need to be monitored his whole life. All I have to offer him is my love and my support.

I thought about you a few days back and noticed that something was different. That nagging feeling about why you drifted away did not haunt me any more. So although I might have liked for us to have had an open conversation a few years back, that is no longer the case. I have made peace with how things have turned out. This is my closure.

To quote the poet Richard Burton:
Friends of my youth, a last adieu!
Haply some day we meet again;
Yet ne'er the self-same men shall meet;
The years shall make us other men.

What's up, Bangalore?

Rage on the Road
It seems like the city is going through some rough times. While the brouhaha over the opening of the new international airport continues, I was saddened to see this story in the paper earlier today.

A man suffering from a cardiac condition died for no fault of his, except that his son - an autorickshaw driver - jumped a red light while trying to get his father to a hospital. And perhaps the fact that it was March, the month when policemen - especially traffic constables - have to clock up their annual quota of fines. This leads them to suddenly get all strict with drivers and riders alike, especially autorickshaw drivers.

True, autorickshaw drivers are notorious for the zig-zagging they carry out on our overcrowded roads. And I agree that the cop in question was doing his duty: the whole I-have-to-get-to-a-hospital-at-once story is often abused, but there are other things to bear in mind. For one, the city - like most of India - does not have a quick and reliable ambulance service. In an emergency, you simply cannot be sure if you will get the medical care you need. Besides, an ambulance trip - if the vehicle is not from one of the public hospitals - costs a small fortune that must have been beyond the means of the family in question.

So when the autorickshaw driver saw that his father needed urgent medical help, it made sense to use the vehicle he had to ensure he got to a hospital in time. Yes, his jumping a red light could have caused an accident, hurt others. Fortunately, in this case, it did not. Besides - and I know this is a terrible excuse, but it's true, so I'll say it - at any time during the morning and evening rush hours, you can find at least a dozen major intersections in the city where vehicles move without the aid of working traffic lights or a traffic policeman.

Besides, as one witness pointed out, common sense did not prevail. It was probably an ego thing. While autorickshaw drivers are no saints, the police are infamous for unduly harassing motorists, especially in March. The crowd that collected chased and beat up the policeman - again, a sad reflection of the state of the city - but sometimes, it's the only way the common man in this country gets to make a point. Uncivilized, yes, but inevitable.

Garbage, garbage, garbage
I was thinking about what the family must be going through when a normally not-crowded road seemed to be in the throes of a jam. A large garbage truck had parked itself on the wrong side of the road and not too near the pavement either. This took up half the space, bringing traffic to a virtual standstill - at 9 in the morning!

I must have been unusually observant this morning because 10 minutes later, I saw another garbage truck doing the same thing on a bigger road and at a blind curve! A little Maruti 800 just about missed driving headlong into the rickety monster and I wondered how long the drivers would fight and hold up traffic.

Safety First? What's that?
Just a couple of minutes later, I saw two little girls in school uniform sitting on a scooter behind a man I thought must be their dad. They were singing something, looking bright and happy on a Monday morning. I noticed that the man wore a helmet. The girls did not. Common enough, but still scary. A second later, I saw that he was holding a mobile phone in one hand, busy texting someone. His eyes were on the phone, NOT on the road!! He was controlling the scooter with one hand!! ONE HAND! Obviously, it was wobbling along. On a BUSY road. In the morning rush hour. I was sorely tempted to give the man a piece of my mind.

Yes, we are a poor country where two-wheelers are a cheap way to get around town, especially since Bangalore does not have an efficient public transport system. I hate the fellows who weave in and out of traffic on their 110cc bikes showing off their contempt for safety. Their high on testosterone and God knows what else. They're idiots too. But what do you do when a 40-something adult taking two little girls to school behaves so irresponsibly.

I'd have liked to see the traffic policeman at the junction reprimand this man. But no, the cop at the intersection that just came up was too busy on his walkie-talkie to take note of the moron on the scooter. Which is why I have a hard time swallowing the-cop-was-only-doing-his-duty reason given by the police department in the first story I mentioned.

For the record, you are not allowed to talk on a cellphone while riding or driving in Bangalore. I follow that rule. But I know that most two-wheeler riders stick their phone inside their helmets and take calls anyway. Drivers of cars use Bluetooth sets but frankly, can you hold a proper conversation while navigating the mindless rush of vehicles that is essentially traffic in Bangalore? I doubt it.

Don't get me wrong. I love this city. I chose it as home and I wouldn't leave it for all the riches in the world. And that's what makes me so mad. I want my city to improve. We can't call ourselves a global hub and still act like we live in a small town with just one main road. We need to grow up, fast. Politicians may not do much, but how many of us can say that we try to do our bit whenever we can for this city?

Seriously, what's up, Bangalore?

Mea Culpa: greed, misconceptions and then some

Yup, the last post on my kid's bottom received plenty of comments (relatively speaking, of course). Which means people actually read it :-P
So I decided to wait and see what more responses I got. Plain greed, I tell you. Mea Culpa.

I've also joined two writers networks online. One is a forum along the lines of Facebook and Orkut, but more focused. You get to talk to other writers about issues we all face. The person who started it is doing an excellent job of widening the network and including writers from across the professional spectrum.

