Swings & Roundabouts

The friendly neighbourhood mango seller a.k.a mom!

I asked P to strike a pose and here’s what I got for my pains!

Here’s the cheeky chappie himself!

1. I can argue my point convincingly, even when I am not too sure I am right or even half-way there. Until I am proved irrevocably wrong, there’s no way you’ll get me to retract my statement.

2. I blag my way through most things by knowing the bare minimum about something. For eg, I read the tidbit ‘Elegy by Grey’ in a Jennings & Darbishire book and the next day at school, took part in a discussion about poems and elegies by saying one thing of note: ‘The Elegy was written by Grey’.

3. I insisted my parents take me out of my ‘comfy as old slippers’ school to this rather posh one solely because my brother was going to it and I wanted to stamp out any unfair favouritism, refusing to listen to reason. Then I have spent the rest of my life moaning about my crappy school.

4. When I hit my late teens, I developed this major desire to have big brothers (!). I tried to find a solution to this by tying rakhi on a few friends’ wrists. (Am sure to hear more of this as at least one of them checks this blog out now and then!!)

5. I love curd. (Anti-thesis of that curd-hater Ams!) I always need thayir sadam to complete a meal. When I was new to the UK, I used to have a bowl of curd rice even after a main course of pasta or noodles! (sariyana thayir sadam!)

I was just going through my laptop files for some important scanned documents when I came across some old pictures. Pictures of my little boy that brought tears to his silly mum’s eyes. To see him as he was three years back, chubby and still in the throes of babyhood. So I thought I’d share some of those pix with you lot.

Here he is with his favourite comfort blanket, rather like M.Karunanidhi. He calls it ‘Nemo fleece’ (his first ever fave movie was ‘Finding Nemo’).

Size does matter!

Walking a mile in my shoes!

In the driving seat, every time!

I am sooo good!

Isn’t he gorgeous? *sigh* Whatever have I done with the years? Wouldn’t it be super if I could turn the clock back and see my chubby cheeked wonder again?

…. cos no one will do it for me! Nah, seriously, this is one of those ‘feel good’ tags, I’m told by the blessed being that tagged me. Some folks have loads of things to write home about. After reading Prems’ impressive list, I can safely conclude I will not be one of them. So what the hell am I going to list in the ’8 things I am proud of’? Good q!

1. Ok, let’s see …. having a ‘never say never’ attitude that has seen me through the tough times; a Flubber-like mentality that refuses to be squashed or sat upon. There’s a solution to every problem, that’s my firm belief. Until you find it, there’s always Plum and A R Rahman to take your mind off it!

2. My indomitable courage that saw me recently live in firang land with just little P for company. Though the pressure of being the sole being responsible for him was scary, it got easier. The same courage helped me deal with P’s operation in India before he turned a year old and S’s major car crash in the UK on the same day without folding.

3. My determination to see things to their bitter end, like, getting that blasted driving licence even after two years (on and off, not continuous!) of lessons and a few attempts. Refusing to throw in the towel though S has suggested I give it up.

4. Never bowing down to what’s ‘cool’ and what’s not. Not caring a hoot about being different.

5. My dreams. My impossibly grand dreams. Dreams of making it big, of setting up my family for life, of becoming someone of note, becoming a person P would say ‘that’s my mummy!’

6. Starting off in my job as a newbie, but learning the inner workings of it through sheer diligence and climbing a good many notches in a span of two years. And now, having the guts to change direction yet again and go into uni.

7. Never admitting a weakness as one, fully expecting to get out of it by blagging my way out of it. ‘Ride a bike? Why when can have a better time letting someone else do it for me?’ ‘Housework? Why when I can immerse myself in my latest book and have a far better time?’

8. Above all, am proud of me for my beautiful boy – I know he is his own person and all that jazz but seeing him, listening to the way he processes things and the way he is, well, some of that should be from me, right?

