Two men and a bird.

One sunny Saturday morning, I heard the sweet chirp-chirp of what I know now as a Starling. I turned about on the bed, smiled at r~ next to me and this time heard the chirps right above my head as if there were a bird incessantly calling out to me from the ceiling. I alerted k to this fact just like the past 65 times that I had done that and just like the previous times, he muttered an eloquent, "Uh uh" and went back to sleep inside his comforter. So I left it at that.

A few days later, k told me that he is going to Home Depot to do some "chores". This surprised me because k, like other husbands I know, tend not to take up initiative when it comes to chores (Yes, yes, broad generalization). They tend to believe that they live in self-cleaning, auto-organizing houses that prefer not to be interrupted while performing their self-auto-duties. So anyway, I left it at that.

A half hour later, he comes back with a long metal ladder strapped on to the top of our mini-van. "Need to sort this bird issue out", he said sounding very business-like and matter-of-fact.

"What bird issue?"

"The birds in the attic."

I give him a look that says, Ok, so you woke up now after a year to take care of that? 
Maybe 65 is the magic number, remind a man 65 times and he will get the task done asap.
Only in our case, asap turned out to be a bit longer than I expected.

So, he sheepishly admits, "The home depot dude said bird nests in the attic could be a fire hazard. So, I thought I should take care of it."

Strike out the 65 theory.

k valiantly unloads the metal ladder that seems to weight heavier than our house and leans it against the outside of our brick wall on the side of our house. There, about 200 feet high (or some similar dizzying height), there is an opening that our dear Starlings have been using as the entrance to their house -- the nest in our attic.

But you see, if you have ever lived through the experience of "driving birds out of your attic", you will know that step #1 is just that -- driving them out. So k proceeds to do the logical thing next.

Which is place our ipod player, volume turned max, in our attic (In case you are interested, no, he did not have to climb the ladder outside to place the ipod player in the attic; we have an access to the attic through our bedroom closet). The theory is (and you will notice by the time you read to the end of this post that several theories support the "driving birds out of attic" experience, most of which are flawed. The rest are untested.) that birds do not enjoy music that humans do. So, they tend to stay away from human music and humans. And hence an ipod player in the attic will drive the birds away. Ta da! So, all day long, the poor American Starlings hear Suprabharatham and an eclectic collection of Tamil and Hindi movie songs and then k announces that the birds have flown out of the attic.

Which leads us to step #2 -- Clean the attic

No complications in this step. Clean the nest from the attic. Make sure you take big trash bags with you to the attic. Step out with bag full of nest stuff.

And that brings us to step #3 -- Seal the opening so birds can't get in in the future.

k managed to climb the 200 feet ladder propped outside the house, somehow with a drill and drill bits (or whatever the thingamajiggie is called) in one hand, and cover the opening and nail it all down or drill it down or whatever the technical term for that is. And so we are done. And that is how you drive birds out of your attic.

Normally, that is how this happy serial would end. But, ours turned out to be more along the lines of a Sun TV mega serial.

The next morning, I heard sweet bird songs early morning and in my sleep nudged k and said, "Birds."
And then a few moments later, we both sat up upright with the sinking realization that we had sealed those birds in. They apparently enjoyed the music a bit too much and did not exactly leave the attic. They were just silently sitting there praying with MS.

So now enter man #2 of the "2 men and a bird" saga -- S.

k and S hemmed and hawed and tried to decide what to do with the stuck birds. Firstly we did not possess the infinitely tall ladder which was returned to home depot earlier because it costs $30 for every 4 hours! So to recap, the options are:

1. Do it the hard way -- climb the ladder, remove the nails, free the opening and let the birds fly home or fly away in this case. And then reseal.
2. Do it the harder and possibly more comical way which is to remove the opening to the attic from our bedroom closet, leave all the windows open in our bedroom and let the birds fly from the attic to the bedroom and out the window.

Thankfully, they decided against #2. Ok, so I thought k & S decided to go with option 1 but k tells me I am wrong. The wise men chose option 2. So, the men decided they would go up the attic from the bedroom, leave the attic entry open, leave our bedroom windows wide open and use the window screens as tools to lead the bird out our bedroom window (An hour prior to that, the men sort of waited for the birds to fly out all by themselves which of course they chose not to). Once in the attic, k had the bright idea to shine a pen light torch towards the bird in the hope of attracting the bird to the opening. The bird liked the light a bit too much and flew straight towards k. Of course, our brave man fought hard till the end which involved frantically waving the light and pushing the bird towards S. The bird took the hint and flew straight to S who at this point tried to wave the bird off with his window screen but in the process stepped onto our dry wall and then he sort of hung out in our attic. By that I mean, literally that -- his leg broke through the dry wall and sort of dangled below our ceiling inside the house!

Edited: k tells me they took a stick and a window screen up the attic. The stick to wave the bird towards the attic opening and the screen to protect themselves from the grave danger that Starlings are capable of inflicting on humans with sticks :p

In case, that wasn't clear, this scene should explain:
One man waving his pen light torch in arcs and his window screen with his other hand crouching in the dark attic. Other man valiantly trying to deflect the bird away with one foot dangling down our rest room ceiling and one scared little bird trying to figure it all out.

So bright idea #2 having turned out to be a spectacular failure, our men decided to fall back to #1. My manager was kind enough to lend us a ladder and this time k did it all by himself -- basically a repeat of the first part of this serial.

Long story short, the bird did eventually fly out. S's leg is doing much better now. The hole in our ceiling is fixed and drying now. k has realized that theories about driving birds out of the attic are just that -- theories and may not work out for musically inclined Starlings with a penchant for bright lights.

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Quality waste-of-time!

k and I are a perfect match when it comes to the matter of hanging out with folks (Y'all may notice I don't use the word perfect loosely especially when it comes to marriage stuff. Prefer to let other couples vie for the perfect couple spot; too much pressure to be one! Also, how will r~ learn the tricky art of mule-headed arguments unless we lead by practice? :p) So anyway, k and I are the kind of couple that need about 32 seconds to make up our minds when someone calls us to hang out with them.

Them: "So you wanna' hang out?"
k: (holding receiver and looking at me): "What time can we feed r~ and have her ready?"
Me: "Gimme 10"
k: "We'll be there in 15."

So that's the amount of planning we do when someone calls us. What's the word am looking for? It's not "people's person" -- that's someone people want to spend time with not someone who wants to spend time with people almost always...that's the word that describes us.

