As a child, growing up in Delhi, there were Diwali melas and fetes galore, each year. And though I rarely got to attend any, what I really missed about them, was being a part of it from the organising group, because I envied all the kids my age, who ran around selling the tickets to the event, or the raffle draw. In groups of two or three, running along from door to door, selling tickets, it just seemed like so so much fun. My want to do something like that is finally being fulfilled, and how! I have raffle tickets to sell, flyers to mail out, put up, invites to send, and am enjoying every bit of it. The best bit is, the entire event is a fund raiser for a charity called Friends of Kolkata.
I have been wanting to write and tell so much about this organisation, and more importantly the incredible group of people who have formed it. But let me first go on and tell you about the event that is being organised.
Its called the 'Bollywood Extravaganza', and its happening on the 12th of September. The place will be alive with electrifying performances of salsa and belly dancing. There will be mehendi/henna painting, food, raffle prizes(like crumpler bags, dance class vouchers from The Salsa Foundation, large prints of professional photographs, drink vouchers and lots more) and more. The best bit being, every penny, anyone puts in, goes to charity,
To support ten children in Kolkata, India, with education,social work, housing and health care.
And anyone in Melbourne/Victoria, reading this, you just need to hop over to the website, and get yourself entry tickets, and then just drop in for an evening of fun and dancing. All details available on friendsofkolkata.org .
I have been associated with this group, very recently, and have been amazed by the people I have met. A small group of Australians, running a charity for kids in a far away land. These are not high-profile, rich people, or the ones, who just write out fat cheques to charities, and their bit is done. But just average people, working hard to earn a living, maybe studying on the side too, and devoting their time, and energies for a cause. The group, as a whole or a few individuals at a time, visit the children they support in Kolkata, spend time with them, not as the people, who pay for their living, but as their friends. I was so touched by the genuine love these people have for the kids. Most of the members are twenty somethings or in their early thirties, most live in shared accommodation with friends, buy their stuff from second hand stores, travel using public transport or on their bicycles, and yet I have not met a happier group of people under a roof. These are people who are actually being the difference they want to see in the world. And no, they are not a group of amateurs here, I was amazed to see how well, each one had prepared their bit for the upcoming event, well set, and working just as well as any well paid event management group would. Just shows how far a little want to help and good will can take us. All I can say, is I feel so so lucky to be a part of them now, just to be in the company of such altruistic, loving and inspiring people, most of whom are much younger than me and thank God, for putting me onto this organisation.
And here is presenting the wonderful video shot by one of the brand new members of the group, just like yours truly, as promo for the Bollywood extravaganza.
Love it! Don't you. If you are in Melbourne, in or around, just drop in, don't miss the event.
There was once a mother, a long long time back, with a small child, who dreamed and hoped for time, when someone else would take over her child for a while, and she would enjoy some free time. The time came, a couple of years too late, she had by then been maternalised(just like one gets institutionalised). And then she realised, all the free time in the world would mean nothing now, when her heart and mind was bound to her child.
Today I was home all day, and the BB was not. He was having a pyjama-day with his teddy bear for company at his day-care centre. There was a teddy-bear picnic and some. Good thing he was not as miserable as me. Its simply terrible being alone at home. I have lost that ability, in the past three and half years. I was terrified of the day ahead, and even though I had over six unwatched movie CDs lying with me, I did not feel like watching even one. Earlier, I would have a million ways to pass my time, today, none appealed to me. I forced myself through one movie till lunch time, and the thought of sitting and eating alone at that point, overwhelmed me. It was a strange feeling watching the movie without any interruptions at all, or worrying about keeping the volume low, so that the BB would not be disturbed while he slept. A couple of times, just out of habit, I turned the volume down, only to realise later, there wasn't a little warm body asleep, upstairs! I wonder if I have indeed become a pathetic needy mother.
I was not ready to eat alone, so out I went, into the wet cloudy day. Walked to the ATM, got some cash, and then walked the exact other way, passed by my home, and walked on to the closest mall. And what do you think I did? Bought some clothes for the BB. (Yes, I am hopeless, I know it. But then again, what's so bad about being totally in love with my own child, and wanting to be around him. ) Well, a few of his clothes have gone missing from his day-care. He messed up the clothes he was wearing, and they changed him. The spoiled clothes were wrapped and kept in a plastic. And the ever careless GP, picked up the BB in the evening minus the bag. He did not even realise that the BB was in a different set of clothes. Tells you a lot about men does it not? And now, the clothes are nowhere to be found, so I might as well think them gone. What hurts is they were my favourite sweatshirt and trouser for the BB. Ugggggggggghhhhhhhhhhh! Anyway, the shopping really did cheer me up, just as I expected it would. I definitely did take all the time in the world, so that I could stay away from home. Came in really late and hungry. Gobbled up some leftovers for lunch, and by then it was time to prepare dinner. And I was happy to have that to do.
The BB came home, and I felt like, I could breathe again. I showed him his new clothes, and he loved them, wanted to wear almost all of them together. That made me really glad. And before you knew what was happening, from his day in pyjamas, he immediately shifted into his swanky new clothes and pranced around the house. Money well spent, is what I will say!
But I realise now, that I need to work on being alone at home, without wanting to run out and away. And I also understand, that when I actually get the alone time, it is not as wonderful as it was in my imagination. For all my pretense of frustration at having no time alone, I now know, that I really can't handle it. I have re-learn the joys of being alone doing my own thing. Because once the BB starts school, and I am still home bound, I will end up with serious bouts of depression. What a roller-coaster journey, motherhood is!
A blogger ... do I qualify to be called one anymore? I don't know, and judging myself, I would say no. I have done just two posts in the whole of June, nothing that was thought provoking, or about things I think about, things that invoke the thinking-me, but just one-off updates on what has been up in the Goofy family. I don't think this post would be much different either. And honestly I don't think too many people are going to read it. For one, in a world inundated with professional writers, a nobody like me, hardly makes for good-writing, and so I have but a few readers, most of them read me just out of courtesy, since they have now also become my friends add to that the huge intervals in my posts, I really cannot expect people to come back and read now can I? And hence, secure in the knowledge that pretty much no-one is reading me, I will write haphazardly, just the way my mind works.
I am in a strange place right now mentally. I don't know if I qualify to be called a working-woman or an SAHM or even a part-time-working-mum. I seem to be somewhere in between all of that. Besides being tremendously self-satisfying, my work does seem to have all the downsides of working, and none of the upsides. I am working, but I don't make money. I spend time away from home, away from family, but gain nothing monetarily in return. Infact I end up spending quite a bit in my travel, eat-outs, day-care charges for the BB and such. Add to that, this work, comes with home-work (I am still training remember? So I have things to read up, assignments and presentations to work on), which means I need to dedicate time to it during the rest of the week. And with the commitment being 1 day a week, during training, and just half-day a week post that....... my slog-like-a-dog = work trained mind, cannot really accept this as work. And so if anyone asks me, I don't think I would say that I work. And hence I am in middle-land, and I really don't know what label will suit me the best. But what makes it all worth it, is the immense sense of self-satisfaction, finally understanding that I am in a field of work that I really like, and would love to pursue for the rest of my life. This is the kind of work that would leave me with a contended tiredness at the end of a hard day's work.
This month we celebrated the GP's birthday..... And I did not even do a post on it. So you can imagine, exactly how hard-pressed I am for time. I am the kind of person, whose writing and thinking is polished with practice, and when I have not posted in a while, my mind is all rusted and has very little to say, amazing thoughts, don't translate into more than just that one-line of the basic thought. And hence there was no post on his birthday. I think the GP being him was the least bit affected by it. Birthdays mean nothing to him, and unfortunately that emotion transcends even to the BB's and my birthdays. But on the up-side, that means there is not much I need to do for his. There was the customary cake, which the man, wanted, plain vanilla, with no icing. He is a all substance, no show man, and well, it shows. His birthday present was the much needed replacement of the laptop the BB destroyed, well let me be honest and say, that I just chipped in a bit of the cost. The BB and I wore new clothes for the day, while the GP himself did no such thing. And that is how the day was spent. Oh! yes, and an absolutely delightful Indian meal at a local restaurant. Loved it! It being the man's birthday, I only feel fortunate and thankful that he is mine, and supports me the way he does, inspires me to improve myself as a person, and guides me so well in that journey. Yes, if anyone needs it to be said plainly, I love him, for being mine.
