Mothers’ Day plans for procrastinators!

Mother’s Day is around the corner. The inventors of this concept have added that extra little stress to our already hassled lives, which our mothers would rather smile at, wave off and ask us to not bother about.

So there are approximately 48 hours from now, in which you can do something that will make the first woman in your life feel extra special. But you have been incredibly busy with work, partner, kids, social commitments, and to be brutally honest, procrastination, to plan anything exceptional.

Fear not. I am not sending you on a guilt trip now. In fact, I am presenting here some easy ideas to deal with this situation, depending on the type of mother you have on your hand. And all pocket friendly ones, at that!

There are essentially 3 types of mothers

1.       The young mother who is parenting a brood between 0-12 years of age. She is essentially fussy, and worried about everything from food to exams to PTA meetings to school brawls, to Whatsapp mommy groups. She is connected to the WWW and is perpetually stressed

2.       The mid-life mother who is parenting a brood between 12-25 years of age. She has pretty much given up on you. And you have given up on her. Your unbalanced hormones and irresponsible friends have made you very difficult for her to handle. You live your own life and she is happy as long as you are healthy, happy and back home every night.

3.       The retired mother who knows that you have found your companion. And she will need to find reasons to keep herself busy in different ways now.

 So here we go!

For the Young Mother:

She can be your wife, your sister, your daughter or your best buddy.

She has been hands-on, day in and day out. Here is what you can do for her.

·        
Give her a break. Baby-sit for her and book her a spa session or maybe two.

·         
Just let her SLEEP. As much as she wants to!  You have no clue how sleep deprived young moms can be. This is probably the best gift ever! (I told you, my ideas are VERY pocket-friendly!)

·         
And while she is asleep, dig into all yours, and hers, and your friends’ Facebook, email, et al for photographs of the mom and baby and simply copy them to a disc. Cellotape a few nice flowers on the cover of the disc, and write “I Love you, Super Mommy!” on it (See! My ideas are also time-efficient!). If you start a little early, you can get printouts of the photos, stick them to a long colourful ribbon in chronological order and decorate her room with it. Guaranteed to make her go "Awwwwwwwww...!"

·       
  End the day with an order-in dinner and snuggle up together for a nice movie at home. (Anything from Raising Helen to PanicRoom). She is a Ninja mom at this stage.

The mid-life mother

She probably feels very uncool at this stage, where friends and career have taken priority in your life. She is happy to see you independent. And feels a little empty, now that you don’t need her as much as before

•           Make her feel like a rockstar! Buy her something from your generation. A cool T-Shirt and cap with something smart printed on it, perhaps! One that you can wear with her, click a selfie and post all over social media. Trust me, she will feel young all over again!

• Gather your siblings and friends and sing to her songs like “Maa” from Taare Zameen Pe, and that absolute hidden gem of a song “Mumma” from Dasvidaniya. Do the same for your friends’ moms too! Plan a burger and pizza party with all these moms. Watch the animated Pixar’s Brave, or English Vinglish. It is good to make her feel that she has been right and you've been something of an ass for some years now.

 The photo idea works here too.

·         


As for dinner, ask her to teach you that recipe of hers which you love the most. Someday, you might yearn for it, when she isn’t around. And she will be happy knowing that you will not be deprived of your favourite dish in her absence.

The retired mother:

She is smiling and watching you, and is obviously, very proud of you! She is secretly looking forward to see you go through all tribulations that she faced when she raised you. There is not much she wants now.

Do just one thing.

·         
Make 2 glasses of her favourite beverage. Hand one to her, and take one yourself. Place your head in her lap. And ask her to talk.

Ask her about how naughty you were. Moms love to reminiscence (Hell! I am only 38, and I love to reminiscence!) Ask her what incidents in life made her happy, proud, sad, angry, worried. Ask her about her school days, her carefree time. Listen carefully, observe closely how her expressions change. Take your cues. Ask where she wants to go this year. Perhaps to the places of her childhood? Or wants to connect with her old friends? Ask her if she wants to visit ‘phoren’ (and then work hard so you can fulfil that dream at the earliest)

Ask her what still worries her. Because however old you may become, this pillar of strength in your life will continue to worry. And while we will love her every day, she needs to be spoilt, pampered and given a huge emotional release at least once a year.

After all, the best gift your mom ever had was you! J

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The formatting of this post is totally (#$%*$(%*!!! I don't know why! But don't tell my mom that I typed *those* words.

Of meeting idols and learning life lessons.

This year, January was not a particularly happy month for me. In fact, it was probably one of the worst months of my 38 years of existence. February is when I am at my cheesiest, chirpiest best, what with Valentine's Day and my birthday being just 8 days apart. But this year, February wasn't any better either. To make things worse, I was down with a bout of flu on my birthday. Overall, I was feeling like life was garbage. Insufferable and disposable.

To my rescue, came that little bundle of energy called Janice. School buddy, my partner-in-crime for giggling during BCTS classes at Suvidyalaya School many years ago, and more recently, also co-conspirator for some very stupid practical jokes. This very efficient little lady arranged for me a personal meeting with an author that I discovered by accident, and was absolutely enchanted by. Here was a writer who was keenly observant, non-judgmental, funny, subversive. The media, off late, has taken to describing his work as 'bawdy'. He who wrote in a way that I could see situations unfold before my eyes in vivid detail, as I read each word and line.  Mr. Kiran Nagarkar.
(Okay! So I admit, I demanded it of her; but she was an absolute sweetheart who obliged)

So, on 24th of February, I packed my bag with the KN books that I owned, plus one that was a gift for a friend. And off  I went to met Jan outside her office. She managed to excuse herself early, and we hopped into the cab and made it to his place of residence at Breach Candy. Suddenly, I was nervous. The excitement faded, and I developed two very real cold feet and sweaty palms. What would I talk to him?  A very senior writer, award winning, at national and international levels. And here I was, a nobody! Just another reader who just liked his books a lot for what they are. No indepth study, no literary reviews and critical analysis. Nothing even remotely intellectual to say.  I was beginning to feel like a fool.

