It was meant to be just another Sunday. My boss (the very first boss of my insipid career), however, had other plans. He announced that he was going away for the weekend, and that I needed to cover for him. He was a gorgeously wonderful guy, and I could never ever refuse him, even if it was at the cost of scrapping a well-planned shopping expedition that very weekend.
So I took a handover and was all set to handle any sort of client-emergency. Just before he left for the airport, he suddenly turned around, walked right back to me, smiled ever so gently and said ‘This is for you..’ and thrust it into my hands before I could even react.
So there I was, holding my very first mobile phone. A heavy, faded Nokia that had been circulated among virtually EVERY project manager in my team.
Yippee! My very own phone! So somebody actually thought I was important enough to need a mobile phone?! Wooawww..that really felt awesome!
I remember going out with two of my closest friends (Mr.G and Ms.L) that night, and celebrating the event over Tangy Dahi-papdi-chaat and milkshakes (WITH a nice blob of ice-cream)! Every five minutes, G or L would disappear round the corner and call me on my mobile. You know.. just for me to be able to show the world that I too, had arrived!
Over the last ten years, I have owned and used many many mobiles.
- Starting with a really dirty, chapped Nokia (that was the possession of another project manager who used to constantly mine his nose for gold! YUCK!).
- I subsequently treated myself to an ultra-slim Sony Ericcson (colour phone, you see
). - In some time, I was formally given a new shiny blue Sony for ‘official use’. I have to admit this was my most memorable phone, as I used it 24 hours a day, during my courtship with hubby
- Then I got a sturdy Nokia (gift from hubby)…
- Followed by another Sony (With Bluetooth, camera and recording!!)
- And finally a coveted Blackberry Pearl (with about everything!!!!)
Last Saturday, I went scouting for my next mobile phone (none of the others worked now), and found exactly what I was looking for at the very popular Univercel outlet in the shopper’s paradise that is called T.Nagar (Pondy Bazaar, to be precise).
So, my latest addition is an LG. Really sleek. Pitch black. Colour display. And nothing else. Yes, you read right.
No camera, No FM radio, No video, NO NOTHING!!! Not even 10 ring tones, can you beat that? I have to choose from a very jing-chak “Pappu Can’t Dance Sala” or an annoyingly loud “Dance pe tu chance”. Kiddo loves the tunes, but I wouldn’t dream of being heard in public with that ring tone.
The fact that it actually works (for the Rs.1400 that I paid), is a blessing in itself. I can make and receive calls, and even get a whole lot of Marketing Spam SMS-es. And I think Sonny boy can even drop it a couple of times (ahem, that’s an understatement) and it might still just work!
So, I believe Life has come a full circle.
Or mebbe I’m just growing old.
Once upon a time, there was a kind woman who had two children. She had a gentle face, but a face that was scarred by warts. The only way to remove them was a surgical process. She was very nervous, but her older, more responsible child talked her into getting it done.
When they reached the hospital, the child squeezed her hand and said ‘Don’t worry Mamma, you will be fine!’. The woman felt choked with emotion. Once inside the operation theatre, the good Doctor re-assured them that there was no reason to worry. The woman lay back on the cold, cushioned, couch. The girl stood by her, smiling and stroking her hair.
The Doctor readied a long shiny tube-like instrument and connected it to the power socket. When she turned it on, the tip glowed red, like the eye of a monster. It made a dull, whizzing sound. The brave little helper watched the Doctor with bated breath.
With one short and swift stroke, the Doctor brought the tube-like instrument close to the woman’s face, and roughly nudged the biggest wart. The woman shuddered involuntarily, not in pain, but in momentary shock. A few seconds later, the wart fell off. The spot now looked pink, and blood began to ooze out.
The Doctor said, ‘Give me that roll of cotton-wool’. No reply.
‘Quick, please!’ No reply again.
The good Doctor turned around. Only to receive the fainting not-so-little girl, who was falling slowly and steadily into her arms!
The Doctor revived the child by splashing cold water on her face. And then scoffed at her for having been so very ‘brave’!
The kind woman refused to remove any more warts and took her daughter home immediately. And lived happily ever after.
===============
(That brave little helper was, if you haven’t guessed yet, Mi Mi Mi!
And I wrote this (and tormented you), because today, I passed by the clinic where we had been to that eventful day, many years ago!)
‘Take her on our vacation?? You crazy?’, she exploded.
He remained silent.
That night. He was stretched carelessly on the mat. Near her. Sometimes talking. Sometimes laughing. Watching their favourite show.
She swallowed hard.
Realising, that mother and son shared a bond so deep, that she herself was yet to fathom, in her year-old marriage!
Wait! This is NOT what you think it is.
