Who let the cat out?

Today, I drove out and stuck my car into the worst ever traffic jam.
A narrow street, half of it being dug up, and cars stuck at strange angles which would make it quite impossible for anyone to go anywhere, unless some cars were to suddenly sprout wings.
So I stepped out of my car and plodded over to find out what happened. This is what I was told.
A black cat crossed the road.
The red car about to cross jammed on its brakes. The white car behind it and the 2 bikes behind that all went and smashed into the red car. A black SUV van from the other side of the road also refused to cross after the black cat, so it turned into a 1-way-road, and jammed up a dozen peace-loving vehicles on that road. Another bike with 3 people on it tried to get in between, and got in STUCK in between it all.
Everyone was arguing with everyone else. Like the Tower of Babel.
The red car had an angry woman screaming in Bengali. The white car had a driver screaming in Hindi. The auto drivers (from 11 cars down the road all came to pass loud judgement in Kannada). The black van had a teenager hurling choisest abuses in Punjabi (I think).
In the midst of this all, some smart guy on a moped thought he’d squeeze in between and get out, so he passed.
THE BLACK CAT SPELL WAS BROKEN !
Some auto guy yelled out to him and told him he’d crossed the black cat path. The moped guy now came back to push the black van driver, who took a swing at someone else who had just stopped to listen.
Soon, it was back to Square One. Or by now, Octagon One.
A yellow school bus conductor had come out to join the fight. All the school kids were out playing in the dirty drain. Some guy came selling American Sun Shades. A woman with a kid drinking milk out of her came to beg for money. Some auto drivers left their autos in the middle of the mess and went to drink tea. A foreigner started taking photographs. And the black van driver threw him a punch too.
--
40 minutes later, by some miracle it began to rain. Everyone got into their own cars and started their engines. As the first car was about to pull out, the black cat, who had been sitting on a wall watching the entertainment, decided to saunter across the road again.


Learning : I am not superstitious, but probably really stupid. Because I cannot understand why I can’t cut hair on a Tuesday, or marry someone born on a Monday. Or why walking under a ladder, or crossing the road after a cat, or breaking a mirror will cause me 7 years of bad luck. Unless of course, the cat decides to stop crossing the road, and comes back to scratch me to shreds. In which, 7 years of bad luck will be the least of my worries.

The Birds and the Bees

What’s a good time to give your kids their first hint at a topic that will fascinate them forever after? At 14 or 10 or 6 ?
Some snippets from discussion with friends :
Mom 1 : Whose lil daughter thought that women grew boobs when their babies blew air into them.
Mom 2 : When asked about what a condom was said it was a small balloon, and had her son yell in a birthday party that he wanted a condom NOW.
Dad 3 : Whose 3 year old son asked him whether he’d found his fucking car keys yet.
Me : My son at 5, is still happily innocent. He thinks women have 3 ‘belly buttons’.

In our house, in our attempt to bring them up naturally and healthily etc… we let them get their sex education from National Geographic and Animal Planet.
So Neel sees the wilderbeast “pottying” out a baby, and I’ve caught him once or twice sitting on the pot, and sneaking a peek to see if he was producing anything living himself.
He has no clue of course where the baby comes from, and still threatens to send his little brother back to the hospital gift shop that supplied him.
Mom 4 is mightily worried when she read about a 13-year-old boy fathering a kid, since her own son is that age himself, and she is struggling enough with being a mom, forget being a GRANDMOM !

The last time I was inspired to tell Neel about the birds and the bees, I chickened out, and just told him the difference between eagles and hawks. But the world is changing quick. And kids are getting smarter than their old pops and moms.
So one day pretty soon, Neel’s gonna sit me down and tell me : Now Ma, I think you’re grown up enough to understand this. I hate to tell you this but Niks did not come from a hospital gift shop. He came from a dinosaur egg.

The dog ate my excuses

10.10 a.m :I am so so late for a 10 a.m. meeting – everything that could have gone wrong, WENT wrong… Murphy lives !
I am therefore in my bath, when the cell first rings ‘Where are you, Jane?’
“On my way”
Nik starts howling.
‘What is that noise?’ asks the office voice
“That’s the traffic policeman. Can’t talk. Bye”

10.25 : Make it somehow to the car.
Yeooooww – forgot the stupid car key.
Run up the stairs.
Get into the car. Forgot the stupid cell phone.
Run up the stairs..
Cell rings “Where ARE you, Jane?”
“Bad traffic. Baaaad traffic. Traffic jammed for miles.”
Neighbour on stairs “Hi, still here today?”
Office Voice : “Who was that?”
Me : “Radio – radio FM”

10.45 : Now truly stuck in the dratted traffic jam.
Cell rings “Where are you NOW? Client’s waiting.”
“Reached. Parking. Be there in 5 mins.”

