'tis the season to be jolly

i was in the first year of my pre-degree course when my mother's mother, ammachi, had her first cardiac arrest. all phone calls were dotted with the words "heart attack." despite being discharged in a week, she went about her daily routines, always fretting over her husband, his meals, his clothes, his coming, his going. in less than a month she had another near-fatal cardiac arrest.

the bypass surgery was serious, and hardly heard of in Kerala, more than 15 years ago. it was in a hospital not far from our home, but in the neighbouring state. i didn't see mom for weeks. we had a domestic help brought in immediately from a relative's house who managed the kitchen and housework. i learnt to operate the washing machine. 

ammachi stayed on with us for another couple of months. i learnt and met about most relatives on my mother's side in those two months. mom's cousin had started a business in hand loom saris. she came with five saris. mom could not will herself to buy it. but ammachi, she bought one with a border of deep maroon and golden stripes. this was my introduction to how women held onto hope in unravelling circumstances!

it is December. when the lagging year suddenly picks up tempo. a new year is not that far away and its like there is a new lease to life. hope surges. and, i bring you another little diy, a zesty and spicy pomander to match the upbeat mood.

once you perforate the sweet limes with toothpicks, to pierce the cloves into it is simply easy-peasy. even the kids can do it. place it in with chocolates in an antique chest to set the mood for long conversations with friends. or hang it on door knobs to add interest and let the holiday waft in every room!

happy holidays!

beyond inception

Every day is a new birth. Every thought is the beginning of possibilities. There is hope and positivity in every second of everyday. Inception is, actually, easy. What is hard is the afterwards, the later-on, the middle of every battle.

I am now, in what can safely be called, the beginning of almost everything. My marriage is inching towards the seven year itch, and hoping it will go on for a long time. The kids are in kindergarten. I still feel a novice in the kitchen, and it always feels like my first day at the job whilst juggling the mundane chores, everyday.



Yet, there are moments, hours, days, when the tedium, the sheer repetetiveness of everyday gets demoralising. Telling myself that had I been an editor, I would be doing pages or issues over and over like every other job is not making me feel better anymore.

What has happened, I feel, is that I have reconciled to the nasty truth that I will not be working outside the house ever. Sure, everyone tells me that being a teacher is the best for me. I don't want to be around kids 24X7. God knows I am with kids, about kids, for kids all the time, just that they are mine and they are just two, so there really is nothing to feel great about.

Financial independence is not as enticing as the fact that I need to interact with adults, take on some responsibility and feel good at the end of the day that I have not neglected myself or the kids and chores.

But, what's scaring me at the moment is that I have yet to reach the middle with the plodding without results nowhere in sight, self-doubts and those of the path chosen and the call for higher qualities of patience and perseverance and faith. I cannot decide between wanting to see the future and marching into it unknowingly, unwaveringly.

I am sure by then, I will not have the courage to start again. No way, and let all these years go waste! The way I am, I think I'll just pick up the burden, adjust their weight so I am as comfortable as I can be under the circumstances and continue the journey.



There will be new friends cheering me on and old friends standing by me, strenghtening me, giving me solace. The 'middle' might not be the most pleasant place, but I would be less confused, more focused and experienced, and much more contained.

Giving birth is easy, not just because I had two C-sections. You are buoyed by anticipation and high on expectations. But, when the charm of mystery is gone and reality stares at you and ages of it, really, it takes much more than courage and strengh of character to look it back and give it all.

Wishful thinking? A girl's gotto dream :)

deja vu

All was back to routine. She sighed and sipped her morning cup of tea. It had been a flurry of activity and nerves the last three days. Her uncle and aunt were visiting along with their son and daughter-in-law and their two kids.
Se had fond memories of long stays in their home as a kid. And it was the first time they were coming over after her marriage. This felt special and she had wanted to make the occasion special.
After the phone call, she was excited to make it all happen. After all, there were just three days to lunch. And she was surprised to get cold feet because “what to cook?” kept flashing in her mind.
Sticking to what she knew best had been a really good idea, but she had not wanted to make her standard menu of biriyani. The guests were coming from Hyderabad and who could top a hyderabadi biriyani?
She smiled now as she remembered how she had wished and prayed fervently for some creative outburst or a flash of divine intervention to make that ho-hum flavour change to wow and yum!
The next day had been spent cleaning, clearing and sprucing up the house. When looking in the drawer for a table runner, she had come across two rose scented candles that she had completely forgotten about and now were placed on the coffee table.
She had smelt them more than once in the kitchen these last two days. They had brought back memories of holidays in her grandmother’s house in Kerala and the garden with bougainvilleas and ferns and roses and how every meal had a distinct flavour that still made her mouth water.
She had decided then that she would keep the menu simple, homely and easy so that it was also a pleasure to make. Her grandmother had looked happy as she had gone about her daily chores and that happiness reflected everywhere in the house.
She had bought the fish and the meat and everything else that would be needed. On the way to buy ice cream for the kids, in case they did not like fruits, she stopped at the florists and bargained for some pink carnations to match the runner.
That was how flower vase on top of the refrigerator had been put to some use for once. And in keeping with the homely theme, the simple fare was served with all lending a hand and bantering and bits of gossip and lots of laughter.
The hours had flown away and it had been time for them to leave. “I’m so glad you didn’t make biriyani,” her aunt had said, starting another fit of giggles.
All was back to routine now. As she stretched and finished her cup of tea, she was glad she had stuck to her instincts and made the lunch part of good memories for all.