"Back me up, Janice, if I behave like a bumbling idiot!"
She said "Chill maar, yaar!"

He opened the lift door. It was abrupt, because the living room opened straight into the lift. An unusual thing for me, but perhaps it is a regular feature of the old posh buildings of  South Mumbai. And there I was, face to face with him. He smiled widely and laughed at Janice for being late. And she jaunted into the house as if she owned it. Then he turned to me and we shook hands.  This wasn't some celebrity writer. Here was a nice person, with twinkling, warm eyes welcoming me. Instantly I felt at ease.

Janice, of course, had to embarrass me. At least once.

Jan (announcing with her trademark guffaw): She's a huge fan of yours! And she just whispered to me "Just how cute is he!" And she is all tongue-tied about what she will talk with you.
Me (mortified! casually attempting to hide my face with my palm, while scowling at Jan): Errr.
Kiran Sir: Hahaha! Then perhaps I should propose to you!
Me (suddenly feeling cheeky and bold): The problem is I will accept the proposal.
Kiran Sir: Hahaha. That would be a difficult situation. Are you married already?

Over tea and casual banter, and a lovely black Labrador called Nero who peeped in to check on us, we discussed simple things about books and life, in general. Tulsi Ma'am, his partner, had also joined us after a while. I told him how I discovered him. I had picked Ravan and Eddie on a whim, after seeing an ecstatic cherubic baby sweeping down on the cover. This was at Crosswords Powai, sometime in 2005 or so, when my then employer Human Factors International had reserved a component of salary that could be claimed by submitting book bills. Which was perfect for people like yours truly.

It was little over an hour when we thought we ought to leave. I click pictures with them, looking silly and happy. I got my books signed. And also got signed a copy of the Cuckold for Abhishek Mukherjee ( www.ovshake.blogspot.in ) my very skeptical Bengali blogger buddy who hates all things Mumbai, but who had to admit that he quite liked Ravan and Eddie.

"I am going ask him to adopt me!" I declared as we munched on rolls and quiches at Theobroma.
"You're mad, Mal", said Jan.

Suddenly Jan's phone buzzed. She answered, and then told me.
"He has asked for your email ID and phone number. Drop him a line with the pics, okay!"

I went home and posted my pics on FB. I gloated over the comments and likes. I was slightly apprehensive mailing him. For no particular reason.
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Some days later,Janice called: WOMAN! Have you mailed him?
Me: Errr. Mail him and say what? "Hi! Here are the pics"?

Jan (hollering): Mail him THIS INSTANCE!!! He is doing a reading at Kitabkhana, and he's invited me and specifically asked to get you along too. He likes you!
Me: Oh crap! Okay!!! Mailing him right away!

I didn't receive a reply to that mail.
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I reached Kitab Khana this evening, and as I quietly crept into the gathering that was already seated, Mr. Kiran Nagarkar looked up and waved out to me. Everyone turned. I was slightly embarrassed and rather proud at being publicly acknowledged thus.

After the reading and discussion was over and the crowds dispersed, I met him.
"Malavika!" he exclaimed, once more me putting me completely at ease.
"I mailed you the pictures", I said.
"Yes, yes" he replied, "I saw the mail. I am not too prompt with replying. But I read it. आणि ती बया कुठे आहे? Come over again with Janice. Bring your kids along. It is nice talking to both you young ladies"
:)

And somehow with these two meetings, I discovered that intellectualism is not in the smugness of knowing it all. It is the willingness and wisdom of wanting to know everything and everyone.
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Post Script (had to add this incident): 

In early March, a certain actress was due to inaugurate a jewellery brand in the vicinity. She was the one who, in my teens, inspired me to bare my midriff and dance with abandon on my bed  (secretly, of course!) to a particularly 'superhit' calenderic song. I would have loved to get a glimpse of her in person; and so I planned my market chores of the day such that I reached the venue just on time. There were some 50-60 odd middle aged people gathered there. There was a loud band playing the Nashik Dhol to welcome her. She was nowhere to be seen.
"अंदर  गयी  हैं क्या ?" I asked the bystanders.
 "अभी  तक आई ही  नही " I was told
The dancing diva of the 90s hadn't arrived but the security personnel were pushing away the bystanders, in a not very polite fashion. I walked away. She was probably was not worth the time that these bystanders were wasting for her. I lost some bit of respect for her. I had already outgrown her, perhaps. It just took me this incident to realise it.

Why 29th August 2015 was specialer than all other 29th Augusts.

It was one of those days that make you want to mark it for the records.Nothing earth shattering, of course.  Just some small, personal things. The kind that you want to look back on a number of times, and that just coincidentally occurred on one particular day.
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Cake cutting pics Courtesy: Gautam

On 29th August 1953, a daughter was born to a wonderful couple with four sons. That girl would become my mother many years later. 29th August 2015 was her 62nd birthday!
Or 26th, as she demanded, in a shocking pink kurta (made of China silk fabric that my dad had bought over 20 years ago from Dubai, and I was never fond of) that she had gotten stitched especially for the occasion, whilst cutting an equally shocking pink cake that I deliberately brought for her after seeing her new sartorial candour. And Vi giggled with glee as she made neatly spaced pink polka dots with the cream on her Aaji's face with her tiny finger. The cake cutting ceremony was attended by all her dear family members- Dada Mama, Mothi Mami, Bhau Mama, Gautam, Prasad and Namita, in addition to Dad, Maitreya, Vi, Sam and me.
Here is wishing her the 'Pink of health'.




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On 29th August 2015, it was also Raksha Bandhan.
But did I not mention this year, it was specialer? It was because my baby brother Maitreya was now old enough to buy me gifts from my wishlist with his very own salary.
My two other fab cousins, Gautam and Prasad also made me richer with money and  with their Rakshas-like presence in my life. I've been calling this festival 'Rakshas Bandhan' for a while now. (Abhi, you were remembered, but my 'vasooli' is overdue!). Vi was happier too because her cousins, Aahan and Saksham, gifted her books, a Transformer mask and art materials.