I have noticed some folks tend to keep some occasions private: anniversaries, birthdays and so on. They do cool, romantic things, fly to exotic places and come back to share awesome pictures with us. Some couples stay home and take it easy and just celebrate quietly. We, on the other hand, strongly believe in the "the more the merrier" cliche'. if k or I can squeeze in 2 additional people to the party, we would do so even if we had to spend 30 minutes convincing them that our home was a really hep hangout place and we would ensure that they would stay entertained the entire duration of their stay.

So given that, we (I should probably start speaking in the singular; k can say what he thinks in his expired blog if he wants to) or I am constantly surprised when people chose to opt out. No, am not talking about you or you in particular. This is sort of a sum total of my observations based on my 10 year stay in Lex. So anyway, why do people say no when you call them to spend time with you? Let's analyze:

• They are booked for that time.
• They do not belong to the "Oh...we are one big set of friends" camp.
• They would rather go to the dentist (or as P~ would put it, "They don't like you, don't you get it? Duh!")
• They don't like your facebook updates.

So to summarize, those people who opt out of get-togethers baffle me (maybe they really don't like my updates)! Maybe they really have important things to do with their free time than chat with me about my facebook updates. No seriously, I always wonder what the driving factor is to refuse an opportunity to share some face to face personal time in this increasingly virtual world. I guess kids are a good reason to say no. If one is throwing up on your tshirt the moment the invitation comes along, I suppose there is a valid reason to hold your breath and say no and then get your kid to sit down in the bath tub when you give her a bath (Don't get me started on that!). Another good reason is playing hard to get but wait -- we are not in College anymore. Drat! And I thought I was on to a breakthrough there deciphering the forces behind people's choices. I, on the other hand, got myself up the world's fastest, highest, all-est wooden roller coaster and my limbs shook for 30 days after the event, because while I detested and still do detest roller-coasters, I went along for the big gang (Unfortunately, the 2 other girls in the gang wanted to try out all the number 5, hardest rides. Ugh). Basically, I believe in the power of numbers; show me a big gang and I'll tag along for the ride even if it is to, God-forbid, King's Island (k, if you are reading this post, no, it does not mean we can take r~ to Kings Island. No, you may not pay random people to tag along.) And in this respect, k is just the same. When we were students and had a lot more free time, he would constantly look for excuses to call people home: we have thrown graduation parties, got-a-job parties, got-hitched parties, star-at-home parties (When Crazy Mohan and YGM were home), dal-bhati parties, golu get-togethers, New year's parties, birthday parties...you get the idea.

I suspect though that we are entering a time where we are so restless, constantly multi-tasking that the days of leisurely banter and "time pass" are behind us. We catch up online and are so caught up in our lives that we forget to leave some time out for wasting. Oh no, not to say I have mastered the art of zen living but am just throwing this out there and reaching random conclusions (because if you can't reach random conclusions on your blog, where can you?)


You know how in School, there's always this girl pleading with another girl to come...somewhere to do something, "Vaaayen! Nee vaaayen!" I suppose I am that girl now. I often wonder why I prefer to have a gathering whenever possible. Do I like the sound of conversation? Do I like the idea that I have a whole bunch of friends around me and that feels good? Am I bored too hang out with just k and to be fair to k, is he bored to hang out with just me and therefore we feel the need to invite 6 other people to dissipate it? Of course we have r~ now and she keeps us more occupied than 10 people can but even now, I prefer a gang to alone time. As one of my friends put it tongue-in-cheek, "As RS would say -- Let's get together and have some fun!"

Yes, RS would say that. And I guess that's just in my genes. Gotta remember to ask mom and dad if they were like that (Based on what I know, that is true) too.

Although sometimes, I think I go out of my way to spend time with people leading to situations such as:

"Hey, am going to get my eyebrows waxed, do you want to come along and share the joy of beauty?"

"Hey, taking r~ to the doc, wanna call it a play date and also grab a coffee with a screaming kid at Starbucks?"

I have always fantasized about living in the same town with the perfect set of people to hang out with. The kind of people who jump at the opportunity to make pots and paint them with you for example. Or eat at that tacky Indian restaurant that served GulabJamoons along with the plastic wrappers, warmed to perfection that other day. Or watch that Hindi movie that has the horrendous reviews just for the heck of it. Or waste a quality 60 minutes in your company.

Now, wouldn't that be something?

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Jumble again.

Seems like I either don't find the time to organize my thoughts into a single coherent topic for a post or I do find the time but my mind doesn't want to put in the effort for it. So, here's a jumble again:

► I keep saying I really want to return to India for good but I guess at some level, I am apprehensive, sometimes scared of the prospect of going back for good and what all it would entail. In the end it seems to be whether I want to live the life I want, the way I want when I am healthy and young and then handle the tough decisions that life in America will throw my way when I am retired (Mainly to do with the dynamics between r's lifestyle and choices and how they will affect k and me) vs live a challenging perhaps difficult but fulfilling(?) life in India now with the chaos and color that family will bring and lead a relatively more peaceful old age to put it simply. If r grows up in India, she is going to be Indian (Duh ☼) and Indian culture will automatically be a part of her life. But my life is going to be dictated at least in part by others. Of course I can be a bad gal and ditch what people say. But really, what's the point of going all the way to live a life there when all you are doing is being miserable because you can't make the people that matter with their infinite demands happy ☺? So money and comforts aside, the r2i deal seems to sprout new tentacles each time I think about it.

► "That's my girl!" k says when finally r shows interest in a tiny racing car that he's been trying to entice her with since she turned 6 months.And I was going to give him the mommy-knows-all lecture of "Don't try to impose your interests blah blah" and then stopped myself. I have been guilty of that too. I have been trying to get r interested in books since she was 6 months old and I believe I have succeeded but that's an example of me trying to impose my interest on her too. I guess there's a difference between imposing our unfulfilled dreams on our children and teaching them to love the traditions we love. And right now, it's more of the latter than the former. Maybe when she is 18 and wants to be an entomologist and I am insisting that she take a Literature degree, that's when I have issues to deal with ☺.