Ok, I have to tag 8 people to carry on this torture – so, Apu, Ams,Dee, Kishmish, Suj, MM, Tharini and Dubukks – take it away, folks!

Remember the rules :

1. You have to say eight things about you that you are proud of yourself. Then write the rules at the end.

2. You have to tag eight others to follow tag. You have to let them know you have tagged them.

No, I am not doing a Daniel Pewter here. It is just a summation of the stinker of the day I had. It got off to a bad start when I decided to dust the cobwebs off my tummy trimmer thingummyjig and actually use it. Bad idea! It was propped up tight against the exercise bike (which I use to dry clothes mainly) and when I tugged it hard, it shot out and hit me on my soft head hard enough that I saw stars. I tell ya – exercising is bad for health!

I pootled off to work with the sore head and this screechy woman rings me barely five minutes after I’ve sat down. I wanted to wring her neck! Now I really was feeling what they meant when they said ‘hammer & tongs’ – I was all set to lie down and weep by lunch time. That was when I decided to get a drink and wouldn’t you know it, barely has the first drop gone down my throat when I choke on it and go into paroxysms of cough. Jeez!

Just when I was wondering if my day could be any worse, like Ross, I learnt that some eager beaver at work has taken my name off the company rolls, a full month before I am scheduled to leave. *sigh*

Come on, Daniel, sing with me – you’ve had a bad day…

For someone so young, P can spin stories like a pro. We learned fairly early on to never trust every thing he said, especially when he’s spouting stuff with a wicked glint in his eyes. Friends have found this out for themselves at great peril. To see him denying things, with an angelic look on his face is a sight, indeed!
Recently we were visiting friends and as it was a hot day, we sat at this nice pub by a canal and were quenching our collective thirst when a narrowboat came along. A man jumped out, went to the bridge across the canal, and opened the lock. The bridge swung out near where we were sitting and a few older boys jumped on it. P wasn’t going to be left behind, oh no! He stood on the edge, much like a ship’s captain and observed the proceedings. The minute the bridge became one, he lit out and made a mad dash towards us. He came to me, huffing and puffing and went ‘did you see what I did, mummy?’
And I replied ‘oh yes, baby, did you enjoy it?’
To which he went ‘Oh no! It wasn’t me that wanted to do it. Uncle did – he made me go up there. I was almost hit by the car!’
Needless to say, it was a good while before the couple could close their mouths.

He also has a ready-made reply for most situations.

‘P, shall we go and pick up daddy from whereever?’
‘Nah’
‘Why not?’
‘No need, mummy. Daddy is a big boy, he can find his way back by himself’.

Then there was the time he found a spider in the tub. I had noticed it a few minutes back and had left it there to see what his reactions would be. As he walked in to brush his teeth, he noticed the bug and let out a shout. Then there was silence.
I was puzzled. Not for long, though. He came out couple of minutes later with the explanation.
p: ‘There was a spider in the tub, mummy’
Me: Really? What is it doing now?
P: Oh, it got died.
Me: How come?
P: The water came and splashed it and it got died.
Me: How did the water come and land on it?
P: Oh I turned the taps on.
Me: So you killed it then?
P: Oh no, it wasn’t me! I just turned the taps on. It was the water that killed the spider.

As if one needs more proof of his way with words, here’s an excerpt from our conversation as we walked back home from school today.

Me: So, baby, did you have a good time at school?
P: Yep.
Me: What’s that star on your t-shirt for?
P: Oh that is for when I did some counting and didn’t use my fingers. I had to add 10 and 6 but I did not use my fingers. I just used my brain. I used the fingers in my brain!

Every night, as he prepares to go to bed, P and I have a routine. After a story, I generally make him lie down on my lap and he’ll moan ‘can I go to my bed now?’ Off we’d go and I’d lie down with him for a while, wish him good night and slink away. Last night, I got a rude shock. As I started the ole song and dance, P went ‘can I go to my bed by myself now?’

I was shocked!
‘Why?’, spluttered I.