The other is on Yahoo! Groups and involves getting critiqued by fellow writers, whom you have to critique in turn. It's purely non-fiction and I was reluctant to join. For one, I've hardly ever been a spontaneous writer. For another, I'm from India while this group is mostly made up of writers from North America. I wondered how I would bridge cultural boundaries because our environment makes up a good deal of what we write.

But you know what, I was wrong on both counts. Once I knew I HAD to make an x number of submissions a month, the ideas popped up on their own. What's more, my very first piece was about a really localized concept related to Bangalore. And I still got some good reviews. People took the time to read something they were surely unfamiliar with and wrote back with encouragement and honest feedback. Now where can you get that?

I've made two submissions so far, and I must admit it's been good. Plus, you get to read some really good pieces written by people like myself - writing on the side and hoping to do more with that writing - and critique that. I think the folks who started that group are nothing short of brilliant.

The work and home front have not been that great over the past 10 days. I was quite wound up last night. I feel better today and decided it was high time I updated my blog and got on with the rest of my life.

Bottoms Out: My baby's growing up...

Ideally, this post ought to go on my Mommy blog. But it is just possible that a few years from now, my son will read it, get awfully embarrassed and throw a teen tantrum. So I think I'll just keep it to myself for now. :-)

A couple of weeks back, my son decided that he was all grown up ("I'm six years old, Mamma!") and therefore, I could not see him unless he was appropriately clothed. Ahem.

Now, here's a warning for my global readers before they read further: we still do many things differently in India, irrespective of how rich or poor we are. Toilet paper is still meant for expensive hotels and bathtubs are found only in the households of the rich. The rest of us make do with a bucket and plastic mug. So some of the stuff that follows may seem weird/old-fashioned/backward/whatever....just remember, I did warn you.

"So who's going to wash your bum after you go potty?" I dared him.
"I am!"
"Really? And how are you going to know whether you've done it correctly?"
"I'll check in the mirror!" (Before you start scratching your head, here's what he's done a couple of times in the past. He'll finish his job, clean up, run to the full length mirror, double over and check whether he's cleaned up right. To his credit, he always has.)

"Okay, and what about your bath every morning before you go to school?"
"I bathe myself on weekends, anyway!" he retorted.
"Yes, but you take half an hour and even then miss cleaning your back and behind your ears..."
"Mamma, pleee-ase! I'll learn that, too."
"It's cold in the mornings and I give you a bath in five minutes. How are you going to manage that? You'll catch a chill."
"I can do it," he insisted.
"But..."
"You just want to see my bottom, don't you?" he said, eyes flashing triumphantly.

I was lost for words. He had a point. I love my baby's bottom. Who has kids and then doesn't love their baby's bottom? It's soft and bouncy and just so...baby-like. It gives you a warm and fuzzy feeling. That's why you get to see one in every commercial for a baby product: from diapers, to soap, to lotion and creme and talcum powder.

And hey, this is the kid who saw a TV commercial a few months back - showing a baby's bottom bounce - and wistfully asked his grandmother: "Is my bottom still that soft and bouncy?" When she replied that it was - because she takes real good care of him while I'm at work - he couldn't believe his luck!

"Well? That's it, isn't it?" he declared, pulling me away from my day dreams.

"Yes, it is. You're my baby. And I don't want you to fall sick by spending too much time in the bathroom early in the morning. In June, you'll go into the first grade and leave an hour earlier..."

"I'm not a baby! I'm SIX YEARS OLD."

"But..."

"Okay, you can give me a bath on one condition," he said. Ah, he's come round, I thought. No such luck. "You can give me a bath if you keep your eyes closed."

Right...erm...okay...Okay? Now how am I supposed to give him a bath with my eyes closed? "What if I get soap in your eyes?"

"I knew it. You just want to see my bum," he said and stalked off.

Yes, you lovable little brat. I'm your mother! I want to see your bum and nuzzle your tummy and hang on to your baby days for as long as I can. I can't believe you're growing up so fast and it scares me like nothing else.

Soon, you'll have birds-and-bees talks with your father, try out your first razor, get your first real girlfriend...so yes, I'd like to enjoy your baby days - and your soft and bouncy bottom - while I can. And this is why I have the right:

* You've pooped in my hands, peed on my lap, thrown up in my face and I didn't get grossed out by any of that.
* I may not be the most cootchi-coo mom on the planet, but I'm still your mother.
* You still can't go to sleep at night if you don't hold my face, or hang on to my arm.
* You still want me to tell you bed time story, complete with voices.
* You still howl for me in the morning when Daddy wakes you up and even though you know I have less patience than he does. On most days, anyway.

* You hug and kiss me a dozen times a day and get upset if I can't return the favor immediately.

* You still want me to carry you around early in the morning and whenver else it strikes your fancy.

* You still crawl into my when you wake up and bury your face in my neck for a good 10 minutes before you can be coaxed out of bed.

* You still want me to kiss away your boo-boos.

And you tell me I can't see your bum because you're six years old???




You're growing up. And I'll have to get used to that. Excuse me while I go try...

Photograph from Freerangestock.com. That's not my son, but how I wish I'd taken a picture like that one when he was younger!