5 minutes later : Office voice :”Where are you now?” (I think they’ve got an automated voice response to keep saying this – it sounds like Arnold Schwazznegger )
“Can’t find parking. There in 2 mins”

Reach the office 1 hour 7 ½ minutes late. Rush into meeting.
Furious looking office person (owner of the Office Voice) and grumpy looking client.
“So Sorry! Am I late?
So – Where are We now? “ (hah ! Revenge on the Automated Office Voice).

Learning : I have made and heard excuses of every species : Rained, Flooded, Caught by police, Kid (Dog/ Fish/ Spouse) fell ill, I fell ill (should be accompanied by violent sneezes), forgot the way, forgot the date, forgot who I am (should be accompanied by bump on the head)…. Gonna write a book on them some day – Got any real winners, anyone? Maids have the best ones, I think though, going by the number of times they kill off a number of grandmothers.

The ghost of D 305

I never believed in monsters, but I have 2 little ones at home. I never believed in aliens, but I’ve married a man who is convinced he’s one, and I never believed in ghosts. Till…

Me : Omigosh, I’ve been gone 5 minutes. Who broke my long-stemmed vase?
Neel : Not me.
Niks : Not me.
Marco polo does not even shake a guilty tail.
The maid is cleaning under the sofa – under – understand – that’s a side of the sofa that has never seen a broom in its life, and is getting a persecution complex at the sight of one.
The cook is seriously buried in churning out something no one will eat. (Neel : Not me, Nik : Not me)
S is buried in a mallu flick, paying more attention to the woman shrieking on TV, than the woman shrieking off it.
Ma is playing the keyboard to drown out the screams of the dying vase. And those of her living daughter.
No one entered the house. The door is locked from inside. Hercule Poirot/ Mr Holmes, where are you?
Elementary, my dear watsits, the vase jumped up out of depression at being in a see-through garment all its life, and committed suicide! Any other theories anyone? Any IDEAS, huh?
Neel : Not me
Niks : Not me

Learning : The same mystery occurred when my keys got lost (and were found in the washing machine), when S’ specs were bent backwards, and when my perfume bottle was emptied into the dog basket. Any insider insights or ghost busters are welcome !

Black or White

“Oh Oh my baby, it don’t matter if you’re black or white”.
But it did matter to him, didn’t it? He went under multiple knives, and even more media twitter to become white, he married white women and had white children.

White. Thin. Rich. Cool.
Who sets the ‘happening’ labels ? Some fashionista in the sky? A blue-eyed god? Not likely. Centuries of white dominators?
And when do the opposite words become weapons?
Walking past the playground, I overheard “No, you can’t sit on that. You’re too fat.” A dreaded label which that little girl is going to try all her life to shake off.

Here instead are some totally cool labels I’d like to see (inspired again by my favourite beings : kids n animals)

“Butt-scented” : Notice how dogs make an impression on other dogs by sniffing their butts? As in : “Whoa, she’s cute!!! Her butt stinks from a few blocks away!”
“Stung Stud” : Neel : Mama, That tall boy’s really cool. He got stung by a bee 3 TIMES !!!”
“Lice Mate” : As in monkeys – “She’s the best thing to happen to me – She and I – we spend whole mornings just picking each other’s lice – My Lice-Mate till I die….” (sung to the tune of Yaadon ki Baarat. )
“Spit Chief” : I know for sure that the coolest kid among the 5 year olds is he who blows the biggest spit bubble.

No one’s bothered in the dog kingdom whether you look like a million dollars or earn it. The only label they ever stick on you is “Good tummy rubber” or “World’ best cook” (finally - someone thinks I am !)


Anyways, I sat through bits of Jacko’s funeral today, and through the tears, heard various people call him the “Greatest Entertainer of all Time”, “a loving Dad”, “ a fantastic human being”.
All politically correct, added-sugar, take-in-small-doses labels.
No one called him Black.

Stress busters busted

So my doc tells me I’m stressed. (I have paid her a hugely stressful amount to tell me this). This is my list of how to bust the stress.

1) Breathe in and out.
Situation : Annoying person cuts in front of you in queue.
Action : Breathe in and OUT into his face. (preferably after eating garlic). Annoying person either passes out, or starts a fight, in which case, you are justified to smash him to pulp.

