Swings & Roundabouts

The short answer is, yes, very much. They are full of promise, of wonder, of discovery. There’s something about them that brings out the inner child in me. I cannot wait to get stuck in, to find out what this will lead to, to what lies in store for me.

It is the endings I can’t bear.

When you are a parent, no decision is easy, in my opinion. Even if you know something is good for your child, you are still wrecked with guilt. Well, at least I am. I never stop second / third / fourth guessing myself and generally go nuts.

Take our R2I (return to India) plans, for example. They have been in the pipeline for years now and we have argued the pros and cons of it from every angle possible. Is this the right thing? For us and the children? Will they be alright? Will our quality of life be affected? This is for the best, right? On and on, back and forth went our questions.

Finally, four years after we initially planned to return and after having watched many make the same trek home and claim happiness, we took the plunge. Date was marked, tickets booked and the plans were set in motion. This is it!

Then it was time to finally break it to the school. I had delayed this till the last possible minute, because once it was done, that was it, no going back. After a very pleasant 15-mins chat with the Head teacher, she stunned me with this question: Have you chosen a school for P already? Will the school you have in mind for him nurture his gentle spirit and help him grow? With a few simple words, the diminutive lady stopped me in my tracks – nurture his spirit? When he will be 1 out of a possible 400 in his year alone? How?

The next day, we met with his class teacher, at the usual parent-teacher meet. She sang his praises, ribbed him about his ‘sillies’ during swimming period earlier that week and then turned to us, with tears in her eyes, stated she was ‘going to miss having Pratik in her class’.

I had a lump the size of a goose egg in my throat at that. I was asking my husband if we were doing the right thing, taking him away from an environment that so clearly cherishes him. Will his new teacher even learn his particular quirks? Will she find his ‘sillies’ as funny? Will she talk of him fondly in the future?

Sticking to our decision to move to India on schedule after that day, was quite simply, the hardest decision I ever had to make.

This parenting lark isn’t easy.

Wonder what he is thinking about?

As my blogging has got erratic and in an attempt to breathe some new life into it, I have decided to join the NaBloPoMo or National Blog Posting Month for May. Many bloggers have already committed to this – chief among them is Monika Manchanda, fresh from the success of CSAAM ’11.

I am reliably informed that the theme for this month is ‘MAYBE’. Maybe I’ll stick to it, maybe not. Heh. But the prompts do help when you are stuck so let me see how I fare.

MAYBE…

That’s kind of providential now, the topic of Maybe. Maybe indicates a possibility, an uncertainty. Which is where I am at, now. On the brink of a major change in my life. I am talking about my impending move back to desi shores. A decade in England – I arrived as a rather naive, wet behind the years 22-year-old. After 10 years of learning, of a variety of experiences, of visiting new places, meeting new people, I am quite changed as a person. Still naive but not as much, one hopes!

More than me, I am worried about what this means to my children. What this will entail. Will it be for the better? Will it broaden their horizons, teach them more about the ‘brown’ aspect of their being? Will it make them a little bit more comfortable in themselves?

Maybe.

Or will the difference be too much? Especially for my son, who is quite set in his ways compared to his sister, will it mean heart-ache? Insecurity? Will it make him doubt everything he knows, all that he’s been taught till now? Will it change him from the bright, cheery child he is?

Time will tell.

There's always time to adjust the hair

What is it with little girls and playing dress up? Is it somehow wired into the XX chromosome combo? Till date, my son relies on me to make the sartorial decisions for him. On one famous occasion, he sat around in a good shirt and underpants because I hadn’t given him his trousers yet!

But his sister is a whole other kettle of fish.

Already she has clear ideas on her outfits and looking nice. Even a simple neatening of hair warrants a trip to the mirror to give herself the once-over. She observes me closely as I get dressed (for which I normally get 3 minutes, if I am lucky) and is ready with a jutted-out lip when I get the lippy out. For this reason, I changed them all to simple Vaseline lip balms as I don’t want her to start wearing any part of proper make-up yet. She also wants to be creamed and perfumed along with me and then once done, I still have to pass the mirror test if I want to be left in peace to run a comb across my hair.

The latest craze, with the advent of balmy spring, is for her floaty dresses. These are aired out once a year and packed up once Autumn sets in so they carry some rarity value. She calls them “dancey” as once she puts them on, she jumps around the house, dancing away. Barely is one such outfit washed and dried before it is pressed into service yet another time. She capped this by wearing not one, but THREE such outfits yesterday, one over another! It was when she wanted to add a fourth to this ensemble in the evening that I finally put my foot down.

This love for dressing up stops with the floaty dresses, though. She doesn’t touch the other frocks and she has no liking for hair accessories and rips out any grips or bands seconds after they have been laboriously put on.