My little 'Bose' to lead parade on Sports Day

I heard my cellphone buzz at the office this afternoon. "Hello?" I whispered, wondering who the unfamiliar number belonged to.
"Are you .....'s mother?" enquired a voice steeped in military authority.
"Yes, Ma'am," I replied and stood up automatically. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"This is the Kindergarten co-ordinator from your son's school," she introduced herself.
I knew the woman well, and now, having heard her on the phone, it became clear how she managed a few hundred boisterous kids without losing her sanity. I stood up, remember?

"We have chosen your son to lead the marching parade for the Kindergarten sports meet on Saturday." Oh wow, I thought. But there was more to come. "You need to hire a Subhash Chandra Bose costume for him from Sujay Stores in Shrinagar tomorrow afternoon after school. Do you know where it is?"
"Um, no..."
"Well, first you need to go to..." she rattled off the directions and finished by telling me I had to pack one set of the school uniform because my son was also taking part in the relay as well.

Ah yes, the relay. He had declared earlier in the week that he was glad he was in the relay and not in the Cinderella race. "What's that?" I asked him.
"You have to run to your 'girl partner' and help her put on a shoe and then hold hands and run to the finish line. Yuck!"
"Which part is yuck?" I asked again.
"Who wants to hold a girl's shoe? And the girls take sooooo long to put it on. So even if the boys run fast, we may not win."
Hmmm...right. "It's about winning together," I said.
"It's a race, Mamma. It's winning. And we win together in the relay too," he declared with a confidence that amazed me.

He had a point. Reminded me of the time when he wanted to shave his head to look like an authentic Mahatma Gandhi at the fancy dress competition. I'd told him he might regret shaving off his head just to look like the real Gandhi just for a couple of hours. "What's regret?" he'd asked. What indeed!

All the best, kiddo. :-)

The illusion fades once more

DH was back from his business trip on Sunday and for the next 24 hours, we got along. We actually got along. Simple conversations, smooth management of potentially-disastrous tantrums, cleaning the house...

Yesterday evening, the illusion shattered. I mentioned the trouble at my office in my last post. But I never expected DH to react to it the way he did. For starters, he looked like someone had hit him in the gut. And then he said I ought to quit right away instead of risking getting fired. Hello? Where did that come from? Here I am, trying to balance a thousand things good and bad (a lot of it bad) and trying to stay happy, or at least contended, and he looks like someone died! What's more, it's not even like he's never been handed the pink slip so it was the shock. (Er...did I mention, DH, that I do have a job and a lot of the fears stem from uncertainty at the firm so there's little I can do about that?)

He stayed morose for a couple of more hours, heightening my own anxiety. Then, I remembered my shrink's words and pulled myself together. Que sera sera. I'll cross the rickety bridge when it comes. Fortunately, DH logged into LinkedIn and proceeded to go berserk. I thought I was overdoing it, but I only have 30 connections built up over the past 6 months. He started two weeks back and crossed 100 yesterday. It's the whole Orkut thing all over again. Bad deja vu. But I digress.

His negative overreaction to the whole 'something-like-this-MIGHT-happen' scenario was bewildering at first, and rubbed off on me for a while. Then it was plain annoying. He knows his brainwashing works with the whole world and their uncle, but not with me. So why bother? Besides, this is MY career, good or bad or worse, but it is mine. Eventually, it just seemed silly the way he reacted and I was able to dismiss the whole thing and get along with life.

One little tinge of sadness remained: that illusion that we could actually get along for a while - like a regular couple - without something spoiling it, had broken. I know he can't handle stress very well. I know he's insecure. But just seeing the evidence of that brought a lot of weird feelings to the surface. Feelings I do not want to deal with because I don't know how to and whatever I do won't work unless he co-operates. So I have no choice but to leave it on the backburner for now. Ah well, there are other blessings life has to offer.

Excuse me, folks. I have a list to make...

At the office: A disturbance in the force

Well, we finally found a key resource to fill a position that's been vacant for the past 4 months. This person will join only in around 6 weeks.

The good news is that I will have less work once the person joins us. The bad news is, I may just be losing my USP in this firm. I've been trying to quit for a while now, but there isn't anything great on the horizon. Besides, it's almost the end of the financial year here in India, so there isn't much hiring going on at senior/mid-senior levels. So things are a bit fluid. Had this happened a year ago (and it almost did) I'd have been falling apart, worrying about 'the future.' I've learnt now how to tell myself that if I can't change something, there's no point in making it an issue that clouds my present.

Plus, someone else is getting fired at the office. Although I have arranged for alternate employment for this person, I can't be sure how things will go.

The uncertainty is part of urban human existence in the 21st century. Call it a side-effect of globalization. The world gets more competitive and you have to come up with ways to advertise and promote your skills even if they're not good. I've never been good at promoting myself although everybody tells me my skills are great. In fact, I suck at the whole self-PR gig. So how am I going to get out there and prove myself? Frankly, I have no idea. But I'm damned if I don't try.

So far, my life has been all about whatever-happens-happens-for-the-best (even if it takes a couple of years for the "best" to show up.) So it will be interesting to see how things pan out. Watch this space.

Paradigm shift in personal fashion

I wore trousers to the office today! Black with pinstripes and teamed with a tunic and scarf. From all the compliments I got, I believe I accessorized correctly. (Ahem, ahem...patting myself on the back, there...and no, I didn't wear red stilletos...the pic just looked yummy enough to post!)

