Swings & Roundabouts

I had done a post a while back about the art of gifting. After reading a series of posts on good gifts and bad ones, I am tempted to write once more on this subject. Like the writer of one of the posts I read states, giving a bad gift is as good as insulting them. Why bother getting something crappy and foisting it on some poor unsuspecting folk when you don’t really give a shit?

Last year, P got gifted this rather beautiful richly worked pyjama-kurta for his birthday by couple of S’s cousins. I was real pleased cos 1. I really like to deck P in such traditional stuff 2. it also told me they were thinking of him when they were in the motherland. But the pleasure lasted all of 10 seconds – about the time it took me to take the outfit out of the packet and shake it loose. It was a good two sizes too small for P. The pyjama came barely upto his knees! While getting the wrong size is a fairly normal mistake to make, the reason it irked me was the cousin’s child was the same age and almost the same height as P. Couldn’t they have just held it against their own child to make sure it was the correct size before buying it? I put it away the next minute, to give to my cousin who, being two years younger than P, would be able to wear the outfit easily.

Whilst in India, I noticed that the concept of ‘gifting’ has got worse. This is much more in force in S’s side of the family, what with regular visits being taken as occasions of gifting. These are not regular run-of-the-mill stuff – they are normally the latest dustcatcher to hit the Parrys market, be it a kitchen tidy or a showcase item. First thing that is generally bandied upon is the cost of the said gift. Now that is a big turn-off for me – asking / stating the price of a ‘gift’ as you pass it on. Why would you want to do that? Gifts are priceless, in my opinion, for they carry the special thoughts and feelings the ‘gifter’ has for the ‘giftee’. The minute you put a price tag on it, then the only thing on the mind of the giftee and anyone else in the vicinity would be if the item was worth that amount and where one can get it cheaper, thus destroying the whole beauty of the process.

This is why I like the idea of gifting experiences, courtesy sites like Buyagift.co.uk. Knowing the personality of the ‘giftee’, one can get a voucher for bungee jumping or white water rafting or super car driving. The resulting experience would be remembered for a long, long time, making it a most wonderful gift. I have got S many such vouchers – 30 mins flying lesson, go-karting and the latest, 3 laps in his favourite car in a race course of his choice and every time, he has come back with an adrenaline rush rivalling that of a championsip winner!

When I quit my job couple of months back, my team got together and gave me a number of gifts – Amazon vouchers (which are extremely useful as I am going to be a student and as such need all the monetary help I can get!), High Street vouchers (again, useful for a student to top up on clothes etc), my favourite chocolates, some glittery girly stuff from an exclusive jewels store nearby, a bunch of gorgeous looking flowers and my personal favourite, two framed photos. One was a pic of P and me, taken for a work photo shoot, of which I did not have a copy and as such love it; the other one was a pic of my whole team. This was the best gift of the lot as every single one of them HATES having their picture taken and every time I had tried to in the past, I had met with a near-hijab clad lot. To see them all voluntarily posing for a photo, in my book, is the bestest gift they could have ever given me! (Moral of the story – the satisfaction one gets from a gift is directly proportional to the thought and effort that has gone into it.)

In the case of children, Premalatha asks a parent’s dilemma: should one organise a gift-free party and deny them the joy of receiving gifts or indulge in the gluttony of it. Birthdays are special and presents occupy a special place in a child’s heart so why take that away from them? I say let’s take the middle path – rather than each child arriving with a present costing £10, it will be better if all the parents pool their resources together and get vouchers from ToysRUs or get a bicycle or something big the birthday child has got his/her heart set on. Of course, this will mean someone has to take the initiative and organise the whole thing but the result would be well worth it.

So, next time you are taken by the urge to get a For The Sake of Gifting gift, either drop the idea or make them, like this blogger did, something delicious you yourself made. Do not get pulled into dumping your free samples on them.

What do you think of when you say ‘vathiyaar’ (purohit / Brahmin priest)? What image pops into your mind? Well, I generally think of this rotund person, poonool-ed, with an impressive kudumi (pony tail) and a carrying voice. Well now one can add ‘photo savvy’ and ‘inspired by Mani Ratnam’ to this profile.

Last Friday, I got up at the wee hours of the morn (what else would you call 3.00 AM?) to sit bleary-eyed at an Upanayanam (sacred thread) ceremony. That was the first time I learnt that some folks other than Brahmins also prefer the groom to be poonool-ed. Since I had always been under the surmise that doing so ensures their status as Brahmins, this seemed to be a pointless exercise for the non-Brahmins to get upto. But if I am getting a free meal and a chance to take one of my never-used-before collection of silk sarees out of the wardrobe, who am I to complain?