All those with plain and at most times terrible hand-writings just like myself, was there anyone with that ornamental hand-writing in your school or college whom you completely envied for that. Well I had more than one. One of them is in-fact even a blogger. Her class-notes' notebooks, would be neater and prettier than my fair-copies. Its not just that the writings are cursive, or neat or beautiful, but what I envied most was the naturality with which it was produced. I would look at such peoples' handwriting, be inspired, and try to get there. Well I would atleast turn up my own work up, a few notches, but nothing to match these people, and most importantly, it would mean writing much slower and more consciously. Its been a long long time, since I have seen those gorgeous hand-writings, and I had pretty much forgotten about my own failings in the department, and was contented with my sloppy work. But then, just this weekend, my sweet loving GP, decided to buy me a fountain pen, after all, since I love it so much. He looked up the store online, and took me there. Its heaven for a stationery lover like me. The fact that pretty much everything in the store is more expensive than precious metals and stones, is not to be mentioned of course. But, then I digress. Just as I finalised a pen, and was testing the various nibs available with it, on a writing pad, I saw the words written by someone who had tried out a pen earlier, and I felt ashamed to even scribble on the same piece of paper. It was beautiful, like a work of art, and I stared at the words, 'Electric Dreams', written in beautiful cursive handwriting, in a clean straight line, on a plain piece of paper. I was once again engulfed in the shame of my own horrible hand-writing, like I was back in school-days. Even my best attempts don't compare. And I just wish I could have a beautiful cursive hand-writing. Surprisingly all the women in my family, right from my grandmother, have the kind of writing that can directly be printed on paper and sent out as greeting cards, and its just unfortunate that I never ever managed to pick it up. Forget pretty, my mindlessly written stuff, is not even neat. Even neat writing requires an effort at my end. The typing on a computer does not help much either, since I completely lose practice with my ability to write well with a pen. All those out there in the world, with a gorgeous, ornamental handwriting, I pay my obeisance to you.(A confession - The oldest lady in my training group, has one of those beautiful print-like handwritings, and I make a conscious effort to not sit next to her, so that I can concentrate on the session, more than stare at her writing and wallow in self-pity!)
I am still hoping that I can get back to more regular blogging, make more time in my day and do it. And hence I am not saying I have given up, even now. But what really happens, only time will tell.
Today is a day that has left me with a lot of thoughts, some pride, and some longing. And I think I will jot it all down under today's day!
Today was projected as a BIG day in my mind since the past couple of weeks. Reason? It is my training Wednesday, and the GP has gladly hopped out of town on business. I was pretty sure I would mess up the day in more ways than one, but fortunately I made myself proud. Wednesdays usually means, the BB is completely in the GP's care. I am out of the house before either one of the male members of this family wake up. So its upto the GP to clean, feed, dress and more, the BB, then drop him off at his day-care place, and since my training happens far away, the GP gets back earlier, and gets to pick up the BB on his way back too. But today I had to do it all, and atleast attempt to reach my training centre in time. For a moment last night, the idea of taking an off today loomed quite lucratively in my mind. Fortunately I did not take it too seriously, and instead, actually managed to get everything in order and get out of the house before 8. Dropped the BB off, did 'my thing' the whole day, got back picked him up, and got back home really late and tiered, but proud that I was able to pull it off, without any hitch. That there, is the bit that gives me the pride.
The longing is for the GP. I am missing him terribly, especially in these long dark winter evenings, which give me nothing to look forward to. Just eagerly waiting for my man to be back soon! The entire day just passes, but the long evenings get really boring without the GP coming home, and changing the pace of things. Thankfully the BB does not get all cranky, I would not know what to do, if he did.
And now for the thoughts, there are loads. Each day at the training I am realising how similair human nature is all around the world, how the feminist issues remain the same, and women are facing similair problems everywhere! Never thought that domestic violence, exploitation, domination, issues common to women across the globe. Its amazing how many wonderful women, are making time to volunteer. Some of their personal stories have shaken me up so much, that I have no idea, if I would have made it out alive, of the kind of situations they have been through. Just gives me, so much to truly admire and get inspired from. In this world, there are people who have pretty much everything, and cannot stop cribbing about how they get the raw end of things, and then I see these amazingly stellar women, who have the true strength to have gone through what they have, and then concretely give back to the world.
I am not sure, that this is politically correct, but I am saying it anyway. Besides me, there is another Indian girl/woman in my training group, and the pain she is taking to avoid me, is really getting irksome now. I find it really disconcerting, when we all pop in a hi - hello to each other, and she makes a conscientious effort to avoid me. At all times she ensures, she never makes eye-contact with me, or is not alone with me somewhere. Its strange because she is actually taking a lot of effort to do all of that. It has been that way from the very first day of training, but I never bothered, but four weeks into it, and now its really getting a bit too obvious to ignore. I just want to send her a brain wave saying, don't worry, I am not dying to be your friend, either! The world can indeed be quite strange at times. Racism???
The rest of the women are all very very warm and friendly, and more than anything it is such a learning opportunity, just being around them. Its wonderful how everyone makes an effort to sit with different people each time, and thus, interact with a different person at each session. Each one has a story to tell, and believe me, everyone of them inspire me with what they do, how much they pack into their weeks, their lives, and many with what they have endured, and yet turn out to be the kind of people they have. Awesome and Inspiring!
Looks like I have to eat my words, and fortunately for once, I am doing so rather happily. When I recently wrote the post, which stated, I was expecting a disappointment heading my way, I was rather sure, it would come my way, and I would mope and moan about it for a really really long time to come. I even had a super duper post title prepared in my mind to share my woes with the world. It was to be called, 'The Sound Of Nothing'. And since things turned out to be different from my expectations, so did the title of the projected post.
Now to bring you in the loop, about what happened. Since the last few months, I have been a little edgy, feeling the need to add more to my life, wanting to do more. Even the blogging has slowed down, often enough I have opened up to write a post, and been unable to go beyond a few lines. The reason being my mind is dulled, and yet agitated. My mind works the best when it has a lot to do, when I lay it to rest, it just does not start up easy. As simple as that. Coming back to 'my thing', I was not sure, how exactly to add to my life. Time-wise, I have pretty packed days as is. I am a really slow worker, you see, but I needed something to keep me happy, something to feed the mind and heart. I had planned on studying a course, close to my heart, but it did not work out for certain reasons. And so I was back to square one. Went back to looking for options. The only one being work, and even there I have a million constraints. I don't want to go back to where I once was, and I cannot work full-time, and I cannot work from home, and I cannot travel too far, since I don't yet drive, and......... well so you get the picture. The thing is, I wanted to start working, in a field, where I would be interacting with people as persons, I wanted to get into something along the lines of social work, counseling and such. Tough luck again, because I have never even dipped a toe in that river. But I kept looking.
And I came across a women's help group. They recruit and train volunteers, and the whole set-up really appealed to me. I called them up, and they sent me information brochures, from which I learnt, they were about to take in a new set of trainees. Obviously I applied. So the week before last I attended an orientation session, where they told us, everything about themselves, the training, and the work thereafter. I filled up my forms, and was requested to attend a group interview the next week, for them to assess, if I fit the bill. Surprisingly, for a place where an applicant needs to pay for training and then commit to a whole year of volunteer work, they had double the number of applicants, to the number of positions they needed to fill. It has been ages, and really ages, since I attended a formal interview of any sort. And here, I did not even know how to prepare. But knowing myself, I know I perform best impromptu and so I left it at that. Last Tuesday afternoon was my interview.
Things can mess up horribly, when you are really looking forward to it. I had to drop the BB to his day care centre and then take the tram to my interview. I needed to leave home, the latest by 12:30 to be able to make it in time. The BB however had coughing fits throughout the previous night, fell asleep only at around 8 in the morning, and I had to force him awake at quarter to 12. Fed, him dressed him and finally left home only past 1. I knew, I was running very very late. Had to call a cab to the centre to pick me up. Made it to the venue just in time, and the rest of the group was waiting. Started off, and what did I know, there were women with so many qualifications and and such vast experience in the field, that I felt like a complete fool, even being there. There are confidentiality issues here, and so I cannot go into details, but believe me, there was no one, as inappropriate to fit the bill as me. I just prayed, that, my true zeal for the work shows. When we were done, the ladies interviewing us, told us that the ones selected, would be called up and informed, before the end of the week, which basically meant by 5pm Friday. And I thought it would be better to get some confirmation of a rejection, instead of no intimation at all. And hence came the title, 'The Sound Of Nothing', to my mind.