So why is this a big deal, you wonder? Well, because it's the first time I've ever worn trousers in a looooo-ooong time. And boy, was I nervous! But it seems to have gone down well. Phew!

When I was growing up, my father thought trousers were unfeminine and unbecoming for women. (Don't comment on that...it's a long story.) Besides, I was (and still am) fat, so I thought I looked better in skirts and that safe harbor of Indian fashion: salwar-kameez suits.

I had two pairs of trousers when I was around 4-5 years old. Then Mum got me a tailored denim jean-and-jacket set for my sixth birthday and after that, I had a pair of slacks as part of my winter school uniform in the fifth grade. (They changed the uniform the following year.) That was it, until 1999. I'd been married a year or so around then and it got really cold (we were in New Delhi then). I needed something like thick jeans for the night shifts I did, and even then, I teamed it up with a knee-length woollen sweater.

I outgrew those jeans after having my son and put on some (okay, a lot) more weight after that. So it's been just salwar-kameez and skirts, mostly long ones. No sarees, even. Mum says I look 10 years older in that outfit so it's a strict no-no. This is especially important because my mother is very pretty, not fat, and looks 10 years younger than she actually is. Oh yes, and she has a great sense of style. :)

Anyway, so here I am, this morning, wearing formal trousers to work. Feeling terribly conscious but what the heck...if I don't start to try to look younger at 34, I might as well call for sackcloth and ashes and begin to mourn my lost youth. Darned if I do that. So here's wishing I find more trousers in my size (and get used to wearing them).

ps: one advantage of wearing trousers is that I walk around with my gut sucked in...maybe my paunch (of course I have one) will shrink that way?

pps: here's what my son had to say after looking me up and down: "Hmm....you're not thin but this makes you look thinner than you are." Why, thank you, my boy. Just don't say that to your girlfriend when you finally get one. :-P

Image from Freerangestock

My first short story in a long time.

Sheila clutched the pack of matches in her hand and looked around - gleaming pots and pans, the latest appliances, a shiny granite kitchen counter and spotless floor tiles. She would miss it all so much. Sheila liked putting meals together and rated herself 7 on a scale of 10. Her friends loved her innovative cuisine. Problem was, her friends dropped in only occasionally. And her family was a different game altogether. She was tired of them telling her what to make and how to make it. The worst came from her husband whose self-professed culinary skills she had yet to experience.

For 13 years she had slaved and tried harder each time he made a "suggestion" which invariably began with "If only you had..." And she did exactly that the next time, waiting for approval which never came. What did come was another round of "If only you had..."

Things had disintegrated in the past week. Nothing had come out well. The new recipes had gone down the drain, literally, and not down anyone's throats, except her own. Her boys were getting almost as belligerent and critical as her husband. That really hurt. She wanted them to respect her. But perhaps her desperate need to be accepted did not exactly inspire respect.

The kerosene had smelt odd on her skin earlier, considering that high-end perfumes were her sole indulgence. But perfumes couldn't do what the kerosene would. And yet, when she opened the box and plucked out a match to end it once and for all, it seemed all wrong. She darted into the bathroom for a quick shower, dumped her clothes in the washing machine, and put away the can...

***

The blaze had died down. The firemen were rolling up their hoses. Sheila's husband stood in front of their house, shell-shocked at the scene. "I don't know how the gas could have leaked. I'm so sorry," she sobbed. She really was. Sheila had turned that house into a home and given it her all. And got nothing in return.

"It's okay," said her husband. "Thank God the fire brigade came as soon as they did. Or else we could have lost the entire house."

"What will we do now?" she asked, gazing at the remains of her kitchen.

He sighed. "Maybe we could stay with your parents for a couple of months until we can rebuild this part of the house? I hate your mother's cooking, but what can we do?" Sheila looked into his eyes fearfully.

"It's alright," he assured her, patting her shoulder. "Think of it as an extended vacation."

Sheila smiled hesitantly. Bingo.

Note: This is my first attempt at writing fiction in more than a decade. If anybody has any suggestions to improve it, I will be more than grateful. Thank you.

Hootie Cutie!

A dear colleague came to say goodbye to us in the office today. She was one of the first people we'd hired when we got the firm going around two years back. Her baby is 4-1/2 months old and she was due to return to work this month. But then her husband got transfered to another city, so they're leaving. :-( She'd brought her son along to say goodbye and he was hooting the whole time he was here, non-stop. Paused just once to plant a drooly kiss on the shoulder of another colleague who was cuddling him at the time. Lucky girl.

He also flashed a crinkly-nosed, sparkly-eyed smile at everyone in the office who was wearing glasses. Hooting all the while, of course. His dad wears glasses and he brightens up when his dad comes home. So he unabashedly favors people who wear glasses. Now here's the flip side to the story: his dad has been out of town for 3 days so the baby's stopped recognizing him! Won't go into his arms either. But he's still making cute faces at people who wear glasses! Inexplicable, but that's babies for you. :-)

His hooting is still ringing in my ears, hours after he left. We'll miss you both. After all, we've known the kid since before he was born: through the morning sickness, the giddyness, the backaches, and the anxious wait when the due dates got mixed up. But that's a different story. Have a happy life, dears. We hope to see you soon.