► I have noticed k (I should say men since I like to generalize based on k :p) don't do well with multi-processing. If I have asked k to do one thing and then I tell him do this after you finish, then he just freezes in his tracks and looks at me like I just spoke Ancient Greek to him. The whirring pace of one task after another in my head are no match for the precise, one task at a time only chugging that goes on in his head. And I have noticed he doesn't do well with too many choices. Even if it's just his clothes. The Spring wear he sports now has been exclusively hand picked by yours truly :p I, on the other hand, like most moms (Should I say women?) like to multi-process (Sometimes, I don't have a choice) and plan ahead. Wayyyy ahead. I like to have the if-then-elses in place in my head and plan out possible routes (Yes, yes, I do understand life tends to get unpredictable but I like to assume I have the power to handle the predictable at least!)...Mars-Venus I guess. Who knows?

► Anonymous blogging is boring. Firstly, it's hard to get a reader base if you are starting off as a nobody, just too much work to patiently write interesting niche stuff until you have people stopping by. But, if you already own a known home in the blogosphere, then this anonymous getaway is sorta not that appealing because it lacks the people interaction I guess. So anyway, I started writing (venting? :p) in this mom blog. A couple of reason I wanted it to be anonymous: moms tend to carry passionate views about parenting styles and I guess everything else related to kids and I didn't want to inadvertently write stuff that will rub other moms the wrong way; I wasn't editing, so just dumping thoughts from my head to the screen...so long story short, here it is: desi mom. Another blog? Until I set up my own website somewhere and aggregate all my blogs, a new blog it is plus am afraid I'll scare folks away from here if I keep writing twitter-style mommy blog posts here! Yada, yada...feel free to take a look, ignore, comment and all that good stuff. Like I said, blogs with no readers are sort of like unread books -- there might be good reading material in them or at least glimpses of it but you never know until you pick them up and read it :)

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Vinnai Thaandi Varuvaaya

A few weeks back, in our dance class we had a discussion about happiness and sadness and their ability to move the audience. "You know happiness moves readers too, don't you? You don't always have to write stories that carry a tinge of sadness with them...", my dance teacher said. And I guess she is right. I do tend to stories with pathos more than outright humor and simple happily ever afters. After several comments from people that I ought to give that line of writing a shot, I did write "The prophecy" which for the most part was a lighthearted, feel-good story but that story was the exception. And I feel the same about this movie...

*spoiler alert*

It could have ended with a happily ever after and I would have liked nothing better but then the story and it's poignant moments wouldn't come back to haunt me with what ifs, would it? Boy meets girl, falls in love and they walk hand in hand into the sunset. All is well and we leave with a smile on our lips. But then it sort of fades into the background. When Karthik sits on the bench with her and explains why he couldn't have forgotten her -- her funny gait, her straight and curly hair and how he coped with the Jesse in his heart, the tears that fall from his eyes stay back with us because in the end, in spite of everything, it's all lost and they cannot be together. And somehow the poignancy of that situation outweighs the bliss of a happy ending.

This movie has touches of Alaipayuthey to it and the scenes just after Jesse's canceled wedding reminded me of the terrace scenes in DDLJ but then VTVsmacks us in the face with a surprise ending. And the what-could-have-been scenes that Karthik weaves into his first movie make the ending that much more powerful. Because, the audience is with Karthik and Jesse celebrating their union after what seems like a lifetime and then suddenly it all turns out to be a mirage, an unattainable wistful concoction of the mind and the palpable disappointment and hurt in their glances and words cuts through our hearts as well. I liked the way Gautham deals with the capricious workings of a woman's mind -- "Naan appadithaan", "Apo venumnu thonichu, ipo vendamnu thonardu". And the veiled vanity in Jesse's eyes when she asks, "You are crazy about me-nnu sonna? Yen?" is a dialogue nicely rendered by Trisha. Silambarasan as the forlorn lover is believable -- he delivers his lines with an understated flourish. An entirely enjoyable (although a tad repetitive) flick by Gautham Menon and the music by Rahman is to die for!

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Me, me, me.

I suppose this post should come with a disclaimer of some sort so it seems acceptable to all people but I am going to skip the formalities because...ah well, I just can't be bothered. My pollen infested allergy-eyes can barely see the main content leave alone peripheral niceties.

So, I suppose I am still a new comer to this country and in a way, I am still learning the workings of the society and the way the system works here. One small aspect of the whole culture here that I am still getting used to is American weddings. Like George Lopez says to his wife, "Face it. This is not about you!" when he tries to calm an anxious bride whose wedding he is planning ("You are the most beautiful bride I have seen!"). I guess that lady in that episode (She is that famous desperate housewives babe whose name I can't recall) is who I am writing about today.

Yes, the day has to be perfect. Yes, it's magical and a match made in heaven no doubt. But really, to what extent should this blessed day be morphed to match an imagined, perfect wedding day, roses and doves and all?

I guess it strikes me as strange partly because of my background as an Indian. Our weddings are mostly about our parents. Friends and relatives of our parents throng our weddings while our parents stand proudly next to us and introduce countless faces that blur in front of our eyes (The sweat that pours from our over made up foreheads because of the glaring bright spot lights on us as we stand on the stage could be part of the issue). It is a big day for them. We, the bride and the groom are the cynosure of all eyes but in all, it is a bigger day for our parents.

Compared to that, here the day is about the bride and the groom only and mostly about the bride only. The focus is on love and romance and it should be but it also is on what one woman considers her dream day should be like. Down to the colors that border the trim of the bridesmaid's dress. It becomes more about the dress and the decorations and everything material...and how much a planner can match these expectations.

I guess I don't really have that much insight into an American wedding up, close and personal but at least that's what I see from popular television here. I guess in a way it's fun for the bride. It's the day she's dreamed of since she was a little kid (I guess Indian girls dream of getting into IIT when they're 5 :p)...but something strikes me as just off with this setting. Blame it on my brown upbringing...but I tell it like I see it, I guess.

Maybe I am just jealous because I didn't get a day of my own that I could construct bit by bit and watch unfold on D day (I doubt it)...but, who knows? There's more I want to say about this but can't sit out here any more...be back when the season changes. Accchhhhhooo!

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Thoughts on being a mom -- 1 year later.

I should have gotten around to this long back, 8 months back but better now than when r~ turns 2 -- then I would have to club together the first two years :p

She is taking a nap now, so I am going to write in short bursts, so I can just publish if I have to rush.

* I sometimes want to have another baby just to test out a parenting philosophy/theory (mine). I think this will work but she has already grown past the stage when I can try this out. So, now I have a theory and no baby to try it on!