I remember my cousin Shraddha used to be extremely fond of getting dressed. Even at 2, she used to choose her own outfits. During a family holiday to Kodaikanal, she packed 14 outfits for 4 days and made sure she wore every single one of them!

What is it with girls and their love of dressing up, anyway?

Babbling brooks in plentiful supply

Things have been quiet around here in the past few days, haven’t they? In case you were thinking of sending out a search party for me, fear not, as I have returned! I had simply been on holiday.

The Good Friday – Easter Monday is a long weekend in England and making full use of this, I had decamped to the Lake District with the family. For four days, I had my fill of green dales, red fells, babbling brooks, serene lakes, hundreds of sheep, cows, a few donkeys and other assorted tranquil images. Four days sans phones (we stayed in the sticks, where cellular connection was unheard of), ipod Touch, laptop, television and any other gadgets you can think of. I thought the boy will go nuts. But thankfully, having his bum chum around helped to keep him out of mischief. Well, that particular brand associated with gadgets and gizmos anyway.

We walked loads, trekked through the most difficult terrain and shivered in our summer clothing. While cunningly roasting us in the South-East and tricking us into packing skirts and linens, the sun shied away from us up North and I spent most of the time with my teeth clenched, so as to not scare the sheep away with my chattering teeth.

But despite that, much fun was had. We tried to steer clear of the tourist infestation and stuck to the tracks that are off-beaten. Then tried to impregnate the unpolluted air with the smell of thayir sadam and lemon pickle.Well, you can take the girl out of Madras…..

Anyways, I am back and regular transmission can now commence. My loyal four readers can now let out their collective breaths that they have been holding and can go back to their day jobs. Thank you, kindly!

You know what my most hated phrase in any language is? “God wanted the person”, uttered at the passing of some much-loved person. These words are employed freely especially if the person concerned is a child. Well-meaning as it might be, hearing it makes me want to rail against the person that utters such tripe and aim a few kicks, even.

I read about singer Chithra’s daughter’s accident in Dubai on Thursday and those words are being thrown about with alarming frequency. I do not understand how it can soothe the bewildered parents’ hearts. The news sites are full of descriptions of the scenes outside the family home whilst there are even video clips of the same. I don’t have the heart to watch the clips. I am amazed at the level of intrusion that the family is being put through at this most harrowing time of their life.

She is a public figure, yes, but where does that mean she cannot even grieve in private? My heart goes out to the family. The poor child was born in 2002, the same year as my son and my heart skipped a beat when I came upon that info. How selfish does that make me?

You read about the apathy of the young, how the next generation is more interested in gadgets and making merry than in what matters. Then you read a post like this – where the blogger takes a day off (and is made fun of, for her pains) to cast her vote, and more importantly, is actually excited about exercising her rights, and you realise, that there is always hope.

Even on days you feel small about the choices you’ve made, small rays of hope such as these make you feel it is going to be alright, after all.

Does anyone remember that distant day, when I bought home my new laptop, my brand spanking new 13″ Macbook?  I was coming to the end of my first semester at Uni and it was the first ever computer I could call my own. In true form, I had got it as a 30th birthday gift, about 7 months early And, I loved it!

I wrote my thesis on it, read my graduation confirmation on it and was generally, chuffed to bits with it.

But, all good things must come to an end. And poor 13″‘s arrived when I got the chance to buy a Macbook Pro second-hand. The price was a great one, but not an amount I had lying around handy and after thinking long and hard about it, I decided I had to look at it as an upgrade. Which meant selling my old laptop.

After searching high and low, we found a new home for the laptop – spouse’s friend at work wanted it. Yesterday was spent in getting the dear all spruced up and ready for its move. The new OS has been installed and it is ready to become its new owner’s pride and joy. As it is lying ready for the husband to take it away, all boxed up and pretty, I can’t help but feel a pang. It was the first one that was truly mine.

I’ll never forget you, lappie.

A commenter on a friend’s blog objected to a comment of mine. And the reasoning for it disturbed me and so I am exploring it here. And if any one can shed a light on it, please feel free.

The post in question had something to do with the furore over the World Cup matches and how the blogger didn’t watch them as she couldn’t care less. She had some profanities thrown at her for her lack of Indian spirit for her trouble. In my comment, I had backed her up, wondering why not watching a cricket match is to be considered un-Indian. I cannot abide by people that force things on others, saying “it is for fun, yaar” or “don’t be a spoilsport”. I didn’t mince any words and cussed freely.

But it wasn’t the cussing that wounded the lady’s feelings – it was the fact that I am an NRI. How dare I live abroad and criticise India, seemed to be her point. (I did not see this coming until the lady in q said she herself lives in US of A.) As I have moved out of the mother country, I have no right to pass remarks of the sort I just did. And even after I move back, I may not qualify for some time yet, or so I understand from her response to a query on the same point. Maybe I should be issued with a badge, saying “newly returned – cannot pass judgement until X time has passed” or some such.