Thursday afternoon, a friend and her little one were around, and the house was one hurricane hit place, with the BB and Aadya having the time of their lives. We were sitting around sipping tea, when my phone rang, and I wondered who it was, since I receive very few calls, and when I do, they are usually ones that I am expecting. I picked up my phone, and saw the number belonged to the training coordinator of the organisation. And I knew that I had made the final cut, and my joys knew no bounds. I pretty much gushed through the entire call, where I was offered an opportunity to volunteer. The lady at the other end, infact even commented, that she was happy to find me so excited. Once the call ended, I hugged everyone around the house. Called up, the out-of-town GP and informed him of the good news and bounced like a ball around the house a few times. Then in my usual fill of low self-esteem, went on to dissect the reason I had been selected, such as, I am not working or studying anywhere, so they can be sure I have the time to dedicate and such like, till finally I think Trishna got tiered of it, and said, "Maybe, it is because you were good!". It felt so nice, just hear someone say that, and I felt even better.
So basically it has been a cloud nine thing for me, since the call. I am settling down, and also realising the fact, that this is not fetching me any money or anything, and yet this is just the kind of work I want to do, and it does not need me to commit much time. The training will be a little rigorous, but even that will just need me to commit one working day in the week. And that is just such a great way for me to start off at this point. I am just not prepared to leave the BB everyday of the week and go, and the fact that really gives me comfort, is that the GP's workplace is close to his Care Centre, and that way one of us will be close by at all times. And that brings me to, my beloved GP. He has been happier than me about this, more supportive than I can imagine. I had almost dropped going for the interview, since the BB was coughing so much the night before, but he persuaded me to just go and give it a try anyways. And had it not been for his pushing, I may have, just not gone.
Since a baking spree is on currently, I decided to bake a cake, to celebrate my own success. This one is made with whole wheat flour instead of the all purpose flour/maida, and hence healthier than the average cake. Frosting is a newly learnt skill, so I indulged myself there, and decorated with a few gems. It tastes absolutely heavenly, and everyone who tasted it, rated it as the best one I have baked here so far! So please be a part of my joy, and dig in.
I have a disappointment heading up my way this week, and I will definitely post about it, when the time comes, have even thought up of a cool title for that post. So expect that sometime in the weekend, or if I am too busy, early next week. Frankly speaking though, I have been desperately wanting to write a post today, and I am absolutely unable to come up with anything at all, when I finally it down to do it. I have a few ideas, but somehow i know I cannot translate them well into a coherent post at the moment. So what do I do? Torture anyone who drops in with the mundane, my life.
The GP is away yet again, on a business trip. (I wonder if business trip is the right term for someone who is employed and not running a business per se.) Its kind of depressing on lonely winter evenings, when the man is not around. And yes winter it is. Its freezing and chilling out here. Like a fool I went out with just a sweater on yesterday, no socks or shoes, hat or gloves, and I actually froze up partly and had to thaw my feet when I got back home. It has been ages, and I mean literally ages, since I have been in a place that cold. I had forgotten what it really feels like, and it will take me a bit to re-ignite my chill fighting skills. happy being indoors, heater on, warm and nice, really! And yes, I am desperately missing my fur(faux) lined black leather jacket, from the times I actually lived in a place that got chilled in winters. Officially though we are still in autumn time here, the winters are ushered in only next month, and I can only pray that I will survive. I have no idea why I am dreading the cold so so much. Maybe the joints that have already started to creak have something to do with it. And no, its not exaggeration, my joints are actually creaking, makes me wonder what my real bodily age is.
In other news, the BB is fascinated with the hair and head of his peers, and his been tugging at any that he can lay his hands on. The problem is I don't even understand why he is doing it, so I don't even understand what to tell him. And yes, I am taking a break from the playgroup for the next few months. Because, once again, it is really getting cold, and its no fun waiting for long periods of time on the bus-stop, or walking in the chilly breeze, and most importantly, because I am really mad at the other mothers there. I think the last one is in fact the real reason. I don't really wish to go into petty details right now, and maybe I am mis-interpreting the social cues of this society, but whatever it is, I am unhappy! And no, there is nothing racist about the situation.
Life is on as usual, a little happy a little sad.I am sleeping a lot these days, and I mean a real 'lot'. Its so cosy inside the quilt, I just don't feel like giving it up in the mornings, and most mornings I lay in till the BB decides he wants to be up. Privileges of being a stay-at-home-mom I guess. And of course, I love my sleep.
So tell em friends, what is up with your life? And yes all my blog readers are my friends, so just tell me what is up with you too.
Yesterday turned out to be one of the most anxiety ridden, crazy day of my life. The GP left for his first overnight business trip since we got here, the night before. I stayed up really late, and went to bed, only when I just could not keep my eyelids apart,because that was the only way to ensure a good night's sleep, without frights and scares and ofcourse the dollops of self pity which comes easy. The morning, that followed, I did not even attempt to wake up, till the BB was up and all ready to go about his day.
This weekend was a long one, since Monday was a holiday, but there went my day of fun, with the GP gone. So halfheartedly I started off my day by serving the BB his breakfast, and told him to eat it, while I went about me day's work, expecting nothing more than some evening loneliness, and boredom. Obviously I did not know better. The BB did not have his breakfast, and since I told him he could not get off the dining chair till he had that single slice of bread, he decided to curl up on the seat and just lay there instead. Follow that up with me burning my wrist on the inner side, trying to clean my gas stove, not a big deal in itself, but its just that the location of the injury was a first timer. And this was the smallest thing to happen in the day.
I am very scared of flights, and I mean really really scared. For me taking a flight, whether myself or any of my loved ones, basically means a fifty-fifty chance of making it out alive. Blame it on the GP who made me watch a million episodes of Air Crash Investigations, instilling in me a lifelong fear of flying. And hence it is a firm rule, that the GP must inform me, as soon as he lands each time he takes a flight. Well, what do you think happened yesterday? His phones did not work when he landed, the international roaming did not kick in on either of his phones, he was in a rush to get to a conference with his colleague, and could not make a short stop call either, and I was freaking out beyond imagination. I left him text messages, kept trying his numbers, and eventually ended up even leaving him a mail. All this while the BB still did not have his breakfast and remained curled up on the chair. I finally take things into my own hands, and start feeding him, and he promptly pukes it all out. My mind is still busy wondering about the GP, and so I pick up the BB who seemed bored and tiered by then, make him drink some water, and put him down for a pre-lunch nap. I went back into the kitchen, and tried to cook lunch, but I was just too worried about the GP to concentrate. Somehow I manage to whip up something edible for lunch, bring the BB down for his lunch, he simply refuses to eat, so I leave him alone, and let him nap some more. Have my own lunch, get back to the laptop, and see a two liner from the GP telling me he is safe and sound, and just cannot call me. Though not happy, at the least I was off my worries on that front.
With the dipping mercury in the climate, a post lunch nap feels like a lovely option, with the BB wanting to nap, I just curl up next to him, under the cosy quilt and go off to la la land. We wake up, and I finally get some food into the BB, his first bits of the day. He seemed lazy and lethargic, but I blamed that all on his being without food since morning. He felt a bit warm, and I thought that was about being under the quilt most of the day. But at half past seven, a while after his meal, the BB's lethargy, did not quite leave me comfortable, so I thought I will check his temperature to calm my fears. Well, who knew, calm was the last thing I would be for the day. The thermometer in no time jumped to over a 102, and I was at my wit's end. I immediately called up a friend, who took us to the doctor in his car. The clinic was closing down for the day, and I had to beg them to have a look at the BB, and fortunately they did. The doctor checked up the BB a bit and simply asked me to give him some paracetamol, and get him back to the clinic in the morning if the fever did not go away. And I thought, my job was just to monitor his temperature through the night, and giving him regular doses of paracetamol. Apparently not.