* What seems like an insurmountable catastrophe today will be forgotten and filed under "Oh yeah, she did do that...almost forgot about it!" Like when she refused to get on the high chair, a car seat, her stroller and I figured I was so terribly wrong with my parenting style that I have a baby that just won't be strapped in anywhere! That phase lasted a week and I turned a year older in that week.

* Frantic internet searches (by the parent, I mean) will not go away. They just make a category jump from infant to baby to toddler to kid to preteen to teen to daughter and so on.

* Cry it out, controller crying, rock it out, nurse it out, baby whispering...finally, believe it or not, she will sleep. 8 hours without waking in the night. Just not now or next year or the next or...

* Being a parent is like being one of those head-spinning robots. Your head is on straight and you are happy because she gave you a kiss and then it's on backwards and she is testing out your patience. And then it's turned sidewards and you can't really see clearly and you imagine things and some days, it goes spinning and spinning until you shut down and collapse.

* Yes, you try really hard to not say no to her. But 55 times a day is not that bad right?

* Yes, you will swear in front of your kid when you stub your toe and no, however hard you try, your mouth is going to fail you one day or another. Anyway she says, "Frog" like ****! Her nanny is trying to get her to say "Froggie" instead :p

* Yes, it would be an ideal world when you have a clone of you taking care of her while the you-you naps. I was reading this interesting book that said if you can't give your toddler something she really wants, at least give her an imaginary world where she gets what she wants and more. Trying the theory out on myself.

* I actually made the "A" with the boiled carrot and a swirl of sauce. She smiled and squished the carrots in the sauce and said, "Brooooooken!" Yup, TV during dinner time it is. Is good for the soul. Mine!

* I am so glad she gives me the opportunity to be proud several times a day. I don't give myself that opportunity because lately I haven't accomplished much (anything)! Like, the other day, she pointed to the flower in Wild Oats and said "Shun-ffowwer"! And when I said, "Please taa" as she licked her popsicle, she said, "Taya maatten!" and laughed!

* I am competing for the mom-who-read-maximum-baby-parenting-books competition. I believe the competition also has a facebook fan page. Do become a fan and vote for me when you get a chance. Also tweet, blog, stumbleupon and digg it :p

* I am going to be squint eyed soon. Judging from the number of times I try to keep track of r~ when I am trying to have a sensible conversation with a friend (and he keeps saying, "I have her". Somehow his "I have her" is different from mine!)

* I have a running commentary of what she is going to do next in my head. So when I am in the middle of something, I'll see her edge towards the ants and I already know what she is going to do next and so I shout out an abrupt "She's gonna do this next. Watch out!" and k always looks up slowly as if to determine if I am indeed the girl he married!)

* No, my life is really not split between the various roles I play after r~ was born -- mother, career woman and such. I have become just a mother who does other things now like working, cooking, writing, dancing...but I am a mother first and everything else is next. And that's the way it's gonna be.

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Love and love only.

He reaches for the book, she reaches for the same book and a million stories play out in the glances they steal; Love and love only is the book that marks the beginning of their love story in Kadalukku Mariyadai. I used to love this song (I still do...)


I saw a tweet about movies that moved me and I thought it was quite some time since I'd written about movies. So, while I wait for Vinnaithaandi Varuvaaya to reach our little town, here is some silver-screen-reminiscing to keep me going :)

There was this scene in Anjali where Revathi confronts Raghuvaran about something -- The exact scene is a blur but the chemistry between them really worked. The movie in itself was not a love story but this scene stayed behind with me.

Of course, there is no one like Mani Ratnam to etch out love scenes and so we have:


I remember watching DDLJ seven times in the theatre -- a fact I have repeated ad nauseum in this space! I would sit running eyes and nose crying over poor Kajol crying her heart out for SRK. I loved the terrace and moonlit night scenes and the running into his arms in the field in a white dress was probably one of my favorite scenes in the movie. This movie is probably my all time favorite love story! Folks at home assumed I had lost it and was in one of my teenage phases post this movie :)



For some reason, I can't think of many recent movies that had that baam! impact as these older ones. That probably has also to do with the fact that I am no longer a dreamy eyed teenager looking for her one soul mate and so the movies fail to turn my thoughts upside down and feature in my dreams.

Recent movies are a mix of pastel shades for me: Wake up sid and the like. Not the shocking feast of colors that older movies paint. Hmm...I wonder why that is. But, I have to run now (Seems like I am writing most of my posts as a tumble of words without much thought to organization...Oh well, at least I am writing). More on the movie topic (but of course) later!

And my current obsession:

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Life skills and a story.

Everyone complains that the current schooling system is outdated -- large volumes of information that we are forced to read although we are not interested in it and we probably will end up forgetting most of it by the end of the year anyway to name a few. L~ sent me a link about a couple of kids who were home schooled in a pretty unconventional way by their parents -- they were just encouraged to read about their interests and they ended up scoring more in their SATs than most traditionally schooled kids. That's an interesting experiment, one that I would probably be too chicken to try on r~ but nice to know.

Anyway, one skill that they did not teach me at school is life skills! Duh, that's what you learn by living, you say? Well yes but a little help along the way would have gone a long way. Recently, I noticed that I was not very equipped with dealing with difficult situations at Tachibana (of all places!) So, we had gone there to send off a friend who was quitting work to establish her own business (so cool!) and as expected most of the items on the menu were not vegetarian which was a bit awkward for me and s~. So, here we are sitting around this round table, 15-20 of us from work and we are trying to ask the waiter if x was meat-free, the sauce was meat-free and also trying to make ourselves understood. By the end of it, I was slightly turning pink and wondering if I was creating a scene. Just then, k~ turns to s~ and me and says, "You might want to make sure the rice is not rolled in pork sauce" and he laughed when he caught our eyes popping out. The joke put me at ease and then I forgot all about the awkwardness.

The other time, another coworker had posted a Facebook status update about a difficult time his family was going through and how they had managed to pull through -- the entire story was published in a local newspaper and he had posted a link to the article. I went through a series of emotions -- empathy, sympathy, sadness, guilt (don't ask)...and then left a "Happy for you...blah" -- one of those standard, trademark responses. And then I read a comment left by another of my coworkers, something along the lines of "Neat stuff...the article didn't mention that you continue to be a healthy, robust young man...(something about his volleyball skills)" and it made me laugh. Here it was again -- a light-hearted comment for a heavy situation that worked!