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On 29th August 2015, My darling, sweetheart, beloved Fugro ensured that a watch arrived for me that was the direct consequence of a Facebook conversation (see images below) and had *absolutely nothing* to do with the word 'brother' in relation to him! I laaaabh you, Fugro! Muaaaahhh!!!

                         

(I have no clue why these screenshots are choosing to appear different in size, despite having been taken by the same software, at the approximately the same time and at exactly same screen resolution. VERY ANNOYING!!!)
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Vi and her Mamu also wrote about a "Life Event" (no idea where she gets these ideas from). Needless to say, Vi won.

Mamu *REALLY* needs to get a life!

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On 29th August 2015, I picked a lovely yellow Maheshwari saree on a whim, for a steal of a price at the Prabodhankar Thakre exhibition hall because it was the last day of the Weaves Handloom
Expo. And I aim to wear it this Ganesh Chaturthi.

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On 29th August 2015, I finished reading Pandora in the Congo- another purchase on whim, made just 5 days earlier, and more importantly without *any* references, recommendations, or preconceived notions of the story or the author, whatsoever. And I thoroughly enjoyed it. So here is to being more adventurous with selecting books! Honestly, just pick a book and read it.



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On 29th August 2015, Samir arrived at 10:00 pm overloaded with parcelled food, and we remembered the times when street food was prohibited at home and Chhaya-mami was outraged that Bhai Mama  brought home parcelled kebabs. "Unhygienic! Don't I cook well enough for you at home?"
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On 29th August 2015, it was also the day Vi not only ate a sizeable dinner by herself for the first time ever, but also tried to convince her older 9 year cousin to try some food, all the while insisting how good it was. Being an exasperatingly picky eater who is never *ever* hungry, this was no mean achievement on her part!
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On 29th August 2015, us cousins sat on the floor in the living room and reminiscenced about the parents' generation and their ritual card games when we were kids. Prasad and I remembered how we spun the rotor blades of a toy helicopter on Bhaimama's head, consequently leading him chop off the entire entangled lock. And how Janutai, Dipoo, Pooja and Maitreya are the only competent card players of this generation, having been mentored by Dada Mama and Nana.
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Nana on his 86th birthday (May 2004)

29th August 2015, it was also the 9th death anniversary of Nana who left us this day on 2006. The grandfather who raised us all with stories of the epics and with morals and values that were far ahead of his time. He raised his daughter and grand-daughters no different from sons and grandsons. He prided on my eldest cousin Janhavi and dedicated a poem to her claiming her to be the Kuldeepika (and "brighten the family name" she did, with achievements at national and international levels). When the country went berserk feeding milk to idols of Ganpati, and we, kids, could not contain our excitement, he simply eased back in his armchair, raised the newspaper to his eye-level and proclaimed "Surface tension". I was in the 10th, and attending Science classes at my class teacher's residence when there was a spell of heavy, unseasonal showers. We called our homes from the landline (cellphones weren't even heard of, back in 1993) to inform we'd be delayed. My over-protective Aaji panicked and promptly sent Nana  to bring me back home. When this tenacious 75 year old man knocked the teacher's door, having walked 20 minutes in that pouring rain carrying a spare umbrella, the 15 year old me was embarrassed yet emotionally overwhelmed and absolutely proud of being his granddaughter, whilst my friends watched (with envy, I should think) as I stepped out with him.
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Vi-sarjan

Vi: Mumma, what is Visarjan?
Me: When you put Gumm Bappa in the water at the end of the ten days festival
Vi: Why do we put him in water?
Me: So that he can go home
Vi: But his home is in the heaven, which is in the sky
Me: Well... Uhhh... The sea or water goes up to the sky. Why don't you try to make a drawing of Gumm Bappa going up to heaven in the water (hoping to needle her diagramming urge; she gets really charged about certain ideas, and this one seemed like one that would)
Vi: Mumma, I know about the water cycle and how water goes to the sky by evaporation. But how does Gumm Bappa's statue go up? You are not understanding my question!
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*I HATE GROWING UP!*

Gahhhh! The Dreaded Poetry Recitation

Can you imagine how traumatising doing this
 before a crowd can be ?
Image Courtesy: Google God

I hated poems in school. In the 1980s, we had to learn them "by heart", to quote my mother (she even has a highly ignominious audio cassette recording of me singing them, that she routinely threatens to make public, whenever I disobey her). And recite them on demand in the presence of random relatives. With actions. So it wasn't just recitation. It was performance on cue. And we earned applause and sometimes, even Rs.11.

The only one I really loved back then, was Okee-Pokee-Crack-Me-Crown which is now banned from textbooks for being politically incorrect (that corroborates my natural inclination); I cannot even trace that  very original, truly gifted poet.

In the 1990s, it got worse. We were expected to understand the depth of poems (in English, Hindi and Marathi). For most part, these *profound* poems triggered uncontrollable mirth and hysteria in my best friend and me. There were also inter-class recitation competitions. Where we girls sang in chorus, standing upright with the convent school patented 'recitation clasp'.

Suffice to say, poetry was never our thing, though we were voracious consumers of prose. After Class 12, I had gladly and safely put all that was verse behind me.

But then 6 years ago, I became a mother. One that consciously tried to be very unlike my own mother. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star was the only poem I taught Vi. With actions.

She had to go to school, eventually.
And I was so glad that these new-age, contemporary school curricula did not expect kids to learn poems by rote. No Jack and Jills,  No Humpty Dumpties. I was never going to put my daughter through that trauma. There were some really weird ones they were taught in their school- Like Swallowed a peanut and Fruit Salad (*WHAT* did I just hear?!?!?! Bring back the 80s!!!). But it was never the mother's headache to make the kids "learn them, by heart". There weren't any 'oral' exams (No, not dental appointments, or any other twisted ideas that you might have had. I am talking of the colloquial school term for 'viva voce' examinations).

Or so I thought, until 10 days ago Vi handed me a circular which said 'Poetry Recitation Competition': Topic- Seasons of the Year. Ah, yes, of course! We are in the 1st Standard now. The competitions and exams have begun.