All I meant (in complete innocence) was – Does gender play a significant role in blogging success?
In the last two years of my life here in Blogosphere, I’ve come to know such wonderful bloggers…people from all walks of life.. students, wives, bachelors, mothers…why, even grandmothers!!
But the interesting thing is – most bloggers are of the fairer sex. (Strictly in my opinion) Seven of every 10 bloggers is a female. Or maybe I do not blog-hop fairly yet. So, does that mean women make better bloggers? Are women more creative and expressive than men? Or do women simply have more interest and time in exploring this new dimension called Cyberspace?
Equally puzzling is the fact that the few male bloggers that I’ve read are all so brilliant! Their writing is more infrequent, but also more incisive and incredibly witty. So then, do men make better and more promising bloggers?
What do you think?
Do share your views!
Dearest friends,
Guess what? I won a prize @ Sulekha Blogs for my post titled ‘Beauty for the Beasts’. Here is the link: http://sulekhablogs.sulekha.com/blog/post/2009/06/not-just-women-contest-2-winners.htm
Thanks to all of you, time and again, for your constant and unconditional encouragement and support! Thanks so much!!
(P.S: My most adorable little sonny boy isn’t keeping very well now, so I might have to postpone opening that bottle of Champagne….nah, just Coke actually!!)
A secret that even I wasn’t aware of, until this evening.
I took sonny out for a small walk, with my lovely co-sis and her son. A simple visit to the shoe-shop. And I couldn’t handle it! I just couldn’t.
The roads were TERRIBLY busy. Swarms of crowds everywhere. Incessant traffic. And the awfully sultry weather. Sonny and I are so used to pushing around his pram that walking – under these circumstances – was an ordeal.
And just as we finished our expedition, a stray dog came up to us. Yeah, he really did, and kept circling us for a few minutes. I was dumb-struck. Because I didn’t KNOW what to say! Must I say ‘Shush…go away’ or must I say ‘Shoo..po po (meaning Go!), or must I throw a stone? Must I carry my little boy? Or must I just pray!! I seriously didn’t know.
Because its been 4 years since I saw a stray animal! Or since I walked on a one-foot-high footpath, that wasn’t even continuous along the side of the road.
Coming home to Chennai is like coming home to Chaos. The same ubiquitous organized chaos, in which I have spent all my life.
And I realised, that unfortunately, in the last 4 years, I’ve become a stranger in my own hometown!
P.S: Which is why I am on a tiny blog break. Life is just tooooooooooo busy out here!
Whether people call you Beauty or the Beast, and irrespective of your colour, age and proportions, here are some very simple, generic tips to look great and feel wonderful, day after day.
Rule # 1 – Early to bed…
First things first – Wake up at the first ring of the alarm clock. Sit up straight, and stretch out your right hand. Slam the alarm down, and GO BACK TO BED. There is nothing more refreshing than a good night’s sleep. Sleep as long as you can…or until someone rings your door bell, or your child cries, or your MIL bangs the door. Never ever sacrifice on your sleep!
Rule # 2 – Eyes that intoxicate!
Slice a fresh cucumber into thin rings. Lean back on a comfortable lounge; grab an I-Pod. When you are ready to begin, add some salt and pepper. (Eh? Why are you staring?) Add some salt and pepper to the cucumber rings and pop them into your mouth one at a time. Close your eyes and relish every bite.
Rule # 3 – Facial Ritual
Take equal portions of melon, banana and pear. Chop into cubes, add a pinch of sugar and salt, and run it in the mixer. Have you got a nice concoction of a lovely pastel shade? Now take a deep breath, and drink it, sip by sip. Yummmmy! Feeling radiant already?
Rule # 4 – Hair Care!
Take 1 egg for short hair, and 2 eggs for long hair. Crack the egg(s) gently on the side of a bowl. Add some oil and a tiny pinch of lemon. Whisk until it becomes frothy. Wash your hair like you would normally do. When your hair is still damp, get ready for the eggs ritual. Quickly chop some onions and tomatoes, add to the eggs, and spread it onto a hot pan. Once fully cooked, enjoy a hearty breakfast of egg-burji or omelette or however you like it. You walk out of your door, confident and happy, ready to take on the world!
Rule # 5 – Diet and the dreaded E-word
Watch your diet. Eat EXACTLY one dry chapati with salad. Before and after meals Just kidding. I intensely dislike people advising you to restrict your food intake to one roti or 2 small idlis. That’s rubbish. Eat what you like, in moderation. For what is life devoid of ice-creams and drinks. But absolutely no escape from that dreaded E-word. The only lifeboat for a happy foodie. Walk to work, climb stairs, or just imitate your toddler, if you have one (or feel free to borrow mine)! You just have to Exercise.