And I was thinking, where do they pick these skills from? This ability to joke in the face of adversity, awkwardness and this ability to dispel an embarrassing/sad situation and inject smiles into it? So anyway, that's the kind of education I wish I had received. Perhaps, it's the American schooling system; while it has its drawbacks, maybe it teaches what Indian schools fail to teach? Maybe one day, I'll watch r~ interact in a formal crowd and learn from her ;)

For now, here's something I do know to do (or I claim to know to do :): a 3 minute short story based on a photo.
(Woohoo! 100 fans on my facebook page!)

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About grass and India and women and the pursuit of happiness.

How much truth is there to the observation that the grass is greener on the other side? It's become one of those tired old cliches but what exactly is it supposed to mean? That no matter where you are in life, you want to be or do something the person across is doing? Is it just a cliche to hide petty jealousies and envies behind a thin veneer of words? Anyway, this week is ♪repetition vaaaaaram♪ as they would say on Sun TV and so I am going to type up my thoughts as quick as I can (Unfortunately, I do have some work that needs to be done today) before I head home.

So, I've heard of several theories that claim that choices inherently make a human being less happy. Simple choices, simple life, peace. By that definition America would be a very unhappy country but I'll put that thought in the back burner for now (As my English teacher at DAV used to say). Going by that logic, if I did not have a choice to come to America or a choice to go back to India now, would I be happier? Does that mean me would have been happier living in Des having never lived and experienced life in this country? Or would I be one of those folks who really wanted to come abroad but for some reason or just bad luck maybe could not? And then, would I be spending my days envying the greener grass on the other side?

And if I did not have a choice to return to dear old mera Bharath mahaan now, would I be happier because my life is lived here and can only be lived here (because of whatever reason)? Or would I then be cursing my luck for not having saved enough or worked hard enough to move back to India? Would I be envying those brave and fortunate people who actually crossed the seas back home? I can't say for sure because I am not in a position where the choice is not available for me.

This brings me to another question about us women. As a teenager, I was a little bit of a feminist in the sense that I viewed the hard life of women and the lack of recognition as a misery that they tolerated because they had no choice. But then, did they tolerate that life or were they happy living under a roof with their family able to cook and provide food for the umpteen mouths that needed to be fed? And the husband that needed to be appeased at the end of a hard day's work? Were they just happy that they had it in them to do so much -- cook, clean, birth, please day after day? Or did they see it as a drudgery that they had no escape from? Did the lack of choice make them happier than modern women? We keep coming across statistics that claim modern women make more money, have more freedom and yet are unhappier while the men folk have raced ahead in terms of happiness. Is this because we have so many choices in front of us -- work/stay at home, provide outside care for your child/care for your child at home or even the basic cook/take out? I guess for women of the previous generation -- providing outside care for kids, working outside the house, ordering take outs were not an option, were they? They did their jobs and at the end of the day, snored their way into the next chore-filled morning. But, what went on in their heads? Just thoughts about how to manage the children and their school work and house hold chores and finance? Or did they dream of some version of me-time too? :)

It's hard to generalize and banish choices as evil. Sometimes choices rock -- Hersheys Bliss white chocolate or Lindt white chocolate? (Provided you are not thinking, exercise to lose the extra pounds or just pack them on and give up the slim-wicked-mom-figure ideal)...

So, if it's all in the mind and it's all about choices, can anyone be happy pretending their life was the one choice they had and they better work at it and make it the best one they had? You know, how you keep hearing about people who survived accidents or were laid off and the shock jolted them towards what they really wanted in their lives? Perhaps if we are clever enough, we can sort of do the jolting without the precursor. Just put our minds on time-out and ask them to sort the mess inside them asap -- basically, Quit crapping and go get a life, willya?!

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Restless spirit

I remember watching a movie a long time ago about this woman who moves because she gets restless in one place (Was it Chocolat?). I feel like that nowadays. I am trying to figure out if my life goes in circles alternating between at-peace and restless or if this feeling is genuine and I really need a change.

When I was at Bits, while I managed to have a wonderful time, at the back of my mind, I kept wishing for a transfer to the Computer Science stream. I would dream of it day in and day out, hoping I would earn a GPA high enough to transfer to it end of the first year. I had a pretty good GPA but not > 9.5 which was what was needed to transfer to Computer Science. I would look at my friends who had enrolled for the 5 year degree BSc + an engineering degree and wonder if I should have done the same because my GPA would have enabled me to do a 5 year course with Computer Science...anyway, that's all water under the bridge...

And finally, I did manage to get a Masters in that exact field and all the while stressed about getting a job. I wished to be confident like all those people who had an undergraduate degree also in the same field. Finally, the job arrived and then I started this whole nostalgia drama about returning to India.

And now, the latest to my list is to quit my job and become a stay at home mom. There. I have said it out aloud. That's what I want to do. But, I am just scared of the consequences of quitting. Also, at this point, I am not really certain of my reasons for wanting to quit. I just know they are many and they drop in for a tete-a-tete almost every day. To the point where I am sitting in a meeting and mentally going over a checklist of my reasons to quit and how we'll handle the financial side of it.

On one level, I do see the advantages of my position. I have a job that is relatively stress free and has many benefits but something doesn't feel right and am trying to place my finger on it. My motivation seems to have gone in for a late hibernation and I reckon it's not coming back any time soon. Also even if I do end up getting a super interesting assignment at work (which is certainly not the case now), do I want it? r~ seems to have entered an unbelievably cute phase and I really don't want to miss it -- we actually have conversations which is wonderful and makes my eyes well up with pride...I can't really tell until that actually happens and I have to spend extra hours at work, I guess.

So anyway, where does that leave me? k tells me I'll get bored at home. So, I asked him where I would find the time to get bored?! r~ should take care of that part for me.

Some people quietly argue in their heads and then confidently take a decision and make peace with it. I am not one of them. I ponder and rethink and analyze and ask and consult and then finally when everyone's done with it, I take the leap and hence this post.

For now, my mind is a mess of questions and...possibilities. The grass is oh-so-verdant now on the other side, I want to take the jump right now and live my life the way I want to! Gonna be logical about this and flip a coin soon as I go home.

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Say Aaaa, Bbbb...