My heart sank. I procrastinated. The competition is tomorrow. Last night, I began the frantic Google and Youtube search. And hated everything I saw/ read. But I was a mother now. This did not become of me. It was 12:00 noon on the Sunday and I had to Do the Dew.  I grabbed the pen, and jotted this down. A little over 5 minutes and I was patting myself on the back. Indeed, Darr ke Aage Jeet Hai! After all how many primary school level poems can you find online that include our good old Indian monsoon as one of the seasons?

So here it is-

The Seasons of India
- By U. R. S. Trullie

Every season of the year,
Is always an interesting thing.

We start with blossoms, butterflies, birds,
In the season, we call Spring.

Spring is followed, 
By the Summer so hot,

When caps  and hats
are used a lot.

In India, 
Monsoon follows Summer,

With rains and festivals, 
bring on the drummer!

After the lush Rainy green, 
Is the cozy Autumn yellow,

With gently falling leaves, 
And weather that is so mellow.

Finally arrive 
The Wintery days,

Pull up your blankets; 
It is time to laze.

The seasons repeat every year.
Stay happy, healthy and full of cheer!

The kid is satisfied and has managed to memorise it. She refuses to do any 'actions'. I don't blame her. It is embarrassing enough for her to see me attempt to gesticulate to the very geeky, squeaky clean lyrics.

UPDATE: Results came out on Friday, 14th Aug '15. And no, Vi didn't get a certificate. She had to be prompted more than once, and she did not perform any actions.

Maa ki Mamta, Pyaar Pita ka

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'Equal Parenting'?
Hell, yessssss!

Image source:  श्री Google देवाय नमः।

Men carrying babies through the second half of pregnancy. Wooo hooooooo!
Men being scrutinized, poked, prodded and groped by so many medical 'professionals' for monthly exams. Ouch! Oh, you'll get used to it.
Men breastfeeding on alternate nights. Woot! Woot!
Men being made to wear ridiculous scarves over their ears and socks post delivery, even if it is sweltering Mumbai summers.
Men being fed *healthy*,obnoxious, ghee-laden gloop by well-meaning family members because what they eat is what the baby gets! And then being judged for not losing the pregnancy weight and advised about paternity shapewear.
Men being judged when their kids throw tantrums, fall ill or generally behave anything less than perfect model citizens of Planet Earth. तुम्हारे बाप ने कुछ सिखाया भी है या नहीं?


You betcha! I am all for and most certainly in favour of 'Equal Parenting'. Sadly, that doesn't look like it is happening in this lifetime of mine.

So, a lot of my feminist friends... And I am a feminist too! Not the bra-burning type, though. Good lingerie are works of art and marvels of technology. And I do appreciate both art and technology. So, coming back to my feminist friends- they believe in sharing responsibilities as equal parenting after the kid is born. I totally agree.

My problems, however, begin with how to quantify it? Parenting, as I see in the ideal, civil world that I appear to live in, is the direct consequence of love (the unprotected, 'with utter, absolute abandon' kind). So how do I quantify it and then divide by two for Equal Parenting?

Is changing 50% of the nappies sharing of responsibilities? Is picking and dropping the kid to school for exactly half the number of days sharing of responsibilities? Is preparing and feeding exactly half the food, the answer? That seems to me, like the equivalent of saying apartheid could be done away with, if everyone strived to achieve a universally agreed-upon shade of brown skin.
Ideal. And absurd.
As we've heard all too often पांचों उंग़लियाँ कभी भी बराबर नहीं होती।

No, I do not think that the माँ की ममता, or for that matter, ममता की माँ is the pefect picture of Equal Parenting either. 'That mothers cook and dads earn', I should love to believe we've evolved beyond that, although some school texts still continue to defiantly taunt me with their outdatedness. My husband enjoys cooking more than I do (that does not, however, mean that he cooks as a duty, or that he cleans up after cooking. And given that we live in a joint family, his culinary adventures are a rare phenomenon that occurs only during the prolonged absence of the elders). And I am certainly better with reading, studies and paperwork, social management and communications, than he is.

Equal parenting is about being happy around your child and consequently the child being comfortable around both parents. Both parents have personalities of their own, apart from from the masks of maturity that society (traditional or contemporary) would have us wear.

So, when I expect him to share responsibility, I expect him to nurture in her those traits that she has inherited from him. Taste-buds, for instance. A love for swimming and movies. A certain languid approach to life, unlike my tendency to take on too many things at the same time. I expect him to pamper her (not spoil her) when I am strict. To be strict with her in departments where I tend to slack (you are very naive indeed, if you think I am disclosing *those shortcomings* in this very public post that I am writing for a contest #ItTakes2ToParent hosted by First Moms Club and Himalaya Baby Care ).

Equal parenting is perhaps about achieving a balance. With all the dexterity of a double Ph.D-holding chemist working to equalise the precise micro-grammage required to create that super secret, omnipotent formula that will be sweet revenge on the rest of the world that labelled him a nerd and a geek.

And when that 'Sooper-Faarmoola' is ready, it will, expectedly, behave in the most unpredictable manner and blow up in the chemist's face. KABOOMMM!
That is how *any* sort of parenting will end up. Just wait and watch as the kid steps into the glorious teens :)

Parenting is only one (albeit, a very important) aspect that will affect your child's behaviour in the 'nurture+nature= personality' equation. Equal parenting can only help nurture what is inherently the child's nature. And the best approach to equal parenting is to help the child with what both parents are individually good at and comfortable with. And allow the child to parent you with what he or she is good at. We often allow the pressures of perfection and the burden of responsibility to take away from us the joys of life.

Appreciate each other for who you are and respect the child for what he or she is. Irrespective of what the world has to say about it. Take a chill pill. Enjoy parenting while it lasts. I assure you it won't be long before your kid starts finding you an interference in her life. My 6 year old already thinks her name is not good enough (It is a rare, unique, Sanskrit name that I spent *days* post a Caesarean, finalising on!) and thinks she can stay home alone because she can now climb the kitchen platform to fill water from the Aquaguard and knows what is where in the fridge. And she hasn't even watched the Home Alone movie yet.