Thank you, Mamma, for my life, for everything

This is just to say thank you to my mother for all that she's done for me, and for my son. I guess everybody feels the same way about their mother, but I know that my life would be worth a lot less if my mother wasn't a part of it. She has helped me through the worst times of my life even when she was fighting battles of her own. Her courage, endurance, and patience are awe-inspiring. If I can ever become half the person she is, life would have been worth living.

A colleague sent me the link to this video, and although I rarely ever check out YouTube, this one proved to be more than worth the time spent. And made me wish I had a daughter too. What is it they say? 'A son is a son till he finds a wife. A daughter is a daughter for life.' But well, my son is six and I don't think I'm having any more children. Sigh.

This is for you, Mamma. Thank you for making me who I am. I wish I could be a better daughter. I'll try, though.




Artist: Jamie O'Neal
Song: Somebody's Hero

I am going crazy on LinkedIn

That's it. I've gone just loony on LinkedIn trying to expand my network. I'm on Orkut, but hate it - something to do with the fact that I'm over 30, my husband is an Orkut-addict, and the fact that it seems really juvenile! Now LinkedIn shows promise for the simple reason that I'm trying to change my job and I'm hoping something will happen through an extended network. Problem is, I don't really have the time to nurture a network, so it's a lot of stop-and-start.

I blame my altered brain chemistry - from the migraines. I have no idea if migraines alter brain chemistry, but I would bet my favorite pair of shoes that they do! Coz I've been behaving slightly uncharacteristically since the migraines behind - my wicked wit has returned in full force, for one.

Then I'm also seriously considering going back to working from home. My son has turned into a serious cry-baby and needs a good spanking (hello, altered brain chemistry, remember?) He finished his homework this morning - five minutes before his schoolbus arrived! This happened after he told us it was sports day at the school. Now that seemed unlikely because the school ALWAYS sends us a circular on such things. But the little brat was adamant it was this morning and that's why he didn't need to finish the extra homework last night. (He's still catching up as he missed a week in school in January.) This morning, I phoned the school and got a confirmation that there was no sports day happening today, so I had to cajole and threaten him to get him to hold a pencil. After which he bawled, howled and brought the house down. DH, of course, said it didn't matter if he didn't do it within a day IN.FRONT.OF.THE.KID. Disaster. I would have none of it and embarked on another round of cajoling, threatening, etc.

Anyway, I managed to get kiddo to finish his homework and bundled him into the school bus on time. And fumed all the way to work. Sigh! I plead guilty to the inability to let things go!!

So where was I? Oh yes, getting another job or quitting this one and starting to work from home again. At least I'd be writing again. Professionally. I miss that a lot. But finding clients (although I never had a shortage) is a pain and I'm hoping to find different work to do from home this time around. Move up in life somewhat. Suggestions, anyone?

Missing My Privacy (aka Now you know why I am seeing a shrink)

There's been this terrible unease for the past few weeks. It hangs over me like a gray cloud, dark and heavy and untouchable. And I haven't been able to identify it. At first I thought it was the whole family illness thing. But then it hit me today. I'm missing my phone conversations. The ones I used to have on the commute to and from work. I now travel with the DH (he went back to work around a month ago) so I make only those calls which are "okay" - you know, telling my mum we've left and should be getting home by such-and-such time, etc.

No more conversations with Mum or my friends, because I don't feel free to talk with him around. (You guessed it, we are going through some tough times.) And I want to run away when he starts on his mindless philosophy - his weird, unbearable, and inexplicable obsession with making lists, listing trivia, and triviliazing everything and yakking endlessly about something completely nonsensiscal. This is the same guy who refuses to have a mature discussion about the issues that are staring our marriage on the face. And so the pile under the carpet gets bigger. He doesn't care, of course, coz he's not doing the housework.

Anyway, so that's what it is. I miss that time I had all to myself when I could talk in anonymity and catch up with the rest of my world. If it took me two weeks to figure that out, is it any surprise that I'm seeing a shrink? Gotta find an outlet for this pent up stuff.

Suggestions, anyone?

Just for the record, I'm not one of those women who spends hours on the phone. I just like to stay in touch with people who I don't cook for and clean for and care for on a daily basis. Know what I mean?

Footprints on the sands of time

Just came across the video of one of my favorite songs ever: Mausam Beeta Jaye from Bimal Roy's Do Bigha Zameen. Pretty tough to get just the video of the song. This one's from AOL. I'd never buy the DVD of the movie for the simple reason that I cannot sit through the heart rending tale again. But what a movie it is, a few cliches notwithstanding. Besides, this was a turning point in Indian cinema, and much of what might seem cliched was new then!

These are my favorite lines:
Dharti kahe pukaar ke, beej bichcha le pyar ke
Mausam beeta jaye, mausam beeta jaye
Apni kahani chhod ja, kuch toh nishani chhod ja
Kaun kahe is or tu phir aaye na aaye
Mausam beeta jaye, mausam beeta jaye

Here's a tentative translation for those who might wonder what the fuss is about. (I'm no translator, let alone a poetic one, so please pardon the clumsiness).

The earth calls out to us to plant seeds of love
The seasons are changing all the time
Leave behind your story, make a mark in the world
Who knows whether you will come this way again
The seasons are changing all the time

The song was written by that genius of a poet, Shailendra, while the music came from the writer of the story, Salil Chaudhury. The voices are those of Manna Dey and Lata Mangeshkar.