So, you see, these are the daily rituals will keep you stress-free and happy!
And that, my friends, is the key to everlasting beauty.
Yay! I’m a TV Star. Here’s how….
—————————————–
I could hardly get any sleep last night.
Today was the 125th Anniversary of Marks & Spencers, and to mark the occasion, they launched a 3-day Penny Bazaar!
I was so excited, and decided to queue up at the nearest big outlet (25 mins by train) first thing in the morning. If you have read my earlier posts, you will know how much I love waking early But today was different. I set the alarm to 6 am, but woke up by 5:30!! And I was out of the house by 7:20 am!! Hurried to the station, and for a change, managed to catch the train (the next one wasn’t for another 10 minutes ) I grabbed a nice seat by the window, and opened my book (Jhumpa Lahiri’s ‘Interpretor of Maladies’). Two stops down the line, the train itself stopped. Signal-failure (GOK what it means!!) at the station ahead, and the train was not going to move forward , but backward, all the way it came!!
With not much of a choice, I got out, and walked through to the closest main Tube station. As I swiped my travel card, the damn machine beeped as loudly as it could, indicating that I did not have enough credit. So I topped up my card, and finally managed to get into the train!
It was peak-time already. People were piling in. I stationed myself in a nice comfy corner of the compartment, thinking nobody could jostle me. And guess what? Every time the train halted at a station, the person standing next to me (i.e., not in the corner like me) got a place to sit. So I stood all the bloo** way to central London. Remind me to thank Jhumpa for her book, please!
After about 20 minutes, I finally reached Marble Arch station. There were more than 2 exits. And I am so bad at directions, that any direction that I normally choose, is certainly the wrong one!! Anyway, this time, I did choose right. Still wondering how! So I walked out into the beautiful sunshine and reached the flagship M&S store @ Oxford street in about 5 minutes. At the intersection of roads, I was flanked by girls. A young one to my left. And a really old one to my right. I chose to ask the girl to my left, if that was the correct route indeed. Didn’t quite expect the old hag to say much.
And yes, when I finally reached the M&S store, there were about 150 people already queued up there!! I mean, didn’t they have any work to do? Did they sleep there all night? Anyway, I joined the queue too. Blondes in green M&S T-shirts distributed colourful flags, badges and candies. Reporters (oh yeah!) kept taking shots of everybody. And while I delved into my novel, the woman right ahead of me was interviewed by a daily! And the old hag whom I’d ignored at the crossing now stood right behind me, and was also giving an interview! I was left waving the flags, cheering them on!
So then, the store opened by 9 am, and they let people in one by one. That half hour was an excruciating wait. A wait made memorable by eager anticipation of what we would finally buy for a penny! Just as my turn came, the lady with the huge pram shoved her way through the crowd. And then it was the turn of the lady in the wheelchair. And we finally squeezed in.
And guess what they sold at a penny each?
Mug, Knicker, Tea-towel, beach-ball, crappy earrings/chain set, bracelet…etc.
I mean, I wasn’t expecing gold-plated jewellery, but I did expect a decent variety in the accessories division atleast!
So, this is what I landed with in the end:-
A nice mug, with M&S 125 years printed on it. Really liked this.
A frisbee (well, nobody was taking it, and I was sure sonny would like it)
A silly little earrings/chain set (hope my sis is not reading this, as I am planning to gift it off to her )
A decent looking bracelet (with the foll. trinkets on it: a penny (ofcourse), a little pearl and a crown (obviously a tiny little one)).
And another tiny little cream leather coin purse (which I will give to my Mum, as she is the inspiration behind me being a shopaholic!)
I returned home , tired with the excitement of the morning. When I made my expenses list…I was kind of shocked to see the following:-
ITEM PRICE (GBP)
—————————
Train-fare 4.00
Charity 0.20
Clothing 5.00
Grocery 7.81
Penny-Bazaar 0.05
===========================
TOTAL 17.06
===========================
I guess this is what people call ‘Penny wise….pound …. ‘ ahem.. the less said the better
Btw, this is the link to the video on cyberspace. In the first 3 seconds, the camera rolls over the queue of hopeful shoppers. Do watch out for the lady in pink. Carrying a backpack (huh…like I was expecting to fill it up!), and reading a book. I know… I know…its not even 0.05 second of me on TV, but still. I can proudly say, ‘Been there, Done that’
And that little blob in white is me, myself and others.
A special thanks to hubby, who took half a day off from work, so I could focus on the all important penny-shopping !
I started blogging so I could keep my brains in working condition. I had NO inkling that I would make such wonderful friends in Blogosphere!
Every time I do something, or see something interesting, the first thing I can think of is to put it up here for you to read!!