Vicious!

Vi: You are lying down on a Lion
Me: Aaarghhh! But, no wait! I think it is sleeping. Phew! Let me quietly sneak away while it is asleep.
Vi: That lion sleeps for 20 days.
Me: Oh wow! Lucky me!!!
Vi: The 20 days got over *today*.
Me: aaaaarghhhh! Runnnnn! Somebody save me!

Monsooning. Movie Marathoning.

It was Friday the 19th, 2015.

It was raining beautifully, and I did not have the heart to send Vi to school, simply because... I felt  holidaytory (I googled! That term does *NOT* exist on the internet as of this moment. So I will stake my claim- I have coined it).

We are both pluviophiles 

and petrichor drives us mad and makes us crave for more.
(we are also show-offs when it comes to newly enhanced vocabulary)

More rain, more madness. Hug-kiss-random-strangers-on-the-cheek-Do-the-chicken-dance-on-the-street level of madness! Sit-on-Marine-Drive-eating-ice-creams-against-crashing-waves-while -screaming-Ye-re-Ye-re-Pausaa level of madness. *THAT MAD!* *THAT CRAZY*
The world is a safer place with us rainiacs (this term is already in existence) safely locked up at home in each others' company.

Ideally, but not practically, we would be splashing in the rain or  reading/ doodling and simply whiling time away on the semi-covered terrace. The next best thing would be watching movies while drinking hot chocolate for the perfect self-imposed extended weekend exile. Best of all, we don't have any 'weekly school tests' in the first half of the next week. What more can we ask for?!

So here are some of our all-time favourites. Mostly, but not necessarily, animated. Suitable for everyone aged 3 years and above, with a certain amount of discretion on part of the parents.

The Bot stuff
Vi has been fascinated with robots. I think it has something to do with the 'Little Robots' series that she had watched on CBeebies as a toddler. She draws them. She makes them with clothing clips, building blocks, straws.

• Wall-E (a lesson in loving and living from a garbage compacting robot! The entire first half of the movie has not a single spoken word. Simply beeps- no, not the objectionable type.)
• The Iron Giant (A 2D retro classic by Brad Bird, the director and writer of the Incredibles.)
• 9 (Lesser known. dark! apocalyptic! I was scared the first time we saw it. But she didn't bat an eyelid and has watched a number of times since.)
• Big Hero Six (I didn't like this one. The kid loved Baymax though)
• Real Steel (not animated but what the heck! She drools over Atom, and I drool over Hugh Jackman) 

I will at some point make her watch the Bicentennial Man, AI,  Metropolis. Perhaps 5 years later.

The Super Hero series

• The Incredibles (No school like old school! Superb characterisation, and message in family values. Not to mention the feminist undertones. Elastigirl kicks serious ass, even when she has given herself to domesticity. Vi's favourite line is "Honeyyyyyyy, Where's my syooper syuit?"; that tone that she employees almost every single time that she needs me to find something of hers).

• The Rise of the Guardians (This little known gem of a movie that features legendary characters like Santa Claus, Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, among others. It is based on the Guardians of Childhood book series by Bill Joyce).

• Megamind (A wonderful subversion of the Super-Hero concept. Just perfect for kids to realise that the world isn't just black and white)

• Monsters Inc. (One of my all-time favourites. The brilliant concept of monsters scaring children simply because their world runs on 'Screams' as a source of energy. And also the fact that the monsters themselves are so terrified of kids, that those who work as 'Scarers' are glorified heroes in their world)

• TinTin (She saw this only recently, as she approaches her 6th birthday. And I guess this is the right time for her to understand the complexities of the plot).

The critters and creatures series

• Finding Nemo 
• How to train your dragon 1+2 (Based on the eponymous book series by Cressida Cowell. She obsesses over the dragons. We've named a lizard in our room 'Dupliss' which is what she mistakenly thought was the name of Toothless)
• Madagascar (3- she only likes this part)
• Horton hears a Who (Based on the book by Dr, Seuss. Slower in pace than most other movies, but lyrical and with the perfect 'environmentalist' message)
• Dumbo (She sobbed through it. And then asked to see it again. And sobbed again. And then I decided to not let her see again. Absolute tear-jerker for the little ones. But classic Disney animation. The drunk elephants dream sequence is Psychedelic Animation 101).

Tried to get her to see Kung Fu Panda, but she never really got interested,which was surprising given her interest in Karate, Kung Fu and the works, thanks to Japanese animations on TV.

The Princess/ Heroine series. 

Yes, we have seen only these 'warrior princess/ gutsy heroine' movies and no, none of the 'damsel in distress' ones. Vi can blame it on being born to a feminist/ egalitarian mother.

• Frozen 
• Tangled
• Coraline (Yes. Dark, and the kid braves it better than me. I was completely spooked. It scared the daylights out of me.)
• Brave (She didn't like it. I did. Perhaps for older kids.)

Mulan (I am yet to show this one to her. But it firmly remains one of my Disney favourites).

The gadget/toys/ inanimate object series

• Toy Story 1+2+3 + That time forgot 
• Cars 1+ 2
• Planes
• The LEGO movie (Again, this one is as she approaches 6. Fascinating animation to support a brilliant concept. A worthy successor to the Toy Story concept, though not from the Pixar stables)

And some Roald Dahl book adaptations as well as others that are hard to 'classify

• Charlie and the Chocolate Factory 
• Matilda
• Hugo (Based on the book by Brian Selznick. Again, I love this one more than she does) 
• Meet the Robinsons (Based on the book A Day with Wilbur Robinson, again by Bill Joyce)
• Diary of a Wimpy kid (again adapted from the book)

What I intend to make her watch in the near future: 

• Life is Beautiful ("Buongiorno Principessa!" I had said on the first morning I woke after Vi was born. This is the loveliest, most heart-warming and most heart-wrenching movie, I've seen in my life)
• ET (Koi mil gaya, she has already seen) 
• Bridge to Terabitihia ( a few years later, maybe)
• Amelie (atleast 6 years later)

As is obvious from the laundry list above, a good many of the movies I pick for her are based on books. I have tried, with reasonable success, to make her a book-lover and a lover of visual art, more than just another 'movie buff'.