Reminds me of lines from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem, A Psalm of Life:

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime
And departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.

How's that for a little afternoon inspiration?

OMG! Migraines again! No, no, no.

I had a severe migraine problem in college, which went away on its own. It's been over a decade since I finished college and although I've had the occasional mild attack, it's never been as bad as last night. I'd had a headache since the afternoon and finally popped a pill after dinner. Three hours later, the headache was ten times worse and I couldn't sleep. And I was nauseous. I knew why. I'm seriously sleep-deprived after the family-illness and flood of work at the office and the little brat's mounting tantrums. I guess this was my body's way of saying: Enough!

I actually rubbed Vicks (meant for colds) all over my forehead to force my eyes shut and finally dozed off around 3 am. This morning, I awoke early, at 6 am, even before my alarm rang. But everything was a haze. I somehow managed to get through the morning routine. Halfway to office, the headache hit me like a bolt of lightning - out of the blue. By the time I reached office, I was nauseous again and just about to talk. One Brufen 400 (yeah, it's still legally available in India) and two glasses of lemon tea later, I felt mildly better. It was so tempting to just take half a day off, go home to an empty house and sleep it off. But I have no leave left and I certainly didn't want to suffer loss of pay.

Go away, migraine! That's an order. I need to be functional again.

Seething!

My last two posts have gone missing. No, I did not delete them! The first one's draft - just half of it - is in the posts list but where's the other one? Grrrrr

Time to change

I actually wanted to write about it being time to change my job. Change is good, I told myself, and then for some strange reason, remembered poop-filled diapers. Lol! And wrote the previous post. Just felt like I had to.
Anyway, the boss decided to take away my car-and-driver perks (inevitable thanks to the rising rupee and the boss goofing up on many a business plan). Somehow, it didn't affect me much. I plan to buy my own car if I can't buy the firm car I'm using now for a decent rate. He's let me keep the driver for 2 more months until I perfect my driving. That brings it to the end of the financial year (March end) and I'm hoping to get a job by then or soon after. Not meaning to be ungrateful or anything, but this thing was supposed to be my hike for last year and now he's taking it away. It's a pay cut, really.
I'm not angry (surprise, surprise) or humiliated (not many people in the office know, so it's okay) or even feeling bad. Somehow, I'd been expecting this. Don't ask me why.
So now I have no excuse to not start searching for another job. Especially now that boss has decided that I need to be an analyst and write the CFA. C-F-A -- there, I wrote it. That's the best I can do. :-P
Seriously, I signed up as a writer/editor, but boss claims I can't write or edit. Interesting. But one man (who can't even spell right half the time) is not going to shake my confidence in my abilities.
Maybe I'll have to take a paycut: not a problem since DH is back to work and will hopefully complete his probation successfully by the time I quit this place.
What a month this has been! February, I do hope you're better.

Just a thought

Change is good, unless there's a dirty diaper involved.

Not Mean, Just Me First For a While

Ever noticed how life gets thrown out of gear at the worst possible moment? The flat tire when you’re heading for an important job interview, the blinding migraine before a major presentation at work, the stain on your blouse/skirt/jacket that shows up five minutes before you’re due to meet your boss for your annual review.

Then there’s other, less earth-shattering stuff, but equally lethal in the long run. Like everybody in a family coming down with the worst case of flu in a decade. So you use up half your vacation days (goodbye, holiday on the beach, sniff), get low on energy and high on a short fuse. And when you think the worst is over, it isn’t.

The whole menu has to be radically changed for days because people in the family are still suffering from sore throats, upset stomachs and whatnot. And as the wife-and-mommy, you’re the primary caregiver (oh, how misleadingly sweet that sounds!) so you have to ensure that your family is taken care of. As for you, well, didn’t they call you Superwoman and try to disguise it as a compliment? So you can’t take a day off, not unless you stop caring altogether. This is really not possible because you are the primary caregiver and so you can’t stop caring – it goes with the territory of a working mom.

Take today’s example, for instance. I gave notice this morning to the DH, declaring I wasn’t cooking for the rest of the week. By the time I got to the office, I was contemplating extending that to the next one month. I simply cannot continue cooking the elaborate stuff that DH wants and expects. Not while I too am recovering from an illness. Managing a cranky six-year-old who’s just come through a debilitating fever and upset stomach at 7 am is hard enough without having to cook an elaborate meal, feeding the brat and getting him into the school bus on time and reaching the office by 9 am.

But husbands – especially spoilt brat husbands – have the devil’s own luck. There’s a gastro-enteritis outbreak in the part of town where his office is. So of course, he can’t eat out. So I’ll be making something everyday for quite some time. He may not like the quickies I put together. I don’t care. In fact, having to nuke his own dinner stressed him out enough to turn in early tonight. He’s already throwing temper tantrums at the thought of fending for himself. Ha! Let him.

Sometimes, you need to love yourself enough to stop putting everybody else ahed of yourself for a little while.

Sometimes, not caring is important

No, there isn't any great moral story or philosophy encrypted in the title. It's just that I've had enough. Really. Just stopped caring about the 101 things that used to get me worked up. I'm ill, exhausted and not in any condition to take any more crap from anyone. This probably sounds evil but it was great to watch DH struggling with heating his dinner in the microwave.

