Of first pets...

My first pets were four lovebirds. I named them Tuni, Muni, Mou and Tushi. Not sure what I was thinking, as two of these - Tuni and Mou, were male. I was later told that names don't mean a thing to them....so they wouldn't have problems with their gender identity. What a relief!

Baba and I got them from the Shyambazar markets, early one morning. I was probably 8 or 9 years old then. When they got home, we discovered that Tushi wasn't moving at all. She was alive and awake, but simply wouldn't move. I broke into tears, thinking I had somehow hurt her foot in transit. Determined to make it right (as mothers usually are), Ma took her out of the cage and rubbed Amrutanjan on her leg (I'm not kidding). Within minutes, Tushi became the most active bird in the cage (whether that was her personality or the effect of Amrutanjan, we could never tell).
She was also the first to lay eggs, which never really hatched because her clueless lover Mou, thought they were little toys and kicked them around like a lunatic.

I have several such memories of my loony lovebirds, who have now become part of our favourite family stories.
Today, we brought home Shanaya's first pet, Rojo (meaning "red" in Spanish). Here's hoping he gives her stories and memories that will always bring a smile to her face.

Edited to add: Roho died on the 18th of July 2017. We buried him in front of our house, and said a little prayer.. S keeps asking me if fish turn into fairies when they die. I do not know. But I know that Roho will always hold a special place in my heart.

Our wanderlust wall

Our wanderlust wall. Red bindis to mark the places we've been to together. Here's hoping that we always find a way to add more dots...

Come, let's tidy up

My scribbling on The Indian Express on Aug 14, 2016:

Come, let's tidy up...

Conversations with My Little Girl

Oct 16, 2016

"Mummy, put on the 'bubble base' song", says my 3-yr old.
"I don't know which song you mean", I say.

I try looking up nursery rhymes, nevertheless...hoping I'll find the one she means.
Turns out she wanted "I'm all about the bass".

Quite relieved she thinks that the lyrics say "bubble base".
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Sept 21, 2016

Shanaya: Mummy you're hurting my ear.
Me: But am not even touching you, Shanaya.
Shanaya: But you're hurting my ear by talking.
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Sep 2, 2016
Shanaya: Me hot. Mummy, you not hot.
Me: What? Where did you learn that from?
(aghast at her honesty and her ability to judge female hotness at 3yrs of age!)
Until I realised that she was feverish. And I was not.
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Aug 24, 2016.

Me: Shanaya, I can’t sit here for an hour at dinner time, poking your cheeks to remind you that you have stored food in one corner of your mouth. You need to chew, swallow and take the next spoonful.
Shanaya: Mummy, no need. I can poke my cheeks…see?
And with that, she pokes the little mound on her cheek and chews for a whole one second. The swallowing and taking of the next spoonful did not follow. But she is convinced that she can single-handedly manage the poking of her cheeks.

On "growing up"

As kids, we were often awestruck by certain things that grown-ups did and thought in our heads "When I am able to do that, I'll be a grown-up".

I remember two such things -- drinking tea from dainty (and very fragile) tea cups (our drinks were usually served in plastic tumblers...so those Corelle cups always held my fancy).
The other thing was folding sarees neatly within seconds. I often watched Ma do it....and tried it myself several times later. But never without burying myself in a pile....clueless about which side to hold up and fold.

That day, I folded all my Puja sarees away while talking to Ma on the phone. Later, I realised I didn't even need to pay attention to the task. I just did it effortlessly.
It was a strange feeling. I could see myself as the awestruck little girl...only, this time, I was looking at the grown-up me.

While I have been a grown-up for years now (too many years!), this totally mundane task was like an epiphany. Not only was I folding my Puja sarees like a pro, I wasn't feeling the usual pangs of sadness that always marked the end of Puja for me as a child.

I had grown up indeed.

Waiting for fairies in our garden

This post is part of the Letters to My Little Girl series.

Dear Shanaya,

You will probably forget all about this weekend. So years from now, when you are reading this, I hope it makes you happy. As happy as you were helping Mummy and Daddy with setting up our backyard garden.

This weekend was about several trips to the local nurseries, getting our hands dirty in cow manure and potting mix, playing with water guns in the backyard, chasing bees in the morning and waiting patiently for nightfall when the garden fairies would visit.
You were such a big help, pottering about the backyard, singing songs that you made yourself.


Our garden is complete, well in time to enjoy the colours of Spring. I really hope the fairies you're waiting for, come visiting soon.

Lots  of love,
Mummy

5 ways using Google can harm you…

Writing this makes me feel a bit hypocritical. A part of me lives on Google land. I am one of those who would have Google on speed dial, if I could. And that is why it has become blatantly obvious to me that this “having-information-at-my-fingertips” is harming me in more ways than one.

I can no longer lose myself in anything – No matter what I am doing, watching, eating, drinking, hearing, saying….I am forever taking mental notes like “must find out more about this later”. Occasionally, I can’t even wait for “later”. So I’d google a historical era while watching a period drama (and end up missing a few scenes). Or I’d keep my book aside and look up the origin of an unfamiliar word. And of course, when a TED Talk or TV interview fascinates me, instead of watching it till the end, I put it on pause and instantly google the speaker’s spouse.  Always the “spouse” first, in order to see who these charming people find charming (and subconsciously check out how “available” they are). Curiosity may not have killed the cat, but it has surely killed my ability to “be immersed”.