There is also apna dependable Desi stuff:

• Chillar Party
• Stanley ke Dabba
• Jajantram Mamantram
• Mr. India
• Chennai Express (Yes! I certify this as a kids' movie! Beats Krrish 3 by a few light years)
• Koi mil gaya, maybe Krrish (But not on your life, Krrish 3, though she loves it. I found it gory, and simply hard to digest, with nothing to learn, unnecessarily dark and borderline adult. It deserves a bash-up post of its own)

And no, I do not consider Taare Zameen Par as a kids' movie. It is aimed at the parents. I want her to learn and understand the concept of disabilities and to develop a healthy respect as well as empathy for kids and people different from her. *But* making her watch TZP before she is 12-15 years old, amounts to unnecessarily traumatising her. I will NOT do it.

(All the images used here are boons granted by my merciful, wish-fulfilling God, Google)

Growing up

On our way to Lonavala in the car
Vi: I am bored
Me: Look out. Interesting scenery. Trees, hills, valleys
Vi: that's all fine. But blueberry cheesecake is more interesting.
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Vi: I don't like my name. It has become very old.
Me: Okayyyyy. So what do you want your new name to be?
Vi: Daisy. Call me 'Daisy' from today.
Me (banging head on wall): Aaarghhh!!!

UPDATE (10th July '15): She has now decided to call me 'Rosie' because it rhymes with Daisy and proves that we are a 'team'. Lucky me! Given that she has started with Hindi in school, it will be Gulabo and Chameli next.
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Me: Vi, pick up the crumbs and the plate. Put it in the sink. Take the napkin and wipe the table clean.
Vi: You always make me work all the time. Just like Cinderella!
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Vi: It's raining! It's raining! Let's go dance on the terrace!!!
Me: It is past 11:00pm. Get back to bed.
Vi: Hmph! It's not fair! You *never ever* understand my feelings.
Me: :O
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Me: Wear the Minnie T shirt or Minnie will feel sad.
Vi: If you hit the T-shirt, will it cry? If you tickle it, will it laugh?
I am puzzled for a moment. And then it dawns on me. 
It was first day in the 1st standard today and  she had learnt about living and non-living things in the science class.
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Throwback Thursday!

As the summer vacations progress, Vi is increasingly finding solace in watching TV when I am busy in the kitchen. Last evening was like any other evening. Thursday, 7th May 2015.  I was setting out the dinner table, and Vi was idly flipping channels. 

At precisely 8:31 pm, I heard it!... unmistakably *that* tune... 

It played for a fraction of a microsecond! But who needs anything more than a milli-micro-nano-second of sound to recognise it?

"Go back, go back, GO BACK!" I screamed!

The kid, clearly startled by this uncharacteristic loss of composure by her otherwise very unflappable mother, promptly jumped one level up from where she was seated and looked around for any signs of dangerous reptiles heading for her. 

"What happened, Mumma?!" she demanded, once she discovered there was nothing to be terrified of, other than her mother's madness.

I briskly strode across the room, and snatched the remote from her tiny hand and furiously began flipping back and forth.

"Mummaaaaaaaaaaaa!!! I want to see Mickey Mouse Clubhouse!!!" she wailed instantaneously.

"Listen, Sona! If you let me see this, I *promise, promise, promise* that I will record Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and you can watch it FIVE times tomorrow! What do you say?" 

The negotiation worked! The kid, part puzzled by my craziness and part convinced with the bribe, sat back  and observed me with suspicious silence, as I plonked myself in front on the TV, jaw resting on the floor, mouth twisted in a wonky grin, eyes glazed and glued to the screen.
(This is also how Vi discovered the etymology of the term 'The Idiot Box')

*HE-MAN*!!!

Aiii havvvvvv the Paawarrrrrr! 

Yes! Yessssssssss! It was HIM! The most *PAAWARFULL* man in the universe! BAM! (he punches the audience after saying that and the audience love him for it!)

(No. I am *not* obsessed with the objectification of the male physique, you perverts. But err... when he proudly declares "Fabulous secret powers were revealed to me the day I held aloft my magic sword and said "By the Power of Greyskull!"", it is a little hard for the now-grown-up mind to not... err.. visualise)

And there was Teela- my childhood heroine! I wanted to be her. A woman who laughed heartily with head thrown back and with both hands planted boldly on her hips. A female warrior who was considered dependable enough to be the personal guard of a Prince! 
(Later Priyanka Chopra would try something like that in that absolutely traumatising nightmare on screen called Drona, and forever kill my fantasy of being a female warrior. Although it was was somewhat redeemed by Asmira from the book, The Ring of Solomon, by Jonathan Stroud. Yet Asmira was guard to a queen, not a prince. I digress, as usual.)

And the Sorceress, who was forever declaring, He-Man is in trouble! I must help him!", and then invariably adding to his woes by being hopeless in battle and needing to get herself rescued almost every single time. 
And of course, Orko and Cringer.

And those goofy (Beastman), crazy (Merman), scary (Evil Lynn) *EVEEEL forces of Skeletor?"- Kheee-kheee-kheee-kheeee. His signature laugh! And the countless imitations of it that we did as kids.

I now realise how they stated the obvious,when Skeletor and his minions discussed their grand plans to trap He-Man/ Sorceress/obtain some obscure object of intrigue and power to take over Castle Grey Skull, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination of the audience. But back then, it seemed fascinatingly nail-biting to see how He-Man and team would tackle all these dangerous problems. 

I also realise now, how brilliant the background art was. Medieval, yet full of technology. The magical artifacts, as well as guns and gadgets. The near-perfect blend of science and sorcery.

When the commercial break interrupted my reverie, I thought I owed an explanation to my poor kid. I smiled at her, as normally as I could and told her this was one of Mumma's favourite TV programs when she was a kid.

"Then why don't you watch it on YouTube?" she responded, giving me her signature skeptical (almost sarcastic) look, with one eyebrow raised. 