I am so glad when you read my posts and leave such wonderfully kind words.
I am equally glad when you point out the yucky templates I sometimes choose
But most of all, I am so glad that we are friends!!
If we do ever meet some day, in the real world, I don’t think we would be ’strangers meeting for the first time’.
Dhiman has awarded me with this lovely Friendship Blogger award. Just two months into blogging, and Dmanji is already making waves in cyber world!! Cheers to that!!
And I would like to hereby pass on the award to my dear friends and readers.
To dear friends who faithfully spoil me with compliments on my work:-
Solilo
Ally
Rekz
Barath (see, I even got a blogging-bro!)
Piper
Little Pixie
Usha
Supriya
Roopsie
Ganga
To my friendly neighbour, who brings a lot of Life into real-life !
Sanyash
And my soul sister from cyberspace
Urmi
And to the other brave male champions out here…
Salil
And a Toast to my latest friends in cyberspace:
Mystic Margarita
Oorja
Indyeah
Tikuli
Spamwarrior
And to these really brilliant writers, whose work I read and then shrink into a shell ))
Shankari
(OMG, that linking business just took me AGES, half a packet of tortilla chips and half a bottle of cider!!!)
Without your encouragement, I realise I really am nothing at all. So thank you, guys and girls, for being my friends.
(P.S: If I have missed out anyone, kindly refer to my blogroll and collect your award :-))
Edited to add:
Thank you Mon and Roshmi for passing the award back to me… I am now doubly blessed
Girls and Guys,
I am thrilled that my post ‘How to make the perfect Mother’s Day brunch’ has topped the list of articles written under the topic by the same title @ Helium. Do check out: http://www.helium.com/items/1446487-mothers-day-brunch-recipe-humour to read the entire article. (Please do ignore the similarities to my Art of Making Chapatis and Simple Steps to making Semiya Payasam).
The thing with Helium is, members rate articles themselves, so the situation is always fluid. However, at this point in time…well, for the last half hour almost, people have liked my article the most. And I am so thrilled about it. Did I say that earlier? Sorry.. but I really am excited.
And once again, thanks for always encouraging and motivating me to write on!
Cheers..
- First things first – I want you to wake up at the first ring of the alarm clock. Sit up straight, and stretch out your right hand. Slam the alarm down, and GO BACK TO BED. There is nothing more refreshing than a good night’s sleep. Sleep as long as you can. Until someone rings your door bell, or your child cries, or your MIL bangs the door. Whatever it is, do not sacrifice on your sleep.
- Your facial ritual – Talking of fruit masks, don’t pay a dime in the parlours. This is what you do: Take equal portions of melon, banana and pear. Chop into decent sized pieces, add a pinch of sugar and salt, and run it in the mixer. Have you got a nice concoction of a lovely pastel shade? Now take a deep breath, and drink it in a single shot. Yummmmy! Feeling better already?
- Choice of clothes – This is extremely important. You have to dress well. Because people are watching! So pick up the shirt that is easiest to iron, press it well. It is crucial that you do not ignore the final crease that the damn iron leaves on your neatly pressed shirt. Re-do that bit for sure, and you’ll feel confident. See, you really start by taking on the iron-box first to start with.
- As the day proceeds, you are bogged down by work and politics and meetings and conferences. The tip to survive all this is: stock up on tiny chocolate bars, fruits, milkshakes and stuff that you enjoy! Everytime you feel stressed, pick a bar, take a walk. If you want to not gain weight, just hand over the bar to someone you think is equally stressed. You lose weight, and you win friends. Two birds with one stone, right?
- When the clock strikes 5 or 6 or whatever time it is that you are supposed to leave office, make sure you shut down your computer immediately and make a RUN! For your bus or car or whatever is the mode of your transport. Run like you are running for your life. You are guaranteed to save atleast 20 minutes that way. You can use the time to read a book, or soak in the tub, or cook, or even better, shop!! Or simply do nothing!! (I remember the good ol’ days when I had a career! My asst. would send me an email at the dot of 5. Impressed, I would go out of my room to discuss the data with her. But she would be nowhere in sight! She was probably already half way down to the station!! How she managed to send that email and immediately shut down her comp and disappear – all within a matter of 60 seconds, is a complete miracle to me, even till this date!!).
- On your way back home, make sure you have either some music or a book. Without either of these, it’s a pure waste of travel time. Utilise the time to relax and unwind.
- Again, when you reach home, RUN to the loo, and freshen up real quick. Now grab a big mug of coffee or juice or whatever you like and energise yourself. Ignore your child asking for a toy, or MIL asking you to chop some veggies. This is YOUR time.