The vaathiyaar’s ringing voice at that ungodly hour (pardon the pun!) carried on for miles and woke up the crows sleeping in the tree outside, neighbours desperate to finish their 8-hour quota as well as P, sleeping soundly upstairs, who complained that some ‘loud voice disturbed him and woke him up’. Even as he bullied his hapless victims into tying their tongues into knots, pronouncing the various unfamiliar Sanskrit mantras, the ‘kalla poonool‘ (emergency thread for the renegers) addition didn’t seem to faze him an iota.

But what impressed me the most was his ability to judge the perfect camera shot and arrange the cast members accordingly so as to be assured of the perfect photograph.

“Maami, setha ippadi thirumbungo!” (aunty, please turn this way) admonished he, when an errant maami blocked self and the newly-anointed Brahmin with her ample behind.

“Maama, maamikki ippadi kumkum vechi vidungo!” (uncle, put kumkum on wifey’s forehead just so) on advised the chap with one maama decided to make use of his free left hand.

He was also the consummate multi-tasker. Armed with a mobile phone, he proceeded to take calls for future appointments whilst directing the main cast of members by miming, pointing and directing. One wonders what he would accomplish with the help of bluetooth and a Blackberry! Gen X vaathiyaars eh what?

…. let me tell you why I want to do so. I read this article in BBC News   website and admittedly, my first reaction was ‘what the heck does it matter when people are dying?’ But then, the sentiment behind the anger made vague sense to me. Whilst in the past I have often thought the whole world is bowing to Islamic whims purely because of the possible violent repercussions, I am going side with them in this. I can remember very well one New York Fashion Week a decade or so ago, when the models sashayed down the catwalk wearing sparkling sandals embedded with pictures of Ganesha and other assorted Indian gods. And what did we do? Nothing!  Maybe the VHP burnt a few effigies, I can’t be sure but Hindus the world over kept mum.

I do not condone violence in the name of religion. But I do feel that every religion, every faith, every belief demands respect. When you know that certain things are depictions of certain religions, either a. you make it a point to find out what it means and THEN use it appropriately or b. make sure you do not use it in any defamatory way. Why is this so difficult to grasp? Even if the blessed designer who put Ganesha on sandals would happily put the cross or Jesus Christ on shoe soles, it is no justification for the use of any other religious symbol.

Whilst the manufacturers of these offensive balls might have meant no harm, religion and use of religious symbols is a touchy topic. Why couldn’t they have got a simpler, easier way of connecting with the locals? Surely one can ‘connect’ without tramping all over their feelings, surely?

… for being such a shabby blogger! Can I just blame it all on equal parts holidaying at the homeland and laziness? Oh and my mum, who’s forever hogging the comp? Ta!

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!)

Media and its love of sensationalism is well known. Celebrities sell papers, as we are told repeatedly. But this week, British media took this statement to new levels.

The past week, parts of England have been buffeted by high winds and heavy rains and quite a lot of people have lost their homes, property and some, even their lives. When GMTV was reporting this dismal state of affairs in the Midlands, they cut short the report rather rudely to LA, where jailbird Paris Hilton was sprung early from the clink, thanks to good behavior. This, of course, made the good people of Britain splutter into their morning cuppa and lodge complaints against this behaviour in great numbers. The programme issued an apology in this morning’s episode.

Radio station heart (106.2 FM) pulled a similar stunt yesterday as well. The news report ran somewhat like this ‘… today’s top news: socialite Paris Hilton is freed from jail. Oh and by the way, three people lost their lives in Sheffield’. Outraged squawks could be heard across the South East.

Whilst I agree that no one wants to shell out good money to read everyday stories of your Average Joe, I still think the media should display a little more empathy and a little less TRP love. The flooding is going on in our own backyard, fellow Brits are suffering and why are we bothered about a spoiled brat of a rich American kid and when she’s let out of the slammer ?

…. 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…

The things you learn during your daily web trawl! I was just going through my daily fix of blogs when I came to know of this arresting fact: Miss USA took a toss down slippery catwalk as she sashayed down it, during the Miss Universe pageant. After the first couple of sniggers, watching the clip on YouTube, I decided to go a step further and see if I can come up with a few more.

I needn’t have worried my pretty head about it – the following came in the mix automatically!

First, catch the Little Miss Humpty Dumpty in action:

At least she recovered well!

Next bit of ha ha comes when a Miss Universe contestant’s outfit comes apart:

As if to prove that this isn’t a one-off and strictly pageants only, here’s what happens when a model wears columns of material held together by string, instead of clothes:

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.