Kids these days, I tell you! Bah!
 *We*... *We* were the *original kids*! We *knew* what it was to be kids. I am telling you, we had a better childhood than what our parents did, or what our own kids will ever have. Sigh! Those were the days! :)

Ti-ti-ti-ti-ti- Ti-tiri-ti-ti-ti- ti- tiri-ti-ti-ti- ting! It kept looping in my head all night, and I am still grinning and humming it this morning. It has also occurred to the very corrupted 'grown-up-mind' that the "Masters of the Universe" sounds a lot like the "B@$t@rd$ of the Universe". 

By the way, the good news for the now grown-up minded people, is that He-Man is one of those super heroes who has apparently, never really punched a person/monster/ sentient being nor gashed anyone with his famous sword. The sword, for all practical purposes is used for cutting through inanimate obstructions, or for deflecting stuff (including magic), or for basic harmless duelling. He-man would only 'Throw' and toss his opponents. Throwback Thursday! See...! Great title, no? No??? Arrey, yes or no???

And every episode ends with a 'moral of the story'. Which is so totally an 'our generation' thing that our kids need to be told over and over about, till they give up on us!

P.S.- I remember getting mini, pocket sized He-Man comics with some confectionery (Gems, if memory serves right). And small He-Man dolls ("Not dolls, action figures!", all the boys insisted) that were pivoted at the hip to deliver swinging punches.

P.P.S.- I *still* have a sticker of He-Man stuck to my old teak-wood study desk at my parents' place. Mental note to self, to click that and post it here as soon as possible. :)

Charles M. Schulz and the approaching 37th birthday

My life has no purpose, no direction, no aim, no meaning, and yet I'm happy. I can't figure it out. What am I doing right?

Sometimes I lie awake at night, and wonder if my life would be different if I had to do it over... Then a voice comes to me out of the dark that says, "Boy, there's an original thought!

“Sometimes I lie awake at night, and I ask, ‘Where have I gone wrong?’ Then a voice says to me, ‘This is going to take more than one night.'”

“Sometimes I lie awake at night and I ask, ‘Why me?’ And the voice says, ‘Nothing personal your name just happened to come up.'”

“Sometimes I lie awake at night, and I ask, ‘Is life a multiple choice test or is it a true or false test?’ Then a voice comes out of the dark, and says: ‘We hate to tell you this, but life is a thousand word essay.'

“Sometimes I lie awake at night in bed and I ask, Is it all worth it?’ And then a voice says, ‘Who are you talking to?’ And another voice says, ‘You mean: to whom are you talking?’
And I say, ‘No wonder I lie awake at night.'”


“Never lie in bed at night asking yourself questions you can’t answer…”

A tiny sense of humour

7th July 2014

We are getting dressed for a 'social event'.

Vi and I are ready. Sam rushes home from work, and goes for a quick shower. 

Vi knocking the door: Daddu? Daaaadduuuuuu, what are you doing?

Sam: I am taking a shower

Vi (giving me *that* sly look): What? You are breaking the towel?!

And then the endless giggles! :D

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Sometime in 2013

Me: Vividhaaaaa, pick up your toys!
Vi (rolling eyes, shrugging her tiny shoulders): Papoi? Ja, ja, ja Papoi, papoi! Phrrrtttt!

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Sometime again in Summer 2013

I can't find my phone. Calling my number from the landline and frantically searching around the house for any faint ringing sound. I can't hear it.

Vi: What are you searching?
Me: My phone
Vi: Then who are you calling from the house phone?
Me: My number, so I can hear it and then look for it.
Vi (that *khufiya jasoosi* look and a grin): Call my number, and I'll find it for you. OK?
Me (in an equally secretive whisper): OKkkkkkkkayyyyyyyyyy!

So I pretend to call her toy phone. She picks it.
Vi: Hello, Mumma? Yes, yes, I can help you. Please look inside my big bag of soft toys.

And sure enough, there it is, muffled by all the cuddliness around!

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Dad's gone Madddddd!

Dedicated to the Wacky Adventures of Mad-Dad and his Daughter!

The other night Vi and I were watching "So you think you can dance? Season 9" just after dinner- the Chehon-Cyrus routine was on .

As always, we both were engrossed. She is as fascinated by dance as I am.

But then the conversation began:


Vi: Loooook at their bodies, Mumma. So many muscles. So strong naa?

Me (snapping out of dance reverie!): Huhhh? What???

Vi: Their bodies, Mumma! Like Krishna and Ram... Very strong and so many muscles.

Me (relaxing a bit): Oh yes... very strong.  The Gods are very strong.

Clearly, the mythology stories narrated by Ajoba were giving her ideas.

Vi: Not God, Mumma! I am talking about Krishna. He always sleeps without any shirt.

Me ( the Mumma radar has picked a very strong red alert! I look at her intently while she is still staring at the screen): Who Krishna? Who was sleeping without a shirt? When did you see him?

Vi ( replying a very 'matter-of-fact' manner, without taking her eyes off the TV) : Krishna! Krishnaaaa, Mumma! From Krissh3 movie. He also wears pajamas like this, and doesn't wear shirts while sleeping.

I am stunned... and I don't know if I should be happy or worry about my daughter's observation skills and associative memory!

ME (regaining composure): And then who is Ram?

Vi: Tattad Tattad Tattad Tattad!

I call up the husband: Do you know what your daughter has been saying?

And I narrate the incident to him. I can hear him snickering over the phone.

Sam: Well... She's your daughter, and clearly a Hrithik fan!

SAMIRRRRRRR!!! GRRRRRRR!!!!!!

Me: You took her to watch Ram Leela!!! In the theatre! RAM-LEELA!

Sam, with the usual calm: Well, you took her to watch Krrish 3... It's not exactly a kids' movie, either... never mind the U rating.

Vi (pips in): Ram Leela is a nice movie, Mumma... Nagada sang dhol baaja... Bhai-bhai- Dham-dham Bhai! Krish is a little bit scary. Dhoom:3 is also nice!