A couple of hours after I administered the first dose of the medicine, the BB's temperature shot up again. I could not administer another dose for another hour and half atleast. The doctor had suggested sponging him with cool water to keep the temperature down, and I would have done that, had the BB not been shivering by then. It was close to midnight by then, and I was nonplussed about what to do next. I called up my friends again, and we decided to take him to the Royal Children's Hospital. We got there at midnight. The nurses, took down his details, I registered at the reception, and were told to wait, till his name was called out. Good enough, I thought, after all, how long could it possibly take in the Emergency Room of such a huge hospital. What did I know. It was way past 1, and not a single child had been called in. This was not looking good any longer. I asked the nurses again, requested them to check the BB's temperature, and it was a good 104 degrees, and he was sleeping peacefully in my arms. The nurse advised no medicine as long as he was comfortable. I waited. At close to two, I could not wait anymore, I asked, just how long would it take for a doctor to have a look at the BB. Apparently there were six other people waiting ahead of me, and the wait period was expected to be close to four hours, which the nurse exclaimed was a good thing, since in the day it is usually over six hours. What the hell does EMERGENCY mean, I wondered. My friends had office the next day morning, and looking at the way things were going, it just did not seem to make sense to wait anymore, so I decided to leave. Apparently a child with a head injury, had left just before we arrived after a long wait too. I am appalled at the state of health care here, and that is the least I can say post that horrifying experience. A little girl was howling in pain, falling asleep, and waking up howling in pain yet again, with absolutely no doctor to attend to her, nor a nurse or staff member who expressed even a hint of caring. When I spoke to the nurse and told her the BB had a temperature of over 103, she just coolly kept chewing her gum, and replied bluntly that she did not know what that meant. The reason, I am guessing, is that they use the Celsius scale. But her attitude, well, it was just amazing, and if you thought chewing a gum meant the nurse was a young girl, you are wrong, because she was atleast a good forty years old. I just came back home completely disgusted with the system, and lack of care and organisation, in a supposedly developed nation. If you cannot provide prompt health care services, in your hospitals' emergency rooms, I don't think the country has any right to call itself developed. It was scary enough with a burning up BB, in a new place without the GP, but the last thing I had expected was to come back from a hospital after waiting for over two hours, without a doctor even looking at my sick child.
Back home, I kept monitoring the temperature. As per the instructions of the nurses at the hospital, and the information sheet they gave me on children's fevers, I held back the medicine, for as long as I could. I was up till my eyes started to shut down of their own accord, and finally at 4am, I decided I needed to get rest, since I could not afford to fall off exhausted myself. The temperature was hovering around 102, and so I gave him a dose of the medicine, and then I prayed. Infact I called on God, as though He was my own father, and told Him, He had to, simply had to look after the BB while I get some sleep, and that the BB was His responsibility while I slept. At 5am, I woke up. The BB was sweating heavily, and his fever was gone. His clothes were damp with his perspiration, and his hair wet. I changed him, and slept again. I checked his temperature next at 9am, and it was hovering around 99. And that is the way it has been all day long today, hovering around 99. But the big deal is, that he has been happy and active all day, and most importantly has been eating a bit. Till the fever crosses, a 100, I don't give him any meds, so for all practical purposes, he is just fine. So I can thank the great Lord, for truly taking care of my son, when I actually handed over his care to Him. Breathing easier today, but checking on the BB's temperature every hour, who has suddenly started finding it very amusing and wants to be checked every five minutes instead.
I can only express my gratitude to God for making the fever go away, and hope that the BB is completely fine, before the GP gets back. And that is how my life goes, and makes me wonder if I will ever get back to working again, what would I do, when the BB falls ill, times when I completely lose my mind, and cannot think of being away from him even momentarily!
But human niceness always overwhelms me, especially when done without motive or purpose. It overwhelms me, because I see very little of it, in the world today and more so because it inspires me to try a bit harder to be a better human being. Touch wood for such wonderful people.
The other day, I was checking my mail-box, mind you, the mail-box and not the inbox, and I laid my hands on a slightly lumpy envelope. Pulled it out, and surprisingly, it was hand-written and addressed to me. The envelope felt exactly like it was holding a rakhi. It was surprising, because I don't think anyone would really 'write' to me. So I come home and open the envelope, to find a note and a small package. To get the rest, you will need the background story, so here goes....
Rewind to a couple of weeks, and after a lot of trying over the last few months, I finally found a sideboard/buffet for my dining space. The new ones in stores cost nothing less than $800, and I definitely did not want that, and so I was waiting for the right one to turn up on one of the trading sites. Used was what it had to be, and then I had grand plans of a floor lamp in the corner. The sideboard that I found was for $30, and it was five years old, from IKEA. I mailed the guy who was selling it the night I saw it, and the next morning found his reply, saying he would like to hand it over to me that very day or the next at the most, if I wanted it. Good enough I thought, and asked him if he could deliver to my address, which was quite a way off his own location and he agreed to that too. Transportation is expensive business in this part of the world, and this man delivered it to me for free. It was brought to my home that very afternoon, and the man told me, he, himself had brought it all the way from London, but could not fit it into him home here. Felt like it came all the way across the world just for me. It is exactly what I wanted, no glass exteriors, no sharp edges, and just the perfect height. And the price.... well let me just say I found a steal. (And would you believe it, the very same day I also found a lamp on sale at the same site for $10.)
However when the GP sat down to assemble the sideboard, two supports for a shelf was missing. I just mailed the guy saying they were missing, and if he finds them, let me know, and we would drop in and pick it up. And that was the end of it, till I received the envelope in my mail. There in the envelope, nicely packed were the two supports, and a note saying he had found them, and was hence mailing them to me. And I think that really was sweet of him, not because that is the right thing to do, but because very few people would take the effort to do that, take the extra effort, without anything to gain from it.
I was very excited about my new possessions of course, for the warm glow it added to my dining space, and the things got in place just before Easter, just perfect. I wanted to click photos and do a post, but just never got around to doing it, and would probably never have, had it not been for the shelf supports which came in the mail. So here I proudly present to you my gorgeous new possessions.
Doesn't it look absolutely beautiful?
And here is presenting a closer look of my onion lamp.It would have been hidden from view, on the floor, so I places it on the sideboard instead, and I think it looks just perfect.
Eons, of time ago, I used to have a 'career' or to be precise, I worked for money. It was corporate life, a nine to five routine, doing a task that neither excited nor captivated me. I slogged, like a donkey, doing something I did not really care about. It was fun, for a bit because I was fresh out of college, doing office, was a new and thrilling experience, and definitely earning my own money had a great thrill attached to it. But I think a year down the line, the newness wore off and the drudgery and stress began to set in. Five hours of daily travel in public transport, which involved, supremely packed local trains at rush hour, doing something that did not make me happy, in an environment that pretty much numbed my mind, and senses, left me with little joy, besides my paycheck.
Its been a long time now, I quit when I still had something left within to survive, and that was followed by motherhood, and it has been a long vacation ever since. But for a while now, I have been itching to get back to a working life, doing something that would be fulfilling and satisfying, I am feeling the need to get out, and add some more to my days. And while these thoughts are rumbling in my mind, I read a post by LiveOnImpulse, and it brings back to me all my corporate nightmares, vividly. And suddenly, my resolve to not go back into the crazy corporate jungle is strengthened yet again. Just as I was ready to just get on the bandwagon yet again, I remembered, exactly why I had left, and why I never can go back again. I am not suitable to work in on office, that is just the way I am. I connect with people as people, and I cannot spend most of my waking hours with some, who I can neither like, nor trust. Its a dog eat dog world out there, and being quite incapable of clever manipulations, I end up being all bitter, angry and frustrated. I was at work for just over three years, in an IT firm, as a fresher, and even then I can say, I saw it all. Groupism, male bonding, excessive bitching, young girls pretending to flirt to get a senior's favour, men trying to score with their female colleagues one way or another, cheap, dirty politics, using the communal angle to gain the boss' favour, ganging up against people, pretending to work, and ofcourse blatantly flattering and sweet talking the boss, using connections to get an foreign onsite posting, even blackmailing for the same. A great example of flattering the boss, was when a rather senior member of our team, ordered a cake for our project manager, to commemorate the day they found her lost passport in UK. All I could think was...... WOW! I cannot do it, I just cannot. I will move mountains for you, if I really bond and connect, but otherwise, I just cannot pretend. I can maintain professional relationships with people, but it has to be a two way thing, and that is the only way it works for me.
Coming back, reading the post brought back to me, a particular thing we worked for in our project, which probably became the bane of my corporate existence. I worked on a project that managed a billing software for a telecom giant. Now the client being an old company had various discount schemes in place, and wanted to simplify the process, by forming one simple discount scheme, that would be applicable to all its customers. It was called UDS (Unified Discount Scheme) or VDS (Volume Discount Scheme). The concept was simple enough, the more you spend, or commit to spend, the greater is your discount. And that is all it was. There were slabs(quite like the income tax ones) and depending on which slab the customer belonged to, his discount was calculated. I hope I have not lost anyone here, but to make it clearer, each of the telecom customers, had to commit to a certain amount, say x, that they would spend. Now based on where x, fit into the discount table, his discount percentage would be fixed too. Suppose the table gives 5% to anyone who spends upto 30, 7.5% to anyone who spends between 31 and 60 and 10% to anyone who spends above 60, so if x is 43, the discount for the customer would be 7.5%. That is all this scheme was about. I read about it the first time, and thought this is so straight forward and simple, and left it that. That possibly was my biggest mistake.