Pre-r (which is how I am going to call my pre-parent days), I used to notice one common characteristic among parents. Whenever they had their baby with them, they would try to convince the baby to do something fascinating like saying the alphabets or singing a song or even dancing a particular piece. It almost never worked. The kid would look shy and hide behind the parent or would just look blank and do nothing. I would excitedly wait for the kid to do its wonder but couldn't help wondering what made the parents want so desperately for the kid to perform. I believed them, that the kid can say its alphabets or sing a little jingle or tap dance; then why the attempts to coerce the unwilling kid to do that?

Now, I know. Of course, I know! When friends drop by, I try to not request r~ to do this or that but I can't help myself. She would have just recited her numbers with that steal-your-heart-away mazhalai or done the cutest little poonai-walking imitation and I am so proud/elated/excited that I want to show the world what a genius she is (which am sure is pretty much how a parent feels when their child says "Aaaa Bbbb Sheeee" the first time :-)

Anyway when we have company, we usually and predictably have a scene that goes something like this:

"Kannamma, poona epadi nadakkum kaami?"

"Aeh." That's how she refuses requests when she feels what is asked of her is beneath her level of accomplishments.

"Kanna, amma cake tharen poonai epadi nadakkum kaami?" I am now sitting in front of her at her eye-level which I have read is how you communicate effectively with kids. Bribing with cake was not mentioned but it works occasionally, so...

"Cak."

"Modalla poona madiri pannu."

"Caaaaaaaake." And now she makes her cute-whiny face. So, five minutes later after she has had cake or equally acceptable replacement, I try a different tactic.

"Kannu, 1-2?"

"Onnnnne..."

"Yes, yes. 1-2 Buckle?"

"Onnne..."

"1-2?"

"Aeh"

So, I give up and by now the guests are anyway bored and looking at the clock. The moment the door closes I hear,

"One-Too bucke mashoo, thee foa dooooor, fiiiive six pickupsti, shevem ate laaaay, naaan ten, heeeen."

And then "Cockadoo..."

I swear next time, am going to hide and record her and then just play the video when people drop by!

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Apppy...

That's how r~ says "Happy" when the "Happy Birthday" song plays on TV. When I turned 30, I acted like the typical drama queen -- resisting, reminiscing, wondering how this chunk of my life would turn out. But the big three-oh turned out to be fine mostly and in addition to a little love bundle in my arms, I managed to get a book out there. Check, check (as Monica would say). And now, I am at that crossroads again wondering what this year will bring. A published novel would be nice. It would be reaaallly nice. And then I would be one of those cool moms who could claim that they took care of their baby while working from home on something they were passionate about. But, I am not that mom now. I am just a mom who is turning a year older who is dreaming big dreams while her little one continues to throw delightful little challenges her way and melt her heart with her love (I could talk a lot more about r~ but I'll reserve that for my secret mommy blog ;)

One of these years, I am going to approach a birthday thinking Ok, I am there. This is where I wanted to be and this is where I am. 35. Yup, that sounds about right. 35 is going to be the year when I am going to breathe a sigh of peace and just be.

Anyway for now, k has threatened to buy me a complicated piece of technology for my birthday.

"But, I don't want that whatever-you-call-it. I want you to find a publisher."

"You didn't give me anything expensive for Valentines day..." (k attempts to imitate the inverted sad "U" that r~ makes with her mouth), "Just this, this...."

He is staring at the card that r~ and I made for him. It's a print of her hand with three little hearts drawn on it.

"Don't say the wrong thing..."

"This...priceless card." And then he seems lost for words.

Yup, can't go wrong when baby helps make a card for dear husband :)

"Anyway", he continues, "This will help you get there..." (now pointing to the amazon page touting the product).

"I don't want that thingamajigi. It will make me feel more guilty for having spent money towards writing and not succeeding. Why can't you find a publisher for me?"

"'Coz that's hard. Almost impossible."

Retracts statement quickly after catching my expression, "Well, not impossible. But very very hard...umm...somewhat hard? Look, why don't you check out what I am buying for you?"

Still sulking, "Other husbands support their wives' dreams."

But by now, I have lost him. He is excitedly reading about the thingie that he is going to buy that can convert my voice to text.

Oh well, at least I have a ring now.

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The ringless situation.

So, I've been asking k for a new ring with my birthstone in it ever since my old one got yucky and gave my ring finger a weird looking wrinkle. He has tried all techniques that husbands employ -- agreeing and then pretending that he forgot, plain dilly-dallying, pretending to focus on blank spot with more intensity, changing the topic to li'l r (This is a good one, I fall for it almost all the time), asking me about myself or my blogs (This one works well too), throwing in random related questions, "Yeah, you think we should check out the rings in the mall?" and then, "What's for dinner?" He is too smart to refuse because he knows the consequences of said refusal but at this point I am weary and annoyed that my delicate ring finger still does not sport a glittering sapphire (or whatever my birth stone is) ring shining with the promised love of our marriage. And so, I tried a different tactic the other night:

"Where's my ring?"

"It's coming honey."

"I don't want it."

"Why? The ring is slowly on its way."

"Don't want it."

At this point, the conversation sort of petered out and wanting to prove my point, I add "Because if you buy me the ring, I will refuse to accept it. I suppose for that purpose, I would need a ring."

Looks confused, "Okay..."

"Because, I have my ego and my ring-less finger has waited long enough."

Confused look replaced my faint ray of comprehension but then goes back to looking confused again.

"Because..." At this point, I have run out of becauses, however would like to continue conversation so said ring finds its place on my ring-less finger.

"Because, there is no love left in our marriage."

"Huh?" I admit some genuine bafflement crossed his face but he was not very forthcoming.

"I don't want the ring."

And then to emphatically state what was on my mind, I add "I don't want the ring."

So anyway, am waiting for the ring since Val day is around the corner and k is sorta predictable that way. I need to prepare my rejection speech for the ring (unless of course it's a really really cute ring).

Arrrg. Why can't I be the type of girl that excitedly pointed to the ring she adored and shared it with an equally delighted girl-friend. And then k would contact said girl-friend without my knowledge, get said ring in the right size (and he would know the size because he would have secretly taken my engagement ring along with him), have it gift-wrapped in a lovely shiny white box with a little pink bow on top and then tada! You get the picture?

Man in black suit, white box in hand, down on one knee...ending with, "I can't accept this ring. The ring acceptance time has expired!"