- Now that you are refreshed, do dedicate the next couple of hours to home sweet home. I am sure everybody missed you dearly while you were away at work. Playing with the kiddo might be a great stress-buster. Working with MIL might just charge you up. Store all that energy to lash out at your competitors at the work place or elsewhere. If not, there’s always the unsuspecting hubby who returns home at the end of day
- Ok dinner time. Eat well, but not heavy. Have a balanced diet of carbs (rice/pasta/chapatti/etc) and proteins (lentils/dhal/eggs/etc). Try to not eat sweet stuff, or you will end with more cavities than teeth in your old age!
- Drink. Water, or cider, or whatever you like. Just to keep the fizz in life.
- Try to get the MIL to put the kid to sleep, so you can enjoy a romantic late night movie
- Sleep when you can’t keep your eyes open anymore. And have a good long night’s sleep.
You know? You know you are a full-time mum, when you report the foll. to a friend.
‘Hey, I took sonny cycling yesterday. Guess whom we bumped into? Mrs.A and Mrs.B. They were playing in the garden.’
Friend to whom this is being reported, smirks. And lets it go. She is a mum too!
Since I bombard you with my various rants, I thought I must share something happy too
It was quite windy, but I wanted to take sonny cycling, for atleast 10 minutes while before the sun set for the day. So I got him ready first, put him on his trike and snapped the seat belt into place. As I got ready myself and was about to wear on my shoes, he suddenly looked at me, and said ‘You’re the coolest, Amma’ !
I am sure he has no clue of what it means. He must have just seen something on TV.
Still, this undoubtedly, and most most certainly, is the biggest ever compliment of my life!! I am so grateful!! Thank you, Rishi baby.
Ok…I lost the Mother’s Day contest. But I won a 166 votes, and a huge huge deal of self-confidence.
I just want to THANK everybody who voted for me. Friends from school, college, ex-work place, blogosphere, Orkut and Facebook (!!)…friends of friends… friends of colleagues… colleagues of ex-colleagues… everybody really!
Thank you for your really precious vote.
Thanks for making me stand 5th out of nearly 60 entries.
Thanks for reading my story, thanks for appreciating it, thanks for goading me on!!
And thanks, for giving my self-confidence a much-needed boost
Cheers..
Pallavi
‘So, whose pet are you? Mummy’s or Daddy’s?’, asked Ramesh uncle.
”Shriya is Daddy’s, and I am Mummy’s’, Priya replied dutifully. Almost immediately, a chubby little girl came skipping along, and tapped her on the arm. ‘Shall we play Peekaboo now?’ Priya nodded, gratefully, and the girls hurried away, hand-in-hand.
Although she was nine, Priya was rather quiet, and had a slow, unsure gait. A voice from a distant past kept ringing in her ears. ‘Beautiful baby!! Best thing that’s happened to me!’. But she just couldn’t remember where or when she had heard it.
‘Come and look for meeeeeeeee’, Shriya’s call jolted Priya back to reality, and she started hunting for the litte imp - her three-year old sister. In about an hour, they tired of the game and scurried indoors, ravenously hungry. Ramesh uncle was nowhere in sight, and Priya was relieved. She was tired of having to answer the same question from him every time they met!
‘Mummy, I am so hungry!!’, Priya whispered, tugging at the sari. Shubha turned around and snapped, ’There’s so much to do for the party! Where have you girls been?’ Her voice was tense.
‘Playing peekaboo in the garden.. hee hee!’, replied Shriya as she hugged her mother.
‘You cheeky little doll!’ Shubha said, and smiled fondly, tousling Shriya’s mop of curly black hair. ‘Beautiful baby’, the voice whispered in Priya’s head.
Shubha seated them atop the kitchen counter and gave them each a colourful plate piled with potato chips and samosas. Shriya chomped away happily. Priya didn’t realise at what point it was, that her appetite had died.
‘Priya, can you that tray to the guests, please?’, asked Shubha, though it sounded more an order than a request. ‘Some more chips for you, Shriya kutty?’ she asked in the direction of the little one. ‘Best thing that’s happened to me…’, the mystery voice whispered in Priya’s ear again.
Suddenly, in what seemed to be an explosion in her mind, Priya recollected where she had heard that voice. It was the day Shriya had suffered from an unusually high temperature. They had all been so worried to see her shivering that way! Thankfully, the medication had taken effect and the temperature had gradually subsided. It was on that very night, that Mummy had stood beside their bed, and spoken those words. And all the while, she had been looking at Shriya.
‘Priya!!’, Shubha shouted.
Priya’s cheeks were reddening. Shriya was licking ketchup off her fingers.
‘Don’t just sit there! Aren’t you going to help Mummy?’
Priya fixed her gaze on her plate, but couldn’t see through the mist.
Shubha took a step forward and shook Priya by the shoulders. ‘What is THE MATTER with you?’ she asked angrily. She was sweating profusely, as she always did, when she was angry. She was waiting for the party to end so she could put her feet up. And here was her older daughter, supposedly the responsible one, refusing to help!
Priya’s eyes brimmed over. Hot tears fell on her cheeks and rolled onto her lap, leaving spots on her new yellow frock. But she wasn’t talking.
Shubha looked on, completely bewildered. She shifted her gaze to Shriya. ‘Did you girls quarrel with each other in the garden?’ Wide-eyed and perplexed, Shriya shook her head sideways. At that point, Priya burst into an avalance of tears.
‘What happened…?’, Shubha started. Priya shrugged her off angrily. She didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to know.
Shriya slowly inched closer and stretched out a plump little finger to wipe away the tears. Then, she hugged Priya tenderly. It was a warm and reassuring hug. The kind of unspoken understanding that seals the bond between siblings.
Shubha stood close - helpless, ignorant.
In a while, sobs receded. Both children slipped off the table and capered into the garden.
‘Priya…’,Shubha called out anxiously.
But she was gone. Holding Shriya’s hand like it was the most precious thing on earth. Realising that Shriya was her anchor. The little angel who loved her completely, unconditionally. Her pet.
———-
Featured post @ Sulekha Ex-pressions
Hi Everybody,
Thanks a million, for taking the trouble to vote for my short story (submitted for IndusLadies Mothers Day contest)!
I have made it to the Top Ten. Yippee! Thanks again.
The second round of voting has started in full swing, so I need your help again.
Please cast your precious vote at
http://indusladies.com/partners/poll1.php
OR
(Ofcourse, in favour of my entry: ‘Pal of Crocodile Tales’ )
as soon as you can!!
The original story is here, in my blog, its called ‘Nanny Maa’.
Thanks a lot, in advance.
-Pallavi
(Phew…now I understand why Indian politicians are all so corrupt… campaigning for votes is such a difficult job, therefore the poor guys are forced to resort to underhand methods ).
A couple of weeks back, my 2.5yr old wanted to go cycling (though he doesn’t use the pedals but only walks it around!) and resisted every time I tried to hold on to the parent-handle.
Then I thought, may be he will learn only when I let go.
So I did.
And he didn’t learn.
He would steady himself at the tip of the slope (at the building’s garage). Then say Ready-Steady-Go, and GO. He would lift his two little feet off and bend down, to see himself racing down the slope. And he would whoop with joy!! He even fell twice, flat on his face.
None of that would have happened if I had held on to the handle. He wouldn’t have fallen. And he certainly wouldn’t have had so much fun.
So yeah, I think we do have to let go of our kids at some point of time. I just wish it came later… a long long way later and not when he is just 2.5 
:-) (Is that an appropriate smiley for a ‘mixed-reaction’ ?!!)
(Inspired by Dhanno Banno’s post).
She was bold and intelligent. He was rich and charming.
They met by accident. Got along like a house on fire. Got married in a hurry.
On their golden jubilee, the children popped champaign. ‘The secret of your marriage?’, they asked.
‘Tolerate’, said she.
‘Ignore’, muttered he.
Balloons burst. The party ended early.
I loved Hongkong Lane. The tiny seedy little lane in the city of Pune. Lined with rows and rows of match-box sized shops, selling trinkets of all sorts. Jewellery (artificial, of course), beaded necklaces/bracelets, tinkling wind-chimes, beautiful little bells, audio cassettes (yeah, those were the days of a walkman and audio cassette) and pirated version of the latest books and novels.
Every time I went back home on vacation, I would first pay homage at Hongkong Lane and buy bags of useless trinkets for all the family. And expect them to gloat over it like I did, and which they duly did
On one such shopping expedition, my best friend (let’s call her L) and I had resolved to stick to our budget and snatch a bargain at EVERY shop. We were the ‘Mylapore Maami’s’ as our other Chennai-ite friends called us, and were generally quite timid, so bargaining was really not our forte. But this time, we decided to break the paradigm.
L parked her Scooty by the side of the main road, along with a long line of other bikes. I am always amazed by the uncanny ability of people to identify their vehicles from a crowd. I could never do it! Not that I ever had a vehicle to call my own. Except of course my adorable red tricycle when I was three.
So, we geared up, our backpacks empty and ready to be filled with all the loot. Our first stop: Girlie jewellery. We chose some really cute alphabet beads and got them strung into bracelets for my sis and L’s friends. Just as I opened my mouth to ask ‘Bhaiya, give us a discount’, L nudged me and pointed to a board painted in red: ‘NO BARGAIN. CASH ONLY’. So we sighed and paid (hey, that rhymed!!) Rs.75.
Our next stop: The bookstore. Here’s where we could really strike gold. I picked up some John Grisham for my sister again (see, I really was a nice elder sis), and L chose ‘The Alchemist’ (my favourite of the bygone days) and some Richard Bach (I never could understand what that guy really has to say) for herself. You see, L was a really deep person, unlike frivolous me. And now was the time for the big deal. I opened with a pathetic ‘Why don’t you give us a bargain?’ The bookseller merely started at me for a flit second and kept billing the books. I shrugged and looked at L. Whether it was out of a surge of ‘bargain-o-mania’, or just a wave of sympathy, L took up the challenge of getting us a discount. ‘Bhaiya, we are just students…can’t you give us SOME discount?’ The ‘students’ bit seemed to strike a cord with the grumpy old man. He was really of ‘Dada’ age and not ‘Bhaiya’ but calling him that would have certainly thwarted all chances of a bargain. He gave her a somewhat empathetic look and very briefly, nodded. L and I looked at each other, unable to believe it. ‘I give 2 percent’, he broke the silence. ‘Huh?’ we stared back at him. ‘OK OK 5 percent’. ‘Kya Bhaiya? Only 5 percent? That is just not enough. We are only students. We are buying this out of our pocket money. You have to help us!’ , L said very convincingly (and it was the truth, of course). It was getting late. Lunch time, and the old man was getting impatient. We had already spent an hour there. ‘Give us 50 percent’, L boldly ventured. I was getting prepared to run, just in case the shop seller decided to throw us out. To my horror, the old man said ‘OK’ and billed us Rs.200 instead of Rs.400. He was either eager to shut down the shop for lunch, or was simply humouring our pathetic negotiation skills, or call it ‘begging prowess’.
We paid up and stuffed our bags with the books. Then was the turn of the handbags and silly posters that people would accept with a smile and then chuck it away in a bin. By the time we finished, we were really exhausted. ‘Well done, buddy!’ I patted L on the back. ‘Let’s celebrate, Pallo’, she said excitedly. We trudged back to the main road, and found a nice little restaurant with space to eat out under medium sized green-white umbrellas. We ordered my favourite missal-pav and her favourite cappuccino. We watched the other college students having a great time at their respective tables. There was a young family – parents and two children – a boy and a girl. We looked at each other. Our eyes mirrored the feeling of homesickness that one feels on a lonely Sunday. I patted the backpacks and we smiled, at the thought of getting to see the family in less than a week! Our food arrived and we devoured it in a few minutes of complete silence. Bargain shopping does make one hungry. Rs.30 out of our savings had gone now, but it was worth every bite. Having saved more than Rs.200! We even left a generous tip of Rs.5 for the sullen waiter.
The evening sun was setting, and we needed to get back to our PG accommodation before Mrs. Marathe would start worrying about us. She really was a nice old lady, our landlady, and we were genuinely fond of her. We walked back towards the signal near which we had parked the bike. Strangely, it was empty. Completely. Not a soul in sight. ‘We must have come the wrong way!’, we guessed. We turned back and walked towards the other end of the road. There was nothing there either. Now we were beginning to panic. Where had we left the bike? I was useless at directions and at remembering anything of significance. But L was way better. ‘I am SURE I parked there!’ she pointed to the original spot where we had gone. So we walked back, to find nothing. Not a bike. Not a soul. We looked around, worried. Has somebody stolen it? Gosh! It had cost L’s dad (he had retired from work just that year) at least Rs.25000. Then an old pan-wala motioned to us. ‘What does he want now?!’, I muttered. L, the kind-hearted soul, walked towards him. ‘Saare le gaye!’ (took them all), he said. ‘Kya?’, she asked. ‘Police.. police.. No-parking!’, he repeated through a mouth-ful of red-paan. OK that was an exaggeration. A Paan-seller doesn’t necessarily have to munch paan all the time!
Ow shit! How did we ever park the bike in a No-Parking zone? L would have never done that. But yes, it was the 29th of April. Family budget strings would normally be very stretched during these last few days of the month. Understandably, the impoverished pot-bellied policemen had towed all the vehicles away. We asked around for directions to the police station. It was way too far to walk. Especially in the early evening. It would take us at least half an hour to walk. So we hailed a passing auto rickshaw. ‘Police-station’, I said. The dirty fellow stared at us, and spat ‘Fifty rupees’. ‘What? No no! Twenty-five only’, I said. ‘Chalo, Fourty’. ‘NO! Thirty’, said L almost fiercely. He nodded assent, and we clambered in, making sure our shopping bags were safe with us.
Ten minutes later we were at the police-station. A lanky boy, probably another college student, was walking out, sweating, and holding his motorbike. ‘I hope its here!’ I prayed. We entered the station. It was rather clean. Not that we had been to other stations before. But still, it was a surprise to see an airy white-washed room, instead of the dungeons inhabited by beaten-up prisoners we see in the movies.
‘Our bike has been taken’ I whispered. ‘WHAT?’ the pot-bellied man in uniform thundered. L cleared her throat and said more steadily ‘I parked my bike near Hong Kong lane, but its gone now. They told me it was towed away’. ‘Hmmm… what name?’ ‘Pall..’ I started. ‘SCOOTY.. DARK BLUE’, L said way too loud. I shut up immediately. ‘Search there’, Mr.Pot-belly pointed to a sort of backyard. We walked around nervously, hoping not so much to find the bike, as to return home with our virginity still intact. I know, I know, that’s too filmy. We’d been watching too many crappy Hindi movies lately. ‘There she is!!’ L and I spotted her bike almost simultaneously. Our heart leapt with joy. As L tried to move the Scooty, a thin policeman, probably a lowly-paid constable tapped his wooden stick on the bike, and said ‘Inspector Saab calling’. We walked back in. a flurry of questions and answers, like a succession of ping-pong balls took place.
‘Do you have a driving license?’
‘Yes Sir’.
‘Show me’
It’s at home. Shivaji Nagar.
‘Tamil Nadu number plate??’
‘Yes Sir, I brought my bike from Chennai for my studies’
‘Where is NOC?’
‘What?’, L was a little stumped.
‘N – O – C. Where is it?’
We stared at each other. We didn’t know what it meant. Honesty is the best policy, we decided, telepathically.
‘No License, No NOC. Go home! Cannot take back cycle’.
L was enraged that Mr.Pot-belly had called her Scooty a cycle rather than a bike. But this wasn’t the time or place for that.
‘Please Sir. We didn’t do anything wrong! Let us take the BIKE, and we’ll bring back the DL immediately. Promise!’, I pleaded.
Mr.Pot looked back at the files on his table and motioned us to bugger off. We walked out, our shoulders slumped.
Outside the station, we stood wondering how on earth we could get her Scooty back. Her parents would ground her, and me too. How would we ever repay Rs.25000!! it would be another year before we would even get employed somewhere!
‘Hallo! Hallo!’. Somebody was calling out to us, clapping aloud. We looked around. It was the thin constable. We stopped and waited for him to catch up.
‘Look sister, I can help you. You want Scooty?’
‘YES!’, we nodded in unison.
‘Hmmm.. I talk to Inspector Saab. But we oil engine first’.
‘Its oiled’, L answered.
‘Oh not that, Behenji (sister). Oil.. oil.. palm..’ he said, scratching his head. Seeing that we still didn’t get the drift, he said ‘Rs.400 only’, and sighed.
Our eyes popped out of our head. Did we hear right? ‘Is he crazy? He wants a bribe? Forget it!’ I whispered angrily to L. She didn’t reply. Then I realised her eyes were watering. Here was the chance to retrieve her most precious possession. And I was thinking of the money. I started walking back to the station with the constable. L followed, half relived and half grateful. She squeezed my hand. We walked into the station boldly this time, knowing fully well what the guys were after and that the ball was in our court now.
Mr.Pot was not to be seen. Gone for a wee, perhaps. ‘500’, the constable said. ‘You said 400’, I replied.
‘400? OK fine. 400’
‘We are only students, Bhaiya. We don’t have that much money. 400 is too much’, L piped up from behind, her voice steady and bold. I looked around in surprise. This was the bargaining expedition, after all. I was emboldened too. ‘Yes, you cant take advantage of students like us. We live on pocket money only. No salary!’ I added.
Mr.Pot suddenly emerged, miraculously. ‘300’ he said, with a callous attitude. So he had been listening all along.
‘Sir, we don’t have that much…’ I said, and emptied my wallet in front of him. L and I counted the money out. Rs.132 only. ‘Phew!’, Mr.Pot sniggered. L opened her wallet too, and emptied Rs.120’. The constable swiped the notes off the table, and left the coins in there. Too meagre even for him, we guessed. ‘Rs.250, Saab’, he said to Mr.Pot. Mr.Pot stared at us for a whole minute. Then they looked at each other. And finally, to our great relief, he said the word ‘OK’. We hurried to the backyard and grabbed the bike, walking/running away from the station as fast as we could.
We neared the main road, in dead silence, louder even, than the noise of the evening traffic on the road. As we stopped at the signal where we had originally parked the bike, we burst into laughter. We laughed and laughed, tears streaming down our cheeks.
‘What a bargain!’, we returned home with bags of bargain books and gifts, and empty wallets.