There were conference room meetings to explain this to the team every couple of days. I used to sit through them silent, because I did not think it complicated at all. But then at one point I started wondering if I was over simplifying something, that was actually not quite that easy. I went through the documents again, and they just reinforced my understanding of the scheme. But the way the rest of my colleagues pretended to be solving a very complex problem, it just left me surprised. I say pretended, because if I can understand it, it should be nothing to someone, who has been working in that field for over 13 years right? But that did not seem to be the case. The girl who had joined with me, F, joined the bandwagon, pretended to be all indepth into it, something that did not have much depth if you ask me, she was shifted to a more 'important' subgroup, I guess because she was so enthusiastic and committed. Some of my senior colleagues, came and praised her abilities and understanding to me, and I still remained dumb, because the thing still looked so damn simple to me, that I did not understand what was so difficult to understand in it, by trained professionals, what was the damn fuss all about? And it was then that I realised, that working in an office, is not just about doing your job, doing it well or efficiently, but a hell lot about showing, possibly showing, more than actually doing the work. I could not deal with it, more because it hurt to see a project manager, who had spent years in her job, not being able to distinguish between true efficiency and pretense of dedication. When we had started on our project, F and I were given the same work, I would finish mine in half a day, and she would take 2 days to do the same. And trust me it was basic simple testing work, nothing that needed loads of time. But completing the job well in time, did not get labeled as efficiency, instead staying late on the day of the deadline, and doing it was termed as dedication. And that kind of pretense is just not my cup of tea.
I had two options, if I planned to continue to work there, either to give up, join them, and do what they all did, or accept my fate, and learn to live with bitterness and disgust. Since I could not deal with either, and I was fortunate enough to have the option of doing it, I quit. And believe me the first few months after I left, I could feel my irritation, anger and bitterness gradually dissolving, restoring me to my former self. And that is one of the reasons, I never ever want to go back to corporate life, where I need to fight and compete, and my efficiency alone,is not good enough for me to make my mark. Ofcourse, IT is not really my cup of tea either, and I don't want to fill my days doing that either. And when these memories come back to me, I feel happy and content being at home, not fulfilling my day maybe, but atleast away from negative influence.
[This is in no way to demean IT professionals, who work really hard and well, and more importantly enjoy their work. I have many a friend in the field, I should know! And maybe not every office or group is this way. And it is my personality because of which I cannot deal with the situation in an assertive way, and I really admire all the people, who manage their careers positively without getting overwhelmed.]
Addendum - Would really like to know if you get the UDS/VDS concept or does it really seem complicated to anyone???
I love writing. Writing on paper, just about anything. When I was in junior school, I would just pick up a magazine or a book, and start copying the text on a notebook, on the pretext of improving my handwriting, but actually just enjoying writing. Just the feeling of running my writing instrument over a piece of paper, gives me a feeling of amazing calm and sometimes even an inherent feeling of happiness of some sort. I love writing, the old fashioned way.
The world today though is a world of electronic writing. Its all typed on our computers, and stored, writing on paper, is time consuming, and wastes precious resources as well, we are meant to believe. And without a doubt, the electronic media, gives us greater reach. Blogging cannot happen on paper can it? But that does not mean I don't miss having a legitimate excuse to write on paper. And the sad bit is that with the blitzkrieg of alternative forms of writing, the tools for old-fashioned writing have started to dwindle. And I miss them.
I have a big weakness for stationary, and it has taken me tremendous self control, to actually stop buying some each time, I see it. But of late, I have hardly seen anything that tempts me. I remember when I was in college, a visit to the stationary store would never be complete without atleast one pen purchase. The shopkeeper knew my room-mate and me so well within our first year, that he would always show us the new pens which had arrived, and have the test writing pad out, for us to try it, and pick a new one, or one of our regular favourites. I just loved pens, and the Mitsubishi ball point, the Reynolds Jetter and Reynolds Fine, were my regular favourites. My criteria when selecting a pen, is a fine nib. I am no fan of 'bold' writing, nor of fat, blunt nibs. I like my nibs to be fine and precise, and that was the main reason that these were my favourite pens, besides of course the fact that the price suited my pocket beautifully. The 'jetter' happened to be quite a precious possession in those days prices at Rs.18.
The images have been picked from their official website.(http://reynolds-india.com and http://www.uniball.com.au/ballpoint_range.html)
My favourite though is a classic fountain pen. I love filling ink in my pen from a bottle, and writing with it, somehow, feels very grand and classy. And I believe it is also a lot more environment friendly than using up huge amounts of plastic for the ball points and gel pens, where often there is no option to even replace the refill, and the pen simply needs to be discarded as a whole.College, required loads of writing, and high speed at that, so the ball points were favoured heavily over the fountain pens, but my love for them never really ebbed. Back in the era, when I first started writing with a pen, in school, it was compulsory to use ink-pens, and I think my fascination began right then. I remember spending hours washing my pens in warm water, cleaning them with a brush, sourcing syringes and needles to re-fill the cartridges, of the pens that could only be used with cartridges. It was something I loved doing. I even had a pen than had once belonged to my long deceased grandfather, and a Sheaffer at that. I adored that pen. But somehow its been a while now, since I have used an ink pen, and I cannot even find my favourite ball points here. So I ended up stocking on a pile of cheap thick nibbed, disposable pens, for use around the house, when I got here, but was rather unhappy about it.
So I started searching for reasonably priced fountain pens, from all my online research, the stores that seemed to be selling them, had only very high end ones, with prices in the region of $100, as a start. I was surprised, and saddened to know, that fountain pens seemed to have become a thing for connoisseurs only now. Students here, are not required to write with ink-pens when they receive their pen licence and are permitted to shift to a pen from a pencil, and that possibly is the main reason that fountain pens cannot be easily sourced around here. And I kept looking till, I found a store that sells mini-fountain pens really cheap at $1.75. Was I over joyed or what? I promptly walked up to the store and bought myself two. They did not sell the cartridges, and had only a cartridge each, in the pens, to start me off, and I was to buy the cartridges from elsewhere. And it is then that I realised that those plastic contraptions called ball-points and gel pens have so taken over the world, that it is almost impossible to find ink or cartridges. It took me a few weeks of asking around to find a store which sold them, and even with them, I had to place an order, so that they can source the thing for me. Its close to impossible to get myself a syringe and a needle here, so the cartridges cannot be recycled, and that leaves me with the option of going through the lengthy and expensive procedure of buying cartridges. But whatever it is, I am loving writing with the fountain pens, mini as they maybe.
My latest precious possessions, using them frequently maybe an expensive affair however.
I believe that fountain pens are more environment friendly, and they have a sense of romance and class about them. It would be great to encourage kids to take it up, and make them the preferred writing tools. I would hate to see them become obsolete, or antiquated technology visible only in museums.
Had been out for some groceries yesterday, and the Indian Store was the first place I went in. Below, is an ad placed on the outer wall of the store.
Accommodation Available [details] Only For Gujarati people.
I actually feel like calling up the provided contact number, and ask such people what is wrong with them, why did they step out of their village well at all?? We are half a world away from our country, and this person cannot do with just any Indian, but needs someone from a specific area. I have not put this up with any animosity towards gujaratis, because in the above ad, the 'gujarati' could well have been any other location/caste/religion preference. It just makes me feel sad and infuriated.
Just want to quote a comment by Soin, on one of my earlier posts here, and all I can say is I cannot agree more .
"its good to know our indians have not given up the indianess in them.even after going to a different continent they still hold up our traditions of sectism,castism and all those.soon shiv sena will have a wing there and claim sydney should allow only marathi inidians coz the first indian immigrant there was a marathi.i love my country."
So true, and so sad is our reality.
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On a happy note though, while we stood for billing on the counter at our regular supermarket, the woman just ahead of us handed us a 10% discount coupon for the same store. She said, that she had two of them and could use only one, so she gave the other one to us. It is like one of those out of the blue lucky things that happen isn't it? I am still smiling about it, while the GP laments not having larger figures on the bill. God bless the woman.
is when, a lot is accomplished, a day that is filled with things done. And that is why today is being marked as a happy day in my calendar after ages, because this is how today has shaped up.
1. Kicked myself out of bed in the morning, and made it for my walk. It being, quite cool, and me being very very cosy under my quilt doona/duvet, it was indeed a super duper achievement.