I am not saying it has to be this ring, just saying (I swear I didn't pick it up just because it is insanely expensive and that is a fitting revenge, I really liked it)...

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Spark!

A few of my friends from Bits came up with this creative venture -- Spark! It's a fun literary magazine and I am amazed at how good the layout looks -- very catchy and colorful!

This month, I am "writer of the month" -- so thrilled! Do read my article on love (What else?) and of course the rest of the magazine -- it's one hell of a romantic journey!

Take me to Spark!

Also, been messing with my blog layout in an attempt to make it look not so ancient but in the process lost my blog-roll :( If you happen to remember being on this page, please do let me know, I really do want you here!

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This strange thing called love

I've been in the mood for poetry for some time now. So, until I get it out of my system, you will be subjected to saccharine doses of it here :)

This strange thing we call love
Of roses and stars and little white doves;
Painted black and white and everything in between
Every hue that colors the dreams of sweet sixteen;

When fluttering lashes and eyes that beguile
meet thudding hearts and bashful smiles,
Unbidden flow,
my hidden tears and lyrical words,
withering in your stormy moods;

Each speak a tale that is its very own,
Etched eternal in hearts that are sworn
to the magic, the mystery, the miracle of the moment!

Look closely and you will find,
buried in the stones, perhaps left far behind;
A lonely sea shell, opening its heart to you
Singing sweet songs just for you!

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Hazaron Kwaishe Aisi

Couldn't resist trying this translation out. Was drawn in by the first line and hence this ludicrous attempt (No poison pens please!):

Desires flood my heart, each stealing my breath away...
And with each escaped wish, they grow more within...

Tales that abound of Eden scorning Adam
Fade when they face my forlorn separation from you

As if love distinguished between life and death!
I live every dying breath, unwavering eyes locked on your furtive glances

Heavens forbid that you disarrange your sacred veil!
Lest they too hide my beloved's face!

A world separates the preacher from drunken merriment;
Yet I (Ghalib) chanced upon him by the tavern

hazaaron Khvaahishen aisii ki har Khvaaish pe dam nikale
bahut nikale mere armaaN lekin phir bhii kam nikale

nikalanaa Khuld se aadam kaa sunate aaye hain lekin
bahut beaabaruu hokar tere kuuche se ham nikale

muhabbat men nahiin hai farq jiine aur marane kaa
usii ko dekh kar jiite hain jis kaafir pe dam nikale

Khudaa ke vaaste pardaa na kaabe se uThaa zaalim
Kahiin aisaa na ho yaaN bhii vahii kaafir sanam nikale

KahaaN maiKhaane ka daravaazaa 'Ghalib' aur kahaaN vaaiz
par itanaa jaanate hain kal vo jaataa thaa ke ham nikale

k (who is a great big fan of shayaris and ghazals and Jagjit Singh and stuff) and I brain-stormed this afternoon to figure out the meaning of the verses. But several of them could be interpreted in various ways. I still can't tie the last two lines to the song. What does he mean when he comments on the preacher at the bar? Is the preacher Ghalib himself? Perhaps he thought he was above such merriment but met himself (lured into) and walking out of it?

And the lines preceding that -- whom is he talking to? Who should not lift the veil? Some lady he meets? I assumed he met a woman with a veil on her face and requests that her veil not be lifted lest it hide the face of the woman he loves but cannot get...

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Little RS.

What is the deal with my memory? The only solid memory I have of my early childhood (defined as 0-5 years) is my Tamil teacher at Bain school holding my notebook up to the class, "Enna muthu mutha ezhudirukaa parunga!" (Handwriting like neat pearls...) and then behind the notebook she gives me one of her trademark looks and whispers, "Note cover podu!" (Wrap your notebook with cover! You know...that brown paper cover and label?)

And that's it -- the sum total of my earlier memories. What is wrong with me?!!!! My bro, L~ can remember what he cooed when he was 6 months old (Ok, that's an exaggeration but really he remembers EVERYTHING!), my mom remembers stuff clearly from when she was five years old, dad remembers swimming in the village pond and all that good stuff from his childhood. Why am I the odd one out?

I wonder if it's like some sort of weird first child genetic defect but that theory fails since my eldest perimma has an awesome memory too. I don't really know if my dad's elder brother has a good memory but I am willing to bet he does and anyway this genetic stuff comes from the mom's side mostly right (You gotta assume some stuff to prove a theory!)?

My next memory is of being extremely traumatized when we shifted to Bangalore. I would cry for days looking at the Kannada speaking newscaster and miss our dear old Shobana Ravi. I remember this really old Kannada cook/maid we had who was there more for company than any real work! I remember my cousins turning up at B'lore to spend the summer vacation with us.

And then my next memory is my Kannada teacher "helping me out" in a class test which made me feel extremely uncomfortable and she helped me out because she is also my tuition teacher. She taught her son and me together. That was when I was say 10 years old.

I remember feeling thrilled when dad announced we would be moving back to Madras! I remember mom helping me out with my Tamil Bharatiyar essay (I insisted on taking Tamil as my third language) and I remember I came first in Tamil -- yay!

So anyway, back to the original topic -- what is the deal with my head? Where are all the older thoughts and images? Is my head doing some sanity garbage collecting stuff to prevent overloading? Maybe I am thinking too many thoughts and there's only so much your brain can hold alongside memories. Do thoughts and memories actually compete for brain space? Maybe all that theory about us using like a 0.00056 % of our actual brain capacity is not applicable in my case -- where #thoughts increase exponentially with time. In any case, I am quite upset about the whole deal. It's like I lived a whole life, ok a whole 10-15% of my life without my knowledge. Was I a happy child? Who were the people around me? What actually happened?

So yeah. If you knew me when I was anywhere between 0 - 10, please do tell me. What was I like? Did I love popsicles just like r~? Was I mischievous? Charming? Obnoxious? Pretty? Mom tells me a bunch of stories about how I was as a kid but that's not really a first person account, you know? So, I reckon, if I get a sum-total of all my childhood stories from people, I can get an over-all picture of who I was as a little person.

For now, going to be in angst until next birth.

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100 stories for Haiti

If you love to write and want to help for a good cause, do check out 100 stories for Haiti, the deadline is January 27. My entry went in today.

All the proceeds from the e-book sales goes towards the Red Cross. For more details and where to buy the book, see 100 stories for Haiti

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The road to independence.

