Oh! the things we do to sneak in a shower. Continue reading
After three friends forwarded this to me in a space of two days, I knew I had to have it up here. Remember our parents forcing us to do this as kids as punishment? Well! there seems to be a reason. Parents’ do know best after all! 🙂
Logging on to Google Reader, I saw many on my list link back to the Pink Chaddi Campaign. I was intrigued by the name and read on to nod my head in agreement and smile with amusement. I will definitely raise a toast to Indian Women this Saturday. As far as the pink chaddi goes, will have to look in my closet.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
Image courtesy: The Hindu
via Google Image Search
Turns out she was out shopping with my aunt and when she got home, a strange sight met her eyes. Five thodappa kattai or brooms lined against her front door. Puzzled she moved them and went inside. She realized the local handyman was making brooms as she left and had possibly left them at the door thereby forcing her to buy them. Cursing the guy internally she locked the door behind her and went about her chores. A little while later the door bell rang and the neighbor stood holding a 50 Rs note in her hand. Puzzled again Amma discovered some gentleman had come to our home, finding the door locked and noticing the rather fine quality of the thodappa kattai had bought five from the handyman and left them at the door. Since he had no change, he had left 100 Rs with the guy and instructed him to leave the change with my mom. Since my mom was not back by the time the handy man had to leave, he left the change with our neighbor.
Narrating this rather strange story to my mom she burst out laughing “Who on earth would buy broomsticks and leave it at the door?”
As my mom recounted the story to me, both of us were in splits. We still don’t know who did it or why but sure enough it will be one thing that will baffle us till we find the answer.
Strange are the ways of the world 🙂
As I liberally dusted myself with Mysore Sandal Talc today morning in what appears to be a recent habit, I couldn’t help thinking back at the days I scorned my amma, appa and athai for coating themselves liberally with talc. I would tease them saying the powder was an inch think on their face and neck and they would dismiss me as silly.
I remember when amma would chide me for sitting curled up with a book when I aught to have, like all good girls washed my face, applied talc and a nice new bindi. It was probably the only piece of ‘beauty’ advice she passed on to me from mom to daughter. Which of course I did not take. “Palichinu irruka vendaamo” she would say.
The talcum powder tales are dime a dozen in any household but some of the sharp memories I have are of my dad pressing the powder pack till a small mound of talc would rest on the palm of his hand. He would replace the box and rub both his hands vigorously and then smooth the powder all over his face, neck and arms. He would then turn back with a smile as I teased him. I also remember my athai pleading with me during weddings and other festivals at home to ‘brighten’ up with a bit of powder.
I also remember airily dismissing them saying I did not need to take recourse to talc to make me look beautiful. I looked just right au naturale I thought. On the wrong side of thirty, I am ready to take anything that will make me feel younger.
Ahh! for the arrogance of youth I thought as I merrily squirted talc all over myself.
Waiting for a friend in the lobby of her office, I picked up a worn out copy of Chicken Soup for the Soul series. Turning over the pages vacantly, I read a few of the contributions and found myself nodding my head in agreement or going “My parents would have done the exact same thing! So, what’s so great about it?”.
By the time I was ready to leave, I had already forgotten about the book. It all came back to me today walking leisurely on the treadmill watching my feet hit the belt in synchrony. The sheer simplicity of the concept. Taking heartwarming moments from ordinary peoples’ lives and packaging it in a fashion that is accessible. Stories that make you go “Aww! How sweet!!” or “Wish it did not have to be this way.”
It is not that there is great intrigue in these stories that are shared. It is the every day simplicity in them that the reader can relate to. The things we take for granted. The all too common emotions of love, affection, sorrow and friendship.
Isn’t it in some way what I am attempting to do I thought. Take moments out of my everyday life to share with friends and family. To bare my soul and make my everyday thoughts open to discussion? To wonder if others go through what I do.
I hereby christen my blog unofficially as – Jeera rasam for the intensely desi soul!
God is an ultra personal thing to me. I hate anyone watch me when I haggle with Him/Her. Even when I am in the temple I feel conscious about people watching me mutter under my breath pleading, arguing my case with the powers. So, I usually tend to look nonchalant and hold my conversations inside my mind.
Not so at home. Being the first one up in the morning affords certain advantages. This being one of them. I light the lamps adoringly and watch them flicker and then give out a steady light. I pause and enjoy the effect the little lamps have in the small area I have for them. Then there is this ritual of offering milk to Him/Her before I have my coffee. So, I heat up my milk real well and stir the sugar in and remember to take the spoon out before holding up to my little baby Krishna and saying “Sarvam Krishnarpanam”. The taking the spoon out is something my mom told me long back. Would you drink your coffee with the spoon in the tumbler? No! So also offer the milk as you would want yours. I like my coffee steaming hot so the baby gets steaming hot milk as well.
Back to today, I was done with the stirring and in some lapse of memory added the strong decoction as well. I was torn between having to offer strong coffee to a child god and having to heat up milk again. My dilemma lasted less than ten seconds. I figured it was time for God to grow up so coffee he got.
I rushed to the door to stare into earnest looking faces of Jack Sparrow and Minnie mouse. Aww! Aren’t they cuteeeeeee!! I gushed and rushed to get candy for the little trick or treaters. Long after they had gone past our house I was looking wistfully at them ringing on other doors in the neighborhood.
Sets of costumed characters made their appearance at our door step and I gleefully gave out candy. My FIL who was on the treadmill when the first few sets came and went made his appearance and was enthralled by the whole concept. When the next little tiger pressed our doorbell I let him open it and gave him the bowl of candy. Even before he could drop candy on the waiting child’s bowl, the kid picked a couple and was making to go to the next house. My FIL wouldn’t have it. He ran after the kid saying “Oh! you can’t go away empty handed. Come back! I will give you some candy.” The petrified kid froze looking this way and that. Eventually my FIL caught up with him and stuffed a handful of candy into his bag. The little one’s eyes lit up. He held one candy in his hand and said “I am taking this for my grand mom.” We all stood there watching him go with almost tears of happiness in our eyes.
Even as the candy ran out and we put out the porch lights, my FIL said “Vere enge indha madhiri kuzhandhaigal vaasal thedi vandhu chocolate kepa. Neriya kudungo ma. Ellam punyam.” Transliterated it means “Where else in the world will you have little kids knocking on your door asking for candy? Give them a lot. You will earn a lot of good karma.”
How true. We can dismiss Halloween as a commercially motivated holiday or give in to the festive spirit in us and make it a meaningful tradition. Its all in our eyes.
Happy Halloween though belated!
Am in training from work this week. Its been a very amusing experience so far. No, nothing is laughing matter about the class itself. The instructor is a wise old man who really knows his stuff. Its been ages since I have been in a classroom. Every time I walk into the room with its huge white board and neatly arranged chairs and desks, I am transported back to a time when all I had to look forward to was school or college.
Each time I feel a question welling inside me I resist the urge to smile. I remember the good old days when I would be thrilled to be only person with questions in the class. Asking questions meant you attempted to follow what was being taught. Alternatively it also meant having the attention of the instructor. In English classes while at school, I used to be a terrible show off. I loved using all the bombastic words I had come across reading novels. I just had to use them in front of my English teacher (M.S ma’am). Her approving smile meant the day was made for me. Over the years that was the only class I excelled in and I revelled in the knowledge that she acknowledged me as one of her best students.
Sitting here in a classroom that has nothing to do with English or an instructor that needed impressing, I am smiling because my boss who is attending the course with me came up to me as I was eating and asked “How come you seem to understand all that is being said? Did you know this stuff before?”. No! I answered biting back the smugness that threatened to settle on my face. I am as new to this as you are. As she walked away I thought to myself perhaps she is impressed. 🙂