2. Got the BB up, fed and dressed in time to get to the playgroup.
3. Had the lunch ready before we left, since we return home ravenous with hunger.
4. Garam rotis(hot home-made bread) was made, lunch had, and then I went off to make another attempt to bake a cake. The bake has turned out quite decently, mainly because it does not taste like soap, like all the previous ones I tried here. Reason? I was using bi-carb soda instead of baking soda, and that made all the difference. And the books told me they are the same thing, what can I say? But what the heck, nice cake finally done. The base is a bit overdone, but it is still a cake,not soap and hence nice.
5. We received a bag full of home grown spinach from one of the GP's tennis partners yesterday, and I forgot to buy paneer(cottage cheese). The combination of the two, being the only dish in which I have ever liked spinach, meant I either keep the entire thing in the fridge, and wait till I get the paneer or I try making spinach soup, which may or may not turn out nice, and which basically would mean eventually throwing out all the spinach. Nothing appealed to me, palak pakoras were floating in my brain, but this being garden fresh I did not wish to waste the nutrition. Somewhere in my mind, a thought of palak with besan floated. And I concentrated on it some, got an image of what could be done, and what do you think, I churned out a yummy, healthy dish.
6. This was followed by a family stroll in the evening, back , and I finally had my chores for the day done, and could sit down and watch TV or just sit with the laptop. A hassle free luxury I haven't enjoyed in a while, since most of the time I have either stolen my time out of a busy day to do either, or had kept chores on hold. So that really made it a special joy.
So that is what was today, a full day, and now at 9, I am exhausted, completely drained, and cannot wait to go off to la la land. And hope I can sleep this gives-me-a-high exhaustion off. What is your happy day like?
In her recent post, Piper talks about being naughty, doing the forbidden. I believe the definition of naughty or for that matter the forbidden is quite relative. While it would be forbidden for one woman to even mention she ever had a boyfriend, to the man she marries, others would rattle on and on about all their previous relationships, some would consider it sin to even think of another man/woman post being in a commitment, others would gladly go out and flirt/date/have an affair on the sly, without any guilt. Eventually its our own mind which tells us whats acceptable or not. And we feel guilty only when we do something that our own conscience says is wrong. But here I completely digress from what I set out to write about.
When I was a teenager, in high school, it was quite the in-thing to get hold of the phone numbers of people you had a crush on, and call them up with fake personalities. Crank calls, is what they were called, and they worked because it was the era before cell phones, or even caller-id. One of my friends even managed to get together with the guy she had been having the most massive crush on for ages. We never got it, because she actually looked like a doll, and the guy was a loser in every sense of the word, looks, personality, potential. And yet again I am off on a tangent, teen- age years give us so much to reminisce about.... However getting back to the point. There was this school hunk a couple of years my senior, who was one of the hottest guys in school, lets call him, CG. I think the hallways filled up with drool, each time he passed by.
As you may have guessed by now, this guy was my huge massive crush too, and obviously he was not aware of my existence. For the record, mine was one of the most populated high schools of the country. As always happens in those years, I managed to get his phone number, and high on the rush of hormones, did call him up one day. Not too surprisingly, the Mooney eyed me, kept calling, even after and a period of over two years we became friends. I think CG knew, that I very obviously had a crush on him. He was the kind of guy, who had girls drooling all over him, and he had the attitude to boot. We used to have these marathon conversations over the phone, talking about pretty much everything under the sun. Over a period of time, he began confiding in me, a bit here, a bit there, and the friendship blossomed. It was no longer just me calling him, but he called up too, we would talk a lot. And I pretended in my mind that we were not just two people talking on the phone, without having ever come face to face. Then I went away to college, the calls became few and far between, we stayed in touch on and off. I would give him a call when I came home for my holidays, we would chat up the few days I was there. Long distance calls never really happened, and then over a period of time, it all waned off, and we got out of touch.
During the period of time we were actively friends, and even later after that, I had an image of a matured, sensible and sensitive guy of CG. I was definitely blinded, because we all knew he changed girlfriends at the drop of a hat, and that did not really define sensitive. The crush obviously waned off, as I grew up , and realised we are mentally worlds apart. And life went on. He became a friend, I had never met, and gotten out of touch with. About a year back, I went back and checked the inbox of one of my older mail-ids, and what do I see, a mail from CG. Surprised, I open it to find an advertising mail, which I could not make head or tail of. I mailed him back asking him what this was about, and generally enquiring about his well being. A few mails were exchanged in the process. And what followed, made me realise, why we would never have remained friends, even we had not fallen out of touch.
As we got on to catching up over the mails, he could not stop talking about himself. He had joined his family business as soon as he was out of school, and that is what he was still doing, he was in the city he had been from the day he was born, and doing what he had been doing from day one. In the mails, he told me he was now married, and had a baby girl. Obviously I congratulated him, and asked him their names etc etc. What surprised me about his reply, was that he just continued talking about himself, telling me how much he loved his daughter, and how from the casanova that he used to be, he was not converted into a protective father.... ya da yada yada, and it was all nice, and friendly, but what i observed was, that not even as common courtesy did he enquire about me or my life. Parents usually always ask about each other's kids. I am yet to meet a person with a child who would enquire about mine, if they knew I had one. So this really surprised me, that he did not even ask me how old the BB is or even as much as his name. I told him I lived in Sharjah, and he said, he had a friends who were living there, but had moved to Dubai, because they found xyz problem with Sharjah. And so it went. Losing any common ground to discuss, I made small talk, by saying, he was lucky to be rooted in one place, while I was all over everywhere since I left school. He sent me pity in reply, saying I should not mind as long as I am making money. It just kept getting worse with each mail. While it is OK if someone brags, or loves talking about himself, and I need to maintain contact for work, but I cannot really be friends with such a person. And there is no other reason I would be in touch with him. I then also found out, that he had been regularly dropping in and checking out one of my social-networking site profiles. But he never left a message. And it just got stupid. Maybe he expected me to be a stupid teenager gaping at him. Vain! I think the last mail I sent him was quite a tiny curt one, and communication froze at that.
But what really caught my attention in all of this, was how as a teenager, I had been so awed by him, that I had possibly not observed any of these qualities about him. Or maybe had changed over the years (find that unlikely though!). Whatever it was, I didn't like the kind of person he appeared to be at the present time, and left it that. But I really believe I have not really interacted at a personal, human level with anyone who is so completely vain,arrogant and self-absorbed. To think I once had this huge crush on me, really makes me wonder what was wrong with me. I will just blame it on the raging hormones, and thank God, I had my sensible, thinking wits around me, when I met the GP, hormone rush or not.
OK, so I don't have a green thumb, and I know it. That is the reason I had handed over the watering-the-plants responsibility to the GP in Dubai, where I was really attempting to grow some potted plants. I was amazed at how well they had grown with him watering them for 10-15 days while I was visiting India. The difference in the way the plants had reacted was obvious to me, and the responsibility was promptly handed over to the one, the plants loved more. After a while of that, we are now in a new land, and here I have a garden, a reasonably decently sized backyard, and lots of time at hand.
The garden has all kinds of plants in place, quite messed up, and I am a bit hesitant to actually walk in and clean it all up, esp, with the random spiders and insects I have seen. I have so far restricted my duty to the bi-weekly watering with the hose up front. In the backyard though, I have a lot of empty pots, and the desires for a kitchen garden have been on the rise, since some ingredients very essential to my cooking, are just so expensive here. And hence I decided to test my skills with coriander/cilantro. Mailed up friends, took tips, and set to work, if you can call it that. Just layered one of the pots with some manure, dropped some seeds into it, and watered it daily. After about 10 days, the seeds sprouted and I could see tiny green leaves making their way up. The brain was filled with thoughts of green chicken, and more within the next fortnight. What was I to know, what is to come.
A few days back, the old house on the plot adjoining my backyard was demolished. Followed, by completely uprooting about 6 huge trees which had resided there. Now there lies a flat piece of open land. The birds which had been living in those trees were suddenly finding themselves homeless, and I see them at all hours of the day, sitting on that land and pecking. I know not what, though. Yesterday I went to water my new saplings-of-joy, after coming back from the BB's playgroup, and what do I see? There are none. I am sure there were atleast 8-10 of them, and now there were none. This is just so not fair. My first attempt ever at growing something edible, and this is what happens. Maybe its a sign from God telling me not to interfere in the cycle of nature, with my bound to be doomed attempts. I was hoping to click photos, and put then up on the blog when they are a little bigger, and none of that is going to happen now.
So for now, I am quite dejected. All plans related to any gardening like activities have been shelved. This is so not done, why did those dastardly birds have to peck away my very first attempts. I am so so so never going to forgive them. I hate you, you bad bad birds. And all kinds of sympathies, hugs, and affection from everyone is most welcome at this point in time.