Sometimes, I think I am in the wrong place. I suppose I could attribute this to my laziness too but I won't do that. Instead, I'll proceed assuming I am right.

"This" is a place that values independence and privacy. That's great, extremely cool especially when you want to tune out the blah..blahs of well-meaning people who want to improve your lives. But then, unlike k, I never really had much of a problem with "well meaning advice" from folks. I like to ask people for their opinions and even if they happen to offer it when I didn't ask for it, it's not too much of a big deal (Unless of course, you are living with me and forcing me to follow your advice which doesn't happen often anyway).

But, "this" is also a place where they expect you to drive alone to the grocery store when it's freezing outside and you are an octogenarian! Ok, I admit. India also is not full of youngsters rushing out to do the shopping for their aging grandparents. But, at least in India, you can afford it (Yes, there are poor people in India, really really poor people but this post is not about them) and it's not so cold (Ok fine, silly point, I can move to Florida but I won't, so there!)

"This" is a place where a mom drives her few weeks old baby alone for a doctor's appointment (No comforting grandma in the backseat regaling the child with stories of "When your mom was little..." or cute Tamil baby songs). The baby is probably screaming in the back facing car-seat and the mom has no option but to drive. There are moms that do that here and look competent and unfrazzled. Not me! I don't think I have it in me to take Radhika alone to a doc's appointment (at least when she was little and she would do those scary, purple-faced, breathless cries!)

And then there are the small things -- the devil of the matter! The whole DIY culture! I just am not a part of it! I find it hard to take the trash outside -- no, not because I am lazy but because it's icy outside, the trash is heavy and it has to be lifted outside to dump. Not an easy task for a muscle-challenged woman like me! Then, there are the regular household maintenance stuff -- a leaky faucet, an un-mowed lawn, an un-caulked hole leaking cold air, a broken storm door; a million small worries that can't be fixed by me! Yes, I can take a wood-working course and I can learn to repair the faucet but it's tedious and tiresome and I just don't have the energy to learn that and then attempt to fix it or even to nag k for the nth time get it done. I can call Benjamin Franklin each time to fix the flush but that costs a nice $150!

And then there are the weird unknown places to drive to -- for doctor's appointments, for your children's classes, for stuff to buy! I am not a big fan of driving but I manage pretty decently somehow except when one of these adventure routes crop up and then I have lost all ability to navigate and drive! Add a baby in this mix and I am one lost and dependent woman. I mean, I can't just park by the side when I am driving on New Circle road and wave down the nearest dude to ask for directions while Rads sits happily talking to herself in the back-seat (Ha haa!), can I? Seriously, where are the affordable auto rickshaws when you need them? (Yes admittedly, they do take their shares of U-turns and Rs.200 over the meter but they take you where you need to go and in the end that's all matters.)

It's like the more I make myself independent -- learn to drive, learn to drive with Rads (Yes, big difference!), learn to hang a photo frame(!), the more they creep up all around me and the more dependent I seem to become!

So, I'll say it. I like being an independent woman in some respects. That's a highly qualified declaration. If being an independent woman here means to seal your garage so your bedroom right above it doesn't feel like it's in Iceland then no, I really don't want to be that woman spending 3 hours with pink foam, sticking it patiently to the garage shutter (which incidentally is what k did). If being independent means wearing rugged overalls and roaming around with a heavy hammer and a set of 18 different screws, nope, not me. I know where the turn-off valve is for our water supply and there ends my knowledge of faucet problems!

I can give birth, take care of baby, code, cook, clean the house, dance and write but there ends my level of independence. In that respect, I suppose I am a traditional Indian woman, aren't I? The million other things that this place expects an independent woman to do, I can't or really just don't want to. So, am I just a h4 visa :p?

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House wife? Home maker? SAHM and all that.

My friend, b~, tells me I like to go around in circles, analyzing and re-analyzing an issue ad nauseum (Well, he didn't use those words exactly but in essence this is what he meant). I suppose my life goes in circles sometimes where a relevant issue keeps occupying mental space and rising up to the occasion to shine every now and then and going back to oblivion (like r2i). The current issue being whether I want to be an SAHM.

Unlike in France or in Australia or even India (6 months maternity leave I hear), America has deigned that 6 weeks is all a mom needs to bond and nurture her child before bounding back to work in a size-6 outfit refreshed and re-energized from her nice long break. Ok fine, sarcasm doesn't lend itself to my writing but you get my point?

What's the big deal? Give up your job and quit whining, you want to say. But, you are nice too and probably won't say this to my face but this probably crosses your mind while you wonder how to phrase it all nicely. Somehow, that decision is not easy. There is the house with the mortgage, the parents back in India, the child's college education to cover, emergency funds and America's obsession -- the retirement funds. Even if you can manage to ignore the financial aspect of the choice, consider the woman who decides to stay back home to bring up her child. Does society treat her as it treats a working woman? "Oh, she is just a house wife" has probably improved to "She is a SAHM" but come on! Stay-at-home-mom? Work-your-ass-off-mom is more like it. I stayed back six months at home (unpaid of course), so I know what an SAHM does. Like I read somewhere, it's the most under-valued job in the world and probably the only job which inspite of being immensely challenging has no perks -- no vacation, no recognition; I won't add no-money to that list because the satisfaction that a mom gets by staying back and taking care of her kid at home cannot ever be matched by $$.

But assume, you did go back to work like me, now there is the whole relative grading at work to consider. Obviously, no business is going to give you high marks for taking time off for baby. And so you got to work your way up the ladder again (if you so choose to do) and convince your boss that yes, this brain somehow can manage to hold much more than just baby-thoughts. Thank you. I wonder how woman executives reached where they did? What suffered, I wonder...the child? The marriage? Her health? Because you know...something's gotta give!

And so, I had my argument points ready and thus armed, I confronted k. But I am no match when it comes to crunching numbers with him and so forty-five minutes later with my head reeling with facts and figures about expenses and risks, I admited defeat, at least for the present.

And so the nanny interviews continue...and I suppose I am an SAWM for now (because seriously, compared to parenting, anyone can dish out a few kilobytes of code. No offense meant -- And I say that because long back in another world, I lost a friend because I argued with her when she said, "My mom is just a house wife, what does she know?" to which I suppose I should not have responded, "Just because you are doing your Ph.d doesn't mean..." or maybe that was the right thing to say because that's exactly what I thought...whatever, old stories, old lessons).

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