For the record, I was equally caustic about the furore over Enthiran’s release too. I mean, doing milk abhishekham and aarathi to the cut-outs? Does no one think they are excessive? Even my friends in India agreed with me – but I suppose they can, as they have the rights to feel so, as they lived in the country and have earned their stripes.

The best part was, I did nowhere specify that these excesses were being carried out in India. I had just said I didn’t like them, in general. But the NRI lady took me to mean my brothers & sisters toiling in apna des and took umbrage at my comments.

To sum up, I must not diss India or Indians. Does this also mean I cannot have arguments with my mom, brother, aunts etc? I have moved out of my mum’s house too so the same rules must apply, right? And boy has my weekly entertainment just died a violent death with that, or what? Also, by extension, does this rule also mean I cannot moan about the state of the NHS or how the Tories are messing with our lives so soon after coming to power or how my surgery pisses me off by never having an appointment that suits my convenience? Because, after all, I am not a local, right? And so, how can I speak unkindly of England? So… cannot diss India / Indians for a while yet and keep it schtum about the Brits too, while I am at it. WHO the hell can I crib about then? Does she understand I have a blog to maintain?

Maybe she’s a Rajnikant fan?

Edited to add: Dear Lady, I see you are still miffed with this. Instead of hijacking someone else’s comment space, please vent your spleen here and we shall get someplace. Just healthy discussion – needn’t be anything more or less. Re one of my commenter cussing, well I am in no place to stop anyone else from cussing, am I?

As I have been married for 10 years now *ahem* I feel qualified enough to dish advice. Plus, weighing in my favour is the fact that I read Agony Aunt columns – a lot. It all started off as innocent timepass but now, I am quite addicted to them. Apart from making you feel better for not having the problems those disturbed souls are, reading the advice dished out makes me feel like I have imbibed a bit of the Agony Aunt’s soul by osmosis too.

Last week, there was a woman in a boat quite similar to mine. For her tenth anniversary, she burned lots of gray cells and saved up for three months to get an Uber Gift for hubby. He got her a gift card for a very non-fantastic sum. She was bummed enough to write to this Agony Aunt and crib. All I can say is, she is lucky to have got what she did. I got a bunjee jumping gift experience voucher. Yes, to commemorate a decade of being shackled to me, my husband decided tying an elastic rope around my ankles and me voluntarily jumping from a 160m platform is the way to go.

So, in order to prevent you from deflating like a punctured balloon when your dearest turns up with a meh gift, listen to me and do not tell him. If you have a joint account / add-on card / any device that will send your significant other the bill, use it and buy the darned thing yourself. Growing up, my brother and I used to joke that for anniversaries,  mum got the bling and dad, the bill! Or, in the words of Elle.com’s columnist,

Don’t expect a man to give you multiple orgasms. Indeed, you’ll live a more fulfilling life if you don’t expect a man to give you multiple anything.

The lady knows how to hit it right on the head.

Or, if you are a die-hard romantic and want the thing to come from him, then believe me, dropping hints all around is not the way to go about it. Men are the ‘show, not tell’ types and leaving notes along with the lunch-time sandwiches will not merit you a rock made of compressed carbon. So, drag him to the shop, point at the thing and say “me, want!” and smile at the guy selling it. Now that bloke is trained to react to such situations and will get your husband to sign on the dotted line before he can resist!

Oh and if there are any XY chromosomed type reading this, remember, getting a woman a gift is easy. For special days, you cannot go wrong with sparkly stuff. More special the day, more sparkles the thing must have. If the girl is not a sparkly kind (please show me who this deluded person is), then go with a pampering option. This means a mani-pedi (manicure-pedicure) on the low end and a spa day at the high end. If you are really looking to score, you can club bling and pampering together for mucho points. If you decide to take a leaf out of  my husband’s book and get a bunjee jumping thing, for chrissake, make it a tandem jump. At least you are sending the right sort of message, telling her you’ll jump into danger right with her!

Edited to add: After suggestions from the readers (er, reader = sraikh), I think there might be some gadget freaks aka Apple lovers that might just be happy with a Jobs product. Much as my heart beats for Apple, I cannot let my hubby gift me an Apple product and get away easily. Which was why, I bought my Macbook MONTHS before my 30th birthday and got some nice pearls on the big day

Another great present is a vacation – book a super holiday, preferably unencumbered and you’re gold.

A note to the wise: Gifts can be combined too – so, you can club a sky diving experience whilst on holiday in New Zealand or a solitaire ring to commemorate your holiday to South Africa.