The BB is my first baby, and infact my first long and hands on experience with a baby and its care. I am an only child, so I never saw siblings being brought up, nor did an elder sibling have kids before me, for me to know how things go. My cousins live worlds apart, some I have not even seen in ages, so well, I basically have not seen children being brought up, never been closely associated with their care, till a few of my friends popped up children. So pretty much everything I did for or with the BB was a first timer for me.
Recently he joined a playgroup. Honestly, I did not even know what exactly that is, and what to expect.I have grown up in India, very middle class upbringing. I remember my first brush formal education was a pre-nursery thing, which lasted for about 2 days, and on the third, I just ran away from it and walked back home, at the ripe old age of two and half or three. End of story, then fast forward to four plus, and I joined a proper school. So all the pre-nursery, playschool kind of thing is quite alien to me. Things being different here, no unstructured playing, or hanging around with kids of the neighbourhood happening, I needed to find something for the BB to do, to start socialising. Especially since he has never done that, with us having being moving around all this time. So the playschool option came up, and I jumped on it, not knowing too well what to expect.
On enquiring, I was told, I just need to carry some drinks and snacks for the BB for the two hour session if I want to. So all happy and excited, off I went with a few biscuits and some water to conquer the world of playgroup with the BB. What do you think it was, exactly, what the name says, a PLAY GROUP. Mothers, come in with their children, there are toys and activity stuff around, and the children basically play around and have their fun. Wow! Was I surprised? You bet. I have lived all my life in India people, the place where such things happen in the society compound, or gali (lane), or for the fortunate few a park or ground. The tools available, are some stones, to play pitthu, or a chalk to draw the table for stapu(hopskotch), and occasionally some dilligently collected balls, bats and raquets for playing. This completly formal set up was new to me to say the least. (For all those who are thinking this, I am putting it out aloud, in writing here, I am a un-enlightened gawaar(villager).) I still find it hard to believe that parents need to sit around, and watch children play, just regular play. There is no teacher teaching, or instructor or carer, but just a bunch of mommies, with their bachha party, there for a couple of hours of playing in a week. And the mothers actually drive down with packed lunches, and drinks for their lil ones for this 'activity'. I am impressed by their dedication, and yet nonplussed by the concept. Isn't it simpler to just let the kids join hands at the local park each evening and play, run and have fun? But from what I hear, its more about organised, formal activities than simple play and run around here.
Is it fun? Oh yes! The kids painted, atleast the ones who felt like it. Some ran around with wheel barrows, or cars, and for most of the time, most of them sat in the sand pit, and played with beach toys, atleast that is what the BB did most of the time. The kids all did their own thing, I did not see any group playing, and I did not say anything either, because it was my first time, and I was getting a hang of the playgroup, as much as of things around the place. The mothers seemed to be having a gala time chatting up, and swapping tales. I enjoyed it quite a bit myself. Also my first time interacting at a personal level with the locals, and it sure helped me learn. They are a friendly inclusive bunch of people there, and asked me a few things, about where I come from, what I do, how many kids I have, and how many more I plan on. I was the only one with just one child there, the minimum limit seemed to be two and quite a few had three or more. I was literally at the bottom rung. So many had closely spaced babies, with age gaps of a year or even less, and I cannot help being amazed at how well they are managing, with activities and more, no househelp/cook/chauffer/nanny to aid either. It was fun to just talk to them, and hear them chatting. Everyone was eager to help out with finding activities for the BB to do, since I am new here. And its so good to see, that academics are not the only option, nor the only focus.
Two pieces of conversation have stayed on with me, and I am representing them here, just to record them for posterity. The first one, was my big blunder, when referring to, what I have now learned should be called as caucasians, if I wish to be politically correct. A lady asked me about life in Dubai, and what kind of people are there, and while trying to explain, I used the word whites/white skinned people, and I knew that very moment that I had made a blunder, but for the life of me, could not recollect or think of the right term to use. Came home and realised, I infact did not know what is the politically correct term to be used to refer to the white skinned people, I know about Afrian- Americans or Asians, but the whites, what does one call them? Twitter to rescue please, tweeted, and specially asked Soli for advice, since she seems to be quite the wise one, and 'caucasian', came the reply. The second one, did not register with me , at the time it occured, but resonated in my super slow mind, after I came home. One of the ladies, asked me where I was from, and when I said, "India", she exclaimed surprise that I could speak English well. Somehow in the din and fun of being around the sand pit, and ofcourse my pea sized brain, the comment did not register at that point. And I think it was good it did not, because I may have reacted unfavourably, which would not have been a nice way to go on the very first day. And then as the GP pointed out, it maybe surprise, because India is not an English speaking country as such, just as people would be surprised by a Spanish man speaking fluently in English. Trust him to always come up with positive ideas, and do away with any negative thoughts that may build up. I found the explanation plausible enough, and decided to let to rest me easily provoked mind, and give the lady the benefit of doubt, also I don't remember exactly which one of them it was! Also wondering why hostile thoughts occur to me, before nice, positive ones like the GP, I so envy him that.
Those were the highlights of our first day in the playgroup. The BB behaved himself, and did not trouble any child, nor was he troubled by any. He played on his own, just as did all the others. Hoping that associations and friendships will form over time. The BB actually went and patted, and laid down, beside a little girl who was sleeping for most of the session. I found that really sweet, but then I am his smitten-for-life mother remember! The only problem is, that the BB goes and grabs the arm of pretty much any child he sees, though fortunately he did not do that the entire session on Monday. While for kids his size or older, I have no fear, besides the parents not liking their child being grabbed by someone unknown, I am very worried when he does to younger kids, since he may hurt them, unknowingly. I keep repeating to him, not to touch other children each time, we go out, but I really don't know how to get him off the habit of grabbing the arm of other children completely. He likes kids, and approaches them as soon as he spots them, and for the life of me I cannot make him nonchalant about them, and in someways, I am not sure I want him to be that way either. For now, I am hung up on the arm-grabbing thing, and I need to find a way to get the BB to get over that.
Completely inspired by Sraikh, I have been scouring the trading sites here, for some of the more fancy, non necessary things I need around the house. And on Saturday picked up three pretty bamboo, wicker baskets from a girl who sold them. Came home, got the baskets out, and found a pretty silver chain in it. I am not the lucky kinds, who finds such things, like money on the roads, so this was definitely a first. I mailed, the girl, and called her up too. She said, she could not recollect any such chain. I even sent her a photo to be sure, but she said it was not hers, and she did not want it. I did not want to keep it, since its not mine. And so off it went into the red cross bin. Mighty proud of myself, so this is just to show off, and get some pats on the back. Look at my temptation below.
Ok, I agree its a simple plain chain, but I am sure I could have worn it. And I took special effort, paid for the tram, went all the way to the store, to drop this chain, and I did not even buy anything from there. I can so, see a halo around my head right now, its shining and glowing you know!
The question however is, would I do the same if this were a diamond or even a gold necklace? Would I be able to be this moral? Not sure, not sure at all, and I specially thought of it after a chat with Sraikh, on Saturday right after I found the chain, she had a similair line of thought, and wrote about it, in her usual cool style of writing, hop over for a read.
PS - This post was ready on Saturday, but the chain had not been dropped at red cross. So I waited, till I did that, before posting. Yesterday afternoon, I visited the store, dropped the chain in, and hence am happily and honestly posting this today, as early as I can!
OK, so this is final. I am never shifting without every little thing of my house coming right with me. Why, you ask? Simply because it means I cannot bake decent cakes for like an eternity after a shift. When I was in India, I could just go to the local grocer and tell him to pack me the ingredients in exactly the amount I needed. So it was pau kilo maida, pau kilo cheeni and so on.(*pau kilo - 250 gms). At home I never had to bother with the measuring or weighing, the ingredients were always in right proportions and life was good. Nearing Christmas, the local supermarkets even stocked up baking ingredients in smaller portions.
Then we shifted. In Sharjah, I could find nothing in packs of less than 1 kg. I never bought a kitchen weighing scale, because I just find it too pretentious. I tried to get the proportions right and messed up each time.I did not bake for a year. In fact just before the Christmas of 2008, I desperately tried, every option, the microwave, the pressure cooker, the oven I had brought from India, the gas oven in my kitchen there, and even bought a new electric oven to do it. Everything fell absolutely flat on its face. I got textures ranging from custard to halwa to rock hard, and everything else you can imagine. Then it took an epiphany, and a baker friend's recipe to guide me to try a measuring cup to get proper quantities, and what do you know, it worked like magic. Once again, I had a measuring cup at home, the one with came with my rice cooker. Don't think I would have bought one, because I just find it too 'fancy'. And I was back to baking well.
And then I shifted again. No measuring cup, no local grocer to weigh my stuff for me, and one gross cake is what I make. I hate it, absolutely hate it. This is simply unfair. Each time I move, my baking suffers, and just because I no longer have with me the things that make it work for me. And so I declared to the GP yesterday, that I am not moving anymore. However may I just add, the big ego boosting factor was that the BB did enjoy the cake, and asked for some more. But I for the life of me, don't know why.
And add to that the woes of new, unknown varieties of onions, potatoes and some more. The onions just don't make for the kinds I am used to in my salads, or sides. I like the Indian onions. Maybe they are not of great quality or breed, but that is what I am used to, and I miss them, I miss them so so bad. Atleast in Sharjah, they were available. Why do there have to be so so many types of onions for God's sake? And I miss veggies, you know the kinds that can be prepared as sabzi(curry). Bored with the same set of 4-5 veggies that can be prepared like curries being available, and I am in no plan to completely change to eating veggies only as salads, I like mine cooked, complete desi style, spicy tadka et all.
So well that is what it is out here with my food related woes. Otherwise, the place is treating me well, I am liking it quite a bit. All I need now, is to learn to drive, and if the GP pushes me hard enough, I may just go ahead and do it.
PS - Did I mention how I am managing without any parlour visits so far. The threading ritual every fortnight is not happening, so its all about my own efforts to keep myself presentable. Not a great success, but tagging along somehow.
The city of Melbourne and its suburbs are said to have a great network of public transport, consisting of buses, trams and the metro. You simply go to a website, put in your address, the place where you want to reach, and it chalks out an entire travel plan for you. Is that not cool, I thought to myself. What did I know then, that I was just challenging fate, trying out things too soon, to do it right, being my clumsy, goofy self.
So here I was on a bright afternoon, out with the BB to meet a friend and her daughter, in the heart of the city. The route was simple enough. Straight down my street, I had to reach the tram station, get in, and it would take me exactly to where I needed to go. The GP told me to carry a lot of coins, because I would require them to purchase my ticket, and to take a full day ticket, which is like a whole days pass to travel by the trams.Good enough. I start walking, miss a couple of stops, and end up walking a lot of extra distance getting to the 3rd closest one to me. Wait for the tram, it comes, I get in, and then I don't know how to get the ticket. To me, a bus has a conductor selling tickets, and he asks you what stop, tells you the fare, you pay him, he gives you the ticket. And that's it. But in a country that is far too technologically advanced for the half-witted me, and where manual labour pays more than blue collar jobs, there was no conductor. There were some validation machines, but I had nothing to be validated. Feeling like a complete fool, i went to the driver and asked him for a ticket. he told me to go to the big machine at the back and get it. I go back, and still don't spot it easily. All this time I am holding onto the BB's hand, balancing his stroller, and hoping for dear life that I don't fall in the moving tram and look like a complete fool. So I manage to find the machine, enter the numerous details it needs, some based on pure guess work, and it asks me to put in the required amount in the slot machine.I did not have enough change, so ended up paying a few cents extra. Got my ticket and went and sat down. Called up the GP to boast about my great triumph at managing all of this too. And thank the lord who looks after children, that BB managed to be too happy/overwhelmed/ashamed of being with an inept woman for a mother, to not get upset or want something, or do anything crazy. I had to get off at the last stop, so that definitely did not need much of a genius I figured, and relaxed into my seat. The BB happily looking out of the window, I picked out something to read.
What I did not know then, was that this was just the start of my adventure. A few stops along the way, climbed in too men. I did not see them, because I was too deep into my reading, I just realised that someone came and sat in front of me, and adjusted the stroller, to make better space. Look up to see a man, who wore nothing on the upper half, was sweating like a pig and was constantly hitting himself. Before I could register it all, his friend pulled him up, he touched my head and walked off. Wow! I did not even realise what happened. I don't think anyone else on the tram cared, and as long as he went away, I kept quiet. But this man was mad, he got upto all kinds of antics post this, and pretty much all other passengers were upset. And then suddenly an announcement, saying the next stop would be the last stop, and the tram would not go further. It did not seem like a final stop or the end of tracks, and I was confused, but got off the tram with everyone else. And realised it was somewhere in the middle, there had been an accident ahead, and the trams could not go any further. So what do you think I do? I had no idea where I was. Fun is it not, first day out on my own, and I don't know where I am. I asked around, and a sweet guy, forthcomingly came forward and told me that I just needed to walk straight ahead for about a kilometre and I would get to where I needed to be. And that is how, walking down the road, I reached my destination
The return was a lot better, because the journey itself was uneventful, except that I got off a few stops too early. Waited at the same stop, for the next tram, hopped on and got off where I need to, and then walked back home from there.
And then the very next day, there is some more travel fun. I visit a friend's place for lunch. She is about two kilometres from my place, and so I walk down, have some lunch, chat up and leave. I strap the BB onto his pram, plug in some soul rendering music from Wake Up Sid, into my ears and start to get back home. And what do you know after about twenty minutes of walking I realise I have no idea about where I am. Pancic. Panic some more. Look around. A board with the street name. Uh-oh! I did not take the first turn I had to, and continued unabated on the street on which my friend lives. Can I please blame this one on Shankar Ehsaan Loy, because their music just left me day dreaming, humming along? Coming back to my predicament, I realise that I just did not want to walk all the way back now, because that would mean first covering back these twenty minutes and then another thirty minutes or so to home. I spot a bus-stop nearby, call my friend, get the details, and wait for the bus. It comes, I get in, again problem with the ticket. There is no ticket vending machine in the bus. Here, I have to buy it from the driver. I ask him for one, he is rude, and tells me to carry change next time. I tell him, I had no plans of taking a bus today. I tell him what stop I need to get off at, and go and sit. When we start nearing my stop, I stand up, only to see a big 'No Standing' written on the floor. All confused, I sit back down, thinking he would stop it at the stop, esp since I have told him where I need to get off. Well what do you know? He does not stop it, I go running to him and say, "I had to get off there", and pat comes the reply, "Well, you missed your stop." and he just goes on. Normally it would have been ok, but missing my stop, which is the last one on my street means, I go across the highway/freeway to the next stop. That means I cannot walk back, and have to again take a bus to get back to my stop. So I get off at the next stop, and so does an older man with me. I look across the street, and there is no bus stop there. So? How do I get back. I ask the man, and he tells me, buses going either way, come on the same side at this stop, and he told me which one to get on. Then he nicely looked up the time table, and his watch and said the next one might take a while, basically 15-16 minutes. He knew what happened back in the bus, because he was sitting upfront, and I guess he is a regular traveller of that bus, because he told me, that particular driver was a bit rough and rude. I thanked him profusely and he went his way.
And you would think it was just one stop now, and I was home right? No! I took the right bus, but gave wrong stop-name. Know why? Because the names of the stop on one side of the road do not match those across, basically because they are the names of the streets which lead inside. And how was I to know that? The driver this time round, however was a pleasant man, and he stopped at the next stop for me, which meant a little more for me to walk, but I reached home all the same,just a little worse for wear. So that was how my first two attempts at going places in my own have turned out. Am I daunted? Hell no! Because I have learnt, some, and I am sure I can do a lot better next time, and only if I keep doing it, will I get the hang of it isn't it? Surprisingly though I have never got lost, or gone the wrong place ever before, not even when I was new to Bombay and had just started traveling on my own, local trains and all.
A few things that I really liked, during these two trips, was that people around the place are very forthcomingly helpful when they see you with a child. Getting onto public transport with a stroller, and a child, would invariably mean people would help without even asking or expecting a word of thanks,. It almost seemed like a norm. Coming from Bombay locals, where heavily pregnant women stand through long journeys in crowded trains, and young students or women who have been there themselves, just sit in their seats, not giving relief to the women for a second, this was really amazing to me. A man even offered me his seat in the tram, when I was returning, since it was quite crowded and I was with the BB. When we were dropped off mid-way, because the trams could not go further, I was all bewildered, and even without me asking, people came and asked me where I wanted to go, and offered me directions. The guy who really guided me in detail, was an Indian, I believe a student out with his friends, and he did so his own, without my asking. I mentions Indian here, because I would never expect teh same courtesy back in India, atleast not proactively done. And that was indeed nice.
Just wanted to share my crazy adventures on the blog, and hence this overly long post!