I am a scaredy-cat – My Google-dependence grew worse during my pregnancy. My search history looked something like this:
• Should a pregnant woman eat prawns?
• Should a pregnant woman sit on the floor?
• Should a pregnant woman eat prawns while sitting on the floor?
OK, maybe not the last one. But you get the drift. I was neurotic, and let Google feed me morsels of fear and caution every minute (so, very little space in my tummy for prawns anyway). The point is, stories of deaths, diseases, accidents, lawsuits, heartbreaks, medical malpractices, recklessness, fear and hopelessness will find their way to you more easily than the positive stories. Medical websites (and “online” doctors) thrive on our curiosity, and the more we read, the more convinced we are that the harmless-looking rash on our skin is actually the first sign of leukaemia.

I don’t talk to people as much as I used to/would like to – What’s the point of having a real conversation when most of my questions are answered in the virtual world? You mean to say…you still call your mum to ask for recipes? And on moving to a new neighbourhood, do you ask your neighbour about the best local markets? Good for you. I want to be more like you. Seriously.  I hardly tap into the pool of knowledge and experience of people I know. I end up (and it sounds so stupid, even as I type this) getting information from face-less strangers in the virtual world than from people who love me, wish me well and would be more than happy to help.

I am lazy, boring and shallow – There was a time, when I used to write down reading notes. Excerpts, quotations, names of places and things that struck a chord. In the process, these things got etched in my memory…and I could often recite a verse or think of quotes and trivia, appropriate for the occasion. But then came Google. And I stopped making an effort, because I could “always look it up when I need to”.  I have stopped using the part of my brain that could store information and produce it on demand. This has also made me a sceptic. Every time I see someone post a picture on social media and caption it with a beautiful quote, my mind goes “Come on, you just looked it up because it would make you sound deep. It’s not like you actually read Oscar Wilde ever.”

I have lost my spontaneity and sense of wonder – Gone are the days when we just packed our bags and set off for a long drive to the country-side. With no planned destinations or stop-overs.  We’d discover little cafes, revel at the wild flowers that greeted us, walk into desolate memorial grounds and spend hours reading epitaphs. Now, I make sure I know when the wildflower season is….which cafes are the most popular…and which famous people were buried in those graves. I know this, and more, months before we actually go on that drive. Not surprising that I am not surprised at anything anymore. There is very little sense of wonder…in fact, there is this annoying feeling of déjà vu, which isn’t even déjà vu. It all seems familiar… not in any beautiful, mysterious way…but only because I have seen pictures of it on Google, when I was “looking up” things to see and do.

Dear Google, you have been a friend…but you have made me pay. And although I can’t think of any better place to say the classic “it’s not you…it’s me” phrase, I’ll just say that we’re both to blame. You have placed the world at my fingertips…and I did not resist the temptation.

Our song

(Part of the Letters to My Little Girl series)

Dear Shanaya,

You and I may not be the best singers (or music composers) on the planet, but we sure do have an “original” song under our belt. It’s a song that we sing in chorus, when we are happy. It’s the song I sing to you, when my heart bursts with love…and I just want to cuddle you tighter. It’s the song you sing to me, perched on “your” bar stool in the kitchen, as I wash dishes or cook us a meal.

The lyrics may not be very “inspired”, but you and I couldn’t love it more. The song has only three words, by the way, which are sung in a few different tunes J.

My version – My Chiku, My Chiku, My Chiku, Re

Your version - My Mummy, My Mummy, My Mummy, Re

In the darkest of times…

Or when we’ve had a fight…

I hope this song plays in our heads, and takes us back to those lazy afternoons....those early morning cuddles....or those cold evenings under our blankets....just you and I.

Love,

Mummy

P.S. You have just learnt to sing Do Re Mi, and want to sing it in loop all day. 

Turning Thirty Five

It’s been five years since I wrote this post.

Have I done well in the “grace” and “maturity” fronts? Who cares!

All that matters is that I had an eventful five years (yes, am considering I was born at 30, because I can’t remember what I was up to before then).

I have continued to earn a living
Spent a lot more time with Ma (and loved it!)
Travelled inter-state and to four new countries
Acquired a new passport (but definitely feel more “Indian” than ever)
Got drunk and made a fool of myself at a friend’s party (about time)
Renovated my old house and built a new (and survived!)
Made new friends (and lost touch with a few old ones)
Started my owl collection (not real owls)
De-cluttered to my heart’s content (house and mind)
Bought the Taj Mahal (only a miniature)
Downgraded from a massive DSLR to a point-n-shoot (when everyone else is upgrading)
Sold my treadmill and bought a proper clothes drying rack (about time)
Walked 3kms on a whim one day (and on bed rest for the next three days)
Designed my front garden (and very proud of it)
Written a speech in my honour on my retirement day, in the voice of a friend/colleague (assignment in a Leadership Training I attended)