Me giving up.... 
Although, I admit he is RIGHT- Krrish:3 was more adult that D:3 or RL... I mean, the amount of combined cleavage between Hrithik and Kangna was mind-boggling. Katrina, Deepika, Uday Chopra didn't even come close! And honestly, WHO on the censor board thought D:3 needed a U/A rating... and for which scenes exactly?
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Baap-Beti are fascinated by Hindi movies... they can watch *ANY* movie (even the dubbed ones!)... at home, in theatre... with glazed eyes, dropped jaws, and temporary deafness to any auditory stimulus other than the blaring sound-track... for that matter, temporary numbness to any other external stimulus.

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At 1 year and 4 months, Vi had learned that her 'FULL' name was Vividha Chameeeeer Papad.

Chameeeeer Papad is like a sibling for her- Partner in crime &  pranks, direct competition for Mumma's affection, and blanket cover for ANY disciplining from Mumma. She called him Chameer for a long time, until her grand-mas decided that she needs to learn to 'respect' the dad. So it became 'Daddu-bear' for a while.

Now, she calls him Brownie-bear, mainly for his skin tone (where does she get these racist ideas from?!) and  accuses him of not bathing properly. Sometimes, when she is Mewki the cat, he is Meuker the bear, and I am Cuddly the dog. Or she is Spiderman, I am Ice-man and he is Firestar.
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When she was over 2 years old, I planned to enroll her for playschool. And the Aadarsh Bharatiya Mata that I am trying to be, I thought she should have a bit of a headstart. She already knew her ABC-song ( I had made it into a lullaby, and she picked it pretty early on- "H-I-Jacket-Elemeno-Peeeee" ). So the next logical step would be to teach her A for Apple. I delegated the responsibility to the Dad. Some hours later, the kid comes to me and sings "ABCDEFG-G mein se nikle Gandhijiiiiiii... Gandhiji ne khaya Peru... Peru mein se..."

SAMIRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!

"OK... OK... OK...! Chill, yaar. I'll teach her *PROPERLY!*...

By the end of the next day, she says the entire ABCD pointing to all the right pictures... and when she reaches Z... Z for JIBHDAAAA... NYEAHHHHHHHH!!!
(Jibh-da= Colloquial Gujju term for 'Jibh'/ Tongue)


SAMIRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!! 
GRRRRRRRRR!!!




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If he tucks her in at night, neither of them brushes! "Sher aur Sher ke bachche kabhi brush nahi karte!" And they vegetate on the bed watching episodes of Sarabhai v/s Sarabhai on the phone, late into the night, sharing ear-phones! While I try to sleep...
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He takes her to the swimming pool (very rarely) but they make it into a ceremony, in full gear with all the associated (and unassociated) paraphernalia ... inflatable vest and arm-bands, float-ring, cap,  goggles, water-gun with a tank back-pack, a toy... or two... or dozen. The whole nine yard... or shall we say, 10 feet? Fortunately, the club staff and members are kind enough to not mind  rubber-ducks, Angry Birds, Doraemons, shovels and pails floating by them, as they sincerely do their Olympic length laps.

Post swimming, they both eat dosa/ idli/ juice at that horribly over-priced, poorly serviced restaurant adjoining the club and she brags about her 'adventures' to everyone she meets all day.
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P.S. (7th April. Past 11:00 pm): I gleefully nudge the Pati while he is watching a random Hindi dubbed South India movie on TV with rapt attention,

"Dekho, dekho, aaj maine blog pe kya likha!" and shove the phone in his face.

He looks at it intensely for about 6 minutes 37 seconds, with trademark furrowed eyebrows over his bespectacled eyes.

Me, impatiently, "Well? What do you think?"

A pause. And then, "It's really nice! So smooth!"

The budding writer in me is exhilarated for a nanosecond, but the wife in me is wiser:
"What do you mean "nice and SMOOTH"?

The Pati, nonchalantly,
 "The screen- it's really slick and such fun to swipe on a large surface like this," caressing the brand new. brick-sized Sony Xperia T2 Ultra.

SAMIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!

Silver

It is the eve of the 36th birthday. Sam wishes me. And so does Vi.

I tell him, "Look! I've sprouted more grey hair this year than ever before!".

Vi looks up, visibly tensed!

"Mamma, are you getting old?"...
"Well... Yes! It's my birthday, you know!"
 "But you have grey hair! You're not going to die, naa?"

I am stumped for a nano-second. Did I hear "DIE" or "DYE"?  Her eyes are brimming over now! I regain my composure and promptly respond, "Oh no.. not at all! I am *DEFINITELY* not going to die!"

She relaxes and smiles. "But you know, Mamma, you are not washing your hair properly... That's why they are becoming grey. It's all those bad Keetanoos ( Thank you, toothpaste/toilet cleaner- dish-soap/detergent/ hand sanitiser advertisements! If they make white stuff black/dark, surely they are also responsible for black hair turning grey). Tomorrow morning it's your birthday, naa. You wash properly. You should try using the vacuum cleaner on your hair, like how we use it on the curtains, and the sofa to remove ALLLLLL the keetanoos!"


 I cannot resist chuckling. That makes her even happier. She makes me bow my head and begins to scrutinize my hair.

"They are looking nice! Silvery! You know when they become all silver, and your eye-brows also become silver, you will look like Santa Claus!"  It has to be my expanding waistline, that gives her such ideas!!!
"And I'll be Jack Frost, and Daddu will be the Easter Bunny... we will be Guardians!!! And then one day you can even become Ice-Man and I will become Spiderman, and Daddu will become FireStar!" No, we do not restrict super-hero role-play by gender. :)


And then we watch a spoof "Bal Dhong-ress Karya-karta" video on Storypick.

"I want to see another video!"
 "No, it's late! Get into bed."

 I tuck her in with her menagerie of stuffed toys. Sam is snoring within 5 minutes. Vi talks to herself and fidgets for a while with Patch and Mookun (I have to post about these 2 stuffed dogs soon!) before drifting into sleep.
 And I sit down to type this post. It is 2:00am now. The new year has begun with many silver linings :)