‘Cos I am a big boy now’, says he.
sigh

The UK media has been flooded with images and news reports of four-year old Madeline McCann, who disappeared from the Algarve, Portugal, more than three weeks ago. She was holidaying in Portugal along with her parents and twin younger siblings. On May 3, 2007, she disappeared from the family’s holiday apartment at the Pria de Luz, even as her parents dined at a restaurant right opposite. They had checked in on her barely thirty minutes back.

She hasn’t been seen ever since.

This is every parent’s worst nightmare come to life; being a mum of a toddler myself, I cannot even begin to imagine what the poor McCanns must be going through every single second. Not a day goes by without them seeking some form of sustenance in the form of prayers and visits to sacred churches, to pray for the safe return of their daughter.

They have vowed to find their missing child at all costs. Public funds have been set up to aid in the search and celebrities like J K Rowling and Simon Cowell, amongst others, have contributed to this. The McCanns are hoping the toddler’s distinct right eye, where the iris bleeds into the pupil, would prove to be a valuable tool in the search.

Here’s hoping the child is returned safe and sound to her parents’ soon.

Meanwhile, I came across this poignant blog, set up by friends of a desi in US who has gone missing. This is no helpless toddler; this is a man grown, who went hiking and hasn’t been heard of since. But, he is still is parents’ child and I am sure they are just as desperate for news of Kiran’s whereabouts as the McCanns are of Madeline.

When people go missing, it somehow feels worse than death. At least with death, you get to say goodbye, you grieve for your loss and you try to pick the pieces. When a loved one goes missing, how does one bear it? There is no news of what has happened, a constant state of ‘are they well? how/where/in what condition are they?’ that goes through the family and friends’ minds non-stop.

I once read this novel of Mary Higgins Clark, where a child is abducted and sold to a couple who cannot have children. The childless couple bring her as their own and she lacks nothing. She doesn’t know she isn’t biologically theirs till she is almost thirty and that too, by sheer accident. Meanwhile, her birth family goes through sheer hell – her mother’s mission in life is tracing her lost daughter and she neglects her husband and older son; the parents get divorced and the brother grows up somehow, with the ghost of his missing sister constantly there. I remember reading it and thinking ‘how ghastly’. The mum in me shuddered at the turmoil her family lives through.

I now hope and pray for the well being of these children, and the hundreds of missing loved ones the world over. I hope the parents’ search is over soon and the children find their way back home, safe and sound.

Edited to add: I am really saddened to note that Kiran’s lost his life in a freak accident while trekking in the Yosemite with friends. According to news reports, he slipped and fell into the whitewater. His body was found Tuesday, May 29, ten days after he went missing. My sincere condolences to his family and friends.

Madeline McCann is still missing.

I was chatting with a blogging mate of mine about the stuff that life’s generally made of – Bill Bryson, DC writers with a penchant for ignoring rules, assorted idiots who cannot read / absorb the clear Comments policy, Bangalore weather v Chennai, relative merits of LinkedIn, Orkut, Tagged etc when the topic arrived, some how, at girls. Well, this isn’t such a shocking concept considering I am a card carrying member of the species but in this instance, it is the lack of eligible bachelorettes that was causing said mate some problems.

Birthdays arriving thick and fast, with no suitable girl sending a gushing Val’s day card has proved to be the bane of his mum’s life and she has recently given up dropping subtle hints in favour of actively jabbing him with the fork during meal times, in an effort to make him get the skates on and get on with the job of getting her a daughter in law, like NOW.

In this enlightened day and age, us being blogoholics and all that, what better way to kick start this modern day head hunt than, well, blog about it? Rather like the matrimonial version of The Apprentice, we are now inviting applicants for the enviable role of a permanent partner of Mr K. Of course, there are a few stipulations: that the applicant must be a girl, is an obvious one. She must also belong to the enviable TamBram community of South India, in order to please the senior cast member.

Interested applicants leave a message in the comments and await our call eagerly.