2) Yoga
This is very relaxing I am told, but it didn’t work for me, for the following reason.
Yoga involves twisting your body into impossible angles, while thinking all the time of whether you have switched off the gas, or even worse, whether you will ever be able to untwist your body – and if not, how will you drive your car home?

3) Make me-time

This is the King of Wishful Thinking. The last time I wanted to go with my girlfriends for a drink, this is how it went. I had to iron my white shirt last minute, feed niks in a hurry, who then threw up over the white shirt, iron the black dress last minute, the dog ran away with it straight after, iron my red shirt last minute and find a huge iron burn in it, because I went to answer the phone,(which was S saying he’s stuck in traffic), then wear something un-ironed, which made my butt look too big, and not have time with all the ironing to wash out my hair which I had oiled with egg yolk, and have my 5 year old choose that moment to try out cross-dressing and break the high heel I had kept out to wear, and finally call my friends to say I can’t make it, because I want to use my “me time” to sit and howl.

4) Organise your life.
Ha HAAA. I am the kind who keeps all my bills in a shoebox. I am the kind who never pays these bills till they are overdue and my various phone and power connections have been cut off. I am the kind who gets pre-traumatic disorder when tax returns, insurance policies and other various things with drunk, dancing numbers – have to be organised. I wish we could go back to the barter system. You give me a bar of chocolate, and I will give you a branded black dress that my dog ran away with, and did undescribable acts with.

Learning :
I am never gonna be stress-free, am I? But you are welcome to try and help me – by sending me your proven stress-busting tips. I promise to keep them carefully in my shoebox.

The Masked Woman

I have masks from all over the world strung up on my wall. It took a kid to walk in and ask me “Do you wear any of the masks?” to get me thinking.

I try hard to be honest – especially to myself… but...

There’s my Jack Nicholson Joker mask : The smile frozen in ice, when I want desperately to be somewhere else but am trying to look interested. “Yes, really, that is sooooooo interesting, tell me more.” (I wonder what’s for dinner?!!). “Yes, what you do is soooo interesting.” (Where is the loo in this place?)

My Raavana mask : (oooh boy, here comes Mama, with her 10 heads – all looking equally fierce.. we musta done something really bad today !) Followed by 2-year-old Niks who quickly said yesterday, “Ok, Mama, I’m going to stand in the corner.”

And then sometimes, it all slips !
To the Rain-goddess mask : I have had enough of everyone and everything… I’m underpaid and over-worked ! Watch out, the showers are gonna start ! hooooowl !

If I have a mask I pull out for every occasion - I’m wondering what the real me looks like?

I know people – a vary rare few actually – who are so comfortable in their own skins, that they actually are the same with everyone…. either utterly rude, or politically incorrect, or preachy, or whatever.. but it’s the same (take me as I am)…

But the majority of us, we’re multiple-masked bandits, aren’t we? The Kick-ass-Boss mask, the Lone Ranger (“no one better come into my corner”) mask, the Nobody-can-hurt-me mask, the yahoo-always-smiley mask…. No one really sees the real us… not even the mirror ?

And this is the part I hate : We teach our kids to mask themselves early in life. (Atleast Michael Jackson is open about it). I saw Neel come home from school today with swollen eyes.. but when he saw me, he tried to smile. That’s the Big-Boys-Don’t-Cry Mask. And I’ve been teaching him to wear it.

a nik by any other name

Giving birth to my children was easier than giving names to them.
S and I agreed on Neel after 6 months (ok, not on Neel – we loved him from the time we saw him) but on the name Neel. I offered a list of 12 fabulous strong boy names, and S said let’s call him Rohan.
2 1/2 years later, I went into hospital clutching my 110 agreed-upon girl names, and we had another boy. So I agonized over 15 strong boy names, and S said let’s name him Rohan. We went through all the books and all the sites and it became an international naming process, with everyone contributing. The baby was called Nemo because he drank like a fish. Then Yoda, because he looked like a wizened old wise man. He was finally named Nikash under threat. (Srini threatened to call him GilliGilliAppa). Let me also add that no one calls him Nikash. He’s Nik, Niks, Niku, Niki, Appu, Kutta, Nikky Poo, Sweet potato, and even Big Dinosaur (his name for himself).
What is it a name means to us? Do we want our kids to be proud of what they’re called? Do we want them to grow up into their names – Like a Rose or a Veer or a Sundari ?
Naming significant others in the family was tons easier. Like our pup got named Marco Polo, because he walked into the house, and explored every corner, also peeing in each one of them (not that the original Marco Polo did – or at least, I have no proof).
The toys also were named super-fast. One car is actually called Super-fast. Neel has a very descriptive and action-oriented approach to naming. When asked what he wanted to call his little brother, he replied “Rolly Polly Machine”. His stuffed tiger is Ferrari, his stuffed dinosaur is “Green Fire Nose”. And after agonizing over the name of his stuffed dog for all of 2 days, I walked in and asked him “Neel, have you named your doggie ?”
“Not Yet, Mama,” he said, and NOTYET is the doggie’s name ever after. Amen.