The above excerpt was written more than three years ago, when I was probably obsessed about writing in the third person. But, I found the general feelings and thoughts echoed, as I got ready for friends who came to dinner Saturday night. But, to my credit, I was a lot faster this time!



As usual, it was simple, traditional and homely fare with lots of yellow roses and strong scents of green tea and lemon wafting from a corner in every room... was a little conscious of the 'doggie smell' that we don't even realise is there. I am thankful for the time spent together, the laughter and teasing and God! do I need to meet old friends more.



Have a lovely Sunday :)

long time!

Its been such a long time and really nothing much has happened in between! Its summer no more, but, cool and wet monsoon season now. Its been less than a week that I've been back from the annual holidays spent with the parents and the parents-in-law. A long list of "things to do" awaits me, but, its now time to sit awhile and sip some tea and just BE. Let the chores wait :)

typing out loud

There are so many things happening around me and with me. We, now, have neighbours next-door. Actually, since November last. But, the neighbourly feeling started during spring break with the kids having company they liked.

That left me and the mother next-door enough time to drink tea and chat about everything and sundry and lament our heart about why our kids simply refused to eat anything edible or cooked by their respective moms!

There, really, is something heartwarming about having good neighbours. For one, it makes you want to be good neighbourly folks. Then, if you need just one green chilly for the raita and can't be bothered to run down to the vegetable vendor four storeys below, you have a door to knock at, so it shall be given to you.

This joy that I am revelling in is being shadowed by the utter dread (hand on my heart) I am feeling at the prospect of Abi starting school in April. He loves sitting for a moment or two in the school bus, whenever one of the other kids is late. My heart knows, it will not be the same once he does it for real!

I started him in playschool two weeks ago (cringing at my tardiness) and the first week was smooth sailing. Then , after having played with all the toys there, he got tired of the whole business and now, clings to me wailing at the top his voice every day.

Sometimes, in the morning, he hides behind the curtains so I can't find him in time for school. Ingenuous are his ways, but not cute enough to stop determined-mother-on-mission to get him an idea of school.

After a month of school, its summer holidays and we take off for Kerala where we spend time with both sets of grandparents. At the end of the carefree days there, it is almost always a culture-shock for me as every responsibility falls back on my shoulders and I am homesick to the core.

Apart from that, I am excited at the prospect of having 8.00 am to 1.00 pm as a child-free zone. I have an offer to teach part-time at a college. I am blushing as I write that I will, in case I take up the offer, be teaching journalism! My journalism guru, will probably resign from his post as dean of the institute I studied in, if he hears word of this.

Now, this job is guaranteed by my friend, who in addition to being an editor at a magazine, has been teaching next-gen journalists for three years. I have to admit, him teaching is not the same as me teaching at all. He has work experience and I got married soon after internship and until three years ago, only wrote emails.

Maybe, it would be better for humanity, if I took the year to revive myself. I do, do feel drained and my neck always hurts.

*smiles*

It would be so nice to have two hours to myself five days a week. I could read all the books I wanted to. Maybe, go wander around in the nearby malls. Explore a by-lane, a new street. Deep clean my house. Enroll in a gym to feel fit and good... and get rid of some of the cellulite.

I could take a nap, sighs! I could get me a massage... a facial, where I have time for the face pack to actually dry. I could sit and stare, without having my eyes poked at by sticky fingers. Learn to meditate. Think about something other than medicine doses and to-do lists.

Practice yoga. Start learning classical music. Maybe not. Organise the kitchen. I could just be and contemplate and mull and wonder and feel rested and... I could go on and on.



As the days of my so-called freedom come near, I feel strongly about staying put in the house with myself. To get to know me as a mother and wife and actually learn what it is I actually need to fill in my life.

It was my dream to be employed by 2010, when I will be thirty. That wish seems shallow now. I might never be employed ever (twinge and grimace. But, now whatever it is I do, I want to do so knowing I can do it best because I love it so.

Insha allah!