It's 9 pm and my son hasn't done his homework yet. He's got plenty pending from last week when he couldn't attend school because he was ill. But every time I've asked him to do it, he starts to whine and cry and whatnot. So I told him that he was 6 years old now and getting the homework done before he went to sleep was his responsibility.

Here's one thing I do care about. I know that if I don't cook something tomorrow, my husband is not going to pack himself a sandwich. His boss is in town, so they'll either go to some swanky place for lunch or he'll order something from some shady joint. Problem is, there's gastro-enteritis epidemic in the area where is office is. So I'll rustle up something in the morning. It's not going to satisfy him, but I honestly do not have the patience or the energy to roll out any more rotis. Health over happiness. This is a man whose life revolves around eating well and sleeping well (I have it straight from the horse's mouth - in black & white, too.) So a little discomfort will do him well. A little rest will do me a lot of good. And frankly, I need to reclaim my sanity.

I haven't done one thing from that list I posted a couple of days back. Also forgot to buy my lens solution today. So I'm going to be squinting at the monitor at work tomorrow unless I can buy a bottle on the way to office.

More evil thoughts later. There's a sandwich I need to enjoy.

On strike in the kitchen

I knew I would do something like this sooner or later! And I've done it today. As of tomorrow morning, I'm not cooking. I'll probably put together the Poppet's milk (mix Bournvita with hot milk and sugar) but that's about it, I think. I need a break from the whole good-wife routine in the mornings. I can't stress myself out like this every morning trying to think of what to make and having to make 12 rotis even though my back is killing me from standing up.

Either we all need to sleep at least an hour early (oh Munchkin, when will you start to sleep by 10.30 at least?) or my DH needs to GROW UP and fend for himself. True, he's better around the house than a lot of other Indian husbands, but seriously, not being able to pack his own lunch box after I've done all the cooking is just plain dumb. No more spoonfeeding. And he needs to NOT switch on the computer first thing in the morning. Damn you Orkut and Cricinfo!

The worst part is that he still brags - yes, openly brags - about how he can cook for himself. Really? Well, I'd like him to survive on his own cooking for a week at a stretch (no ordering-in allowed) and see him keep his sanity. He hasn't cooked anything more than an egg in years. So this is going to be worth watching. Seriously. How many vegetable sandwiches is he going to eat?

For the past 3 years, I've listened to him rant about how his doc says he shouldn't eat out and done my best to ensure that there is something home-made to eat at home. I've been taunted and insulted and riled for my pains and I've had enough! He's just gone back to work now, so let him get his own food, too. That may sound nasty but really, he needs to learn to cook what he expects me to cook all the time. Or he needs to grow up and ADMIT he's a lousy cook. Hey, he doesn't even have to please the kid with his cooking. My mother is only too happy to take care of all the brat's meals. And the brat will be just as happy too.

So now, DH, let the challenge begin!

Things to do: The list grows longer

When you 'lose' 10 days of your life, it gets a little difficult to catch up. Especially when you're a working mom with a sick kid, sick mom, moody DH, scary Dad and of course, your own aches, pains and coughs. Sigh.

As of now, I have to start reading DH's novel. (He was supposed to go out of town for a few days but that trip just got cancelled...sniff...no vacation for me.) Then I have to go to the tailor and pick up a blouse and give her long overdue instructions about another dress. DH has to be fitted for a suit, and I have to buy material for a saree blouse for the fancy office do coming up in 3 weeks.

Half my shoes and sandals are in need of repair so I need to get those fixed and stop wearing really sad looking footwear to the office.

My eyeliner is lost, so I'm looking sicker than I feel.

I have to reschedule an appointment I missed with the doctor last week.

I have to sort out a mutual fund related mess that started after my broker goofed up. Have to get the KYC compliance done by Thursday as well.

I'm tired of eating bland stuff but would feel terribly guilty about eating anything else coz that's about all my son can eat right now.

I had better buy a bottle of lens solution today or spend tomorrow squinting at my computer screen and at the world in general. (When am I going to get a new pair of glasses, you ask? Last time I wore my old pair for 3 days, I had a crick in the neck...so.....)

The driver has disappeared again...some family thing, he claims. He seems to be doing that pretty often and it's ruining my plans all the time. Oh yes, have to restart my driving lessons. Wonder if my deposit holds good. Not that I'm going to be cruisin' through the streets of Bangalore any time soon, but at least I won't be dependent on the driver all the time. At least I think I won't.

What I really want to do is sleep for maybe 24 hours at a stretch and feel fresh again and not have to worry about my son's health and how much he's missed at school.

Oh yes, and most important of all, we have to make the contribution at the children's home. Munchkin said that whatever we might have spent on his birthday party was to be given to the less privileged. Must get that done by the end of the week. Working Saturday this time, crap. Next Monday then, no later.

What a Week!

Last weekend, I was gearing up for Munchkin's birthday. (And mine, three days before his.) We had decided to do away with the whole noisy party thing this year and take him out to lunch instead. After that, we thought, we'd take him to a nice store and let him pick out something he wanted as a birthday gift. He also wanted to give out some chocolates to his friends in the apartment building. That was fine too. And he'd agreed to my mum's suggestion that whatever might have been spent on his birthday party, we'd give away the amount to an orphanage.

On Sunday afternoon, the brat felt a little hot - to me, anyway. That evening, my mum came down with a mild case of food poisoning despite not having eaten anything that hadn't been cooked at home. Munchkin and I decided to spend the night with her. But by midnight, Munchkin was burning up. I took him to the doctor the next day who suspected it was a viral fever but hoped it could be contained without antibiotics. That evening, he had a temperature of 104.4F!! And he hates sponging. That was tough. From 7pm until midnight, we did everything to control the fever. Finally, nearing midnight, he agreed to the full-body sponging. This and a dose of Crocin helped bring down the fever to 101. Although the fever seemed to be under control by Wednesday evening, he coughed through the night, bringing back his fever.

In the meantime, my husband (DH), my mother and I all came down with the same thing. It hit Mum especially hard because she was just recovering from the food poisoning. DH is a bit of a hypochondriac so perhaps he was the worst hit. But he had the sense to visit a doctor right away. Mum and I, of course, are incorrigible, managing with home remedies and patience.

Poor Poppet spent his sixth birthday weak and hot and very, very cranky. And there was another trip to the doctor who finally started him on antibiotics. The fever had eased up by the next morning, but he was ultra-cranky by now and I'd reached the end of my tether. What with the sleepless nights, sore throat, incessant coughing, runny nose, a mopey-dopey DH, I just could not deal with his outrageous tantrums and blew my fuse twice. I'd also gone off my anti-dep meds. The whole thing did not go down well with my mother, of course.

Anyway, it's Sunday again, and while Poppet is up and about, happy and jumping, eating, I'm ready to collapse! DH is having an extended siesta (like yesterday) while I supervise Poppet. He's watching Jab We Met on TV right now and I'm having a tough time keeping him on the couch - as opposed to peering into the TV screen from point-blank range! Sigh.

At least his appetite is back. Like I keep telling myself: thank God life happens one day at a time.

Confession Time!

Okay, we have a problem. Munchkin is feeling all miserable.

As I posted earlier, DH went back to work a little while ago after spending 13 months at home writing a novel. And when he comes back, he grabs a bite and heads straight for the computer. (One of these days I need to post about the fact that I'm an Orkut/GTalk widow!) Now, although the little fellow is busy playing with his friends until it's almost dinner time, he's taken to announcing that he wants to have dinner at my mum's place. Which we found weird at first but the little rascal is quite attached to her. And given his Coats condition, we don't want him to bawl for no reason. So he's been packing up his dinner and heading down, sometimes making quite a fuss about coming back upstairs to sleep.

Worse, his class teacher at school is not coming back this year. A few months back, she had a severe back problem, has had spinal surgery. Poppet's class got kicked around a bit until the new teacher settled in. He doesn't seem to like her very much. So he's been moaning in the mornings saying he doesn't want to go to school.

But this morning he was positively miserable. Virtually in tears. Last night, he got a major scolding and spanking from his father for making a huge fuss about going to sleep and how many stories he could get before bed-time. Earlier in the evening, he had cried his eyes out saying he wanted pizza for dinner because we hadn't ordered in for a long time. (This is true, it's been a few months, I think. And his father took up his cause. So the two of them had pizza.) At any rate, the little fellow was quite petrified at the end of it all and I had a tough time calming him down. Then I told him a story and made sure he smiled before he went to sleep.

Now, I've scolded him plenty of times before when he wouldn't sleep on time. Past 11 pm is much too late for a four-year-old and yet, he would simply not sleep before then. His sleeping pattern has caused huge fights between my husband and I. None of it is Munchkin's fault, his father self-confessedly needs food on time, peace and quiet, and 8 hours or more of sleep and goes ballistic if there's any noise in the house when he is in his "I-need---" mode.

Anyway, this morning he got ready after the usual whining but when I was putting him into the van, his eyes were brimming over. I promised him we'd take pictures tonight - he loves my new digital camera - and that seemed to cheer him up a bit. Nevertheless, he stuck his arm out of the window of the van as it was driving away and howled: "Bye, Mamma!"

I have a feeling he's feeling neglected. I've never pampered him, although his father has. But that's a different story. The point is, he senses that things have changed. And 13 months is a long time in the life of a six-year-old. For my part, I've made sure I have no chores to do once I'm home except laying the table and heating the food. It was a conscious decision to be able to free up time so I could do whatever he wanted me to do. But I think he misses the stuff he and his father did together. Which wasn't much, but still...

I hope to remedy the situation as soon as I can. I did raise the issue - in a roundabout kind of way - with DH, but he put it down to the changes in school. Before she left, his original teacher - whom Munchkin had quite a soft spot for - had told me that he felt unchallenged in class, bored even because he seems to know so much more than the other children. So one solution is to move him to a better school. Tomorrow, we'll know the results of an entrance test he took last Saturday. He didn't know several of the spellings they asked for but did everything else fine, including the addition and coloring. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. There is one other very good school but seats are subject to vacancies - so we'll know about that only in March or even later. Also, it's quite expensive. Since I am sure that I will quit my job should my son need me at home, DH will have to support us all for a while. I reminded him of this - important, because what he really wants to do is sit at home and write novels and make a living from that. He says he'll aim for a better position somewhere in a couple of years. I can live with that.

In the meantime, I need Poppet to be a happy little boy again. His sixth birthday is just around the corner and he deserves to be really really happy after the tough year he's had.