Learning :
Would love to hear from you what you named your kids/ dogs/ spouses/ cars – but the why – and especially the “how” . Was it the letter of a book? Or from the pages of a book? Or some old girlfriend you had a crush on? Or the name of grandparents, in which case, I would be named “Antonio Santana Felicia Anna Maria Cajetan Salvadore da souza”. Sexy, huh?

Niks in lock-up

High-tension drama enacted at D305 on Sunday evening, starring Nik, aged 2, and 12 panicked adults, aged – well – let’s keep that confidential, shall we?
Nik woke up from his afternoon nap and locked himself in the ONLY room in the house which has no key. This is the series of events, after that :

1. Me : Niks, open the lock
2. Nik : ok, mama… (does no such thing)
3. My mom : Nik, turn the black thing
4. Me : He doesn’t know colours
5. My mom : turn the round thing
6. Me : He doesn’t know shapes
7. My mom : You haven’t taught him ANYTHING
8. S has, all this time, been having a haircut (and probably massage and all that goes with it, at the local barber)
9. Neighbours rush in to help
10. Neenu : Nik, don’t cry
11. Me : (starting to cry)
12. My mom : I TOLD you both to get a new KEY – AGES ago !!!
13. Neighbours go to find a locksmith. It is a Sunday night and all locksmiths are at home, behind closed doors (like mine). The building handyman is called in. The security man also walks in. Basically, anyone passing by walks in.
14. Everyone : Niks, open the lock
15. Nik : ok (does no such thing)
16. My mom : I TOLD you both to get a new KEY – AGES ago !!!
17. Locksmith is brought in. He cannot open the door. He has not brought his set of spare keys.
18. Locksmith goes back to his shop to bring his spare keys.
19. My mom : I TOLD you both to get a new KEY – AGES ago !!! … (and says this another 27 times in a row)
20. S returns to see his house full of hyperventilating people, and asks : Where is Neel?
21. Neel has been taking advantage of everyone being busy and has eaten a whole slab of butter meanwhile.
22. OMIGOSH, now we’re gonna have TWO kids in trouble!!!
23. Locksmith returns with spare keys. Cannot open door. Totally breaks up my other spare key to my other door (we now have 2 doors without keys – and I HOPE no house-breaking thief type person is reading this).
24. Me : Break the @#$#* door
25. Locksmith cannot break the door. Who is this man? Is he a non-violent nun in disguise?
26. It takes 2 hours and 12 people to finally break the door.

12 adults in panic peer into the dark room inside – to see –
1 calm smiling baby playing in the dark on the bed : Hey Mama !

Learning : Do not ever let your child lock himself in a room, which has no key, on a Sunday evening, while your husband is having a haircut, and the only locksmith on duty is a non-violent nun. The probability of these events happening together is 1 in a trizillion. But if it does happen, call me ! I’ll bring my 11 other adults to help you panic.

whose mom am i ?

I am a mother to 2 little boys, and a daughter to loving parents.
Or sometimes I wonder, is it the other way around?

1 day, when I was in Bombay crossing a road with my big strong Dad, I suddenly found myself reaching out for his hand, in the traffic hurtling by. And I also realized it wasn’t because I was unsafe, but I though he would be. I wanted to make sure he went across ok.
When did the roles reverse?
Today, my mom lives with us. And I put 3 bowls of porridge out every morning. For my kids and for my mom. I take her out once in while to somewhere she really wants to go. Like to church. I scold her when she eats too little veggies, or when she eats too much sweet.
When did the roles reverse?

And sometimes late at night, when S is out of town, and it is my turn to take our doggie out, I find it is a little too dark and too late and too scary. And Neel, all of 5 years old, suddenly hops along, “because he doesn’t want anyone to take his mama away”. And I find his hand in mine, because he feels unsafe? Or he thinks I do?
When did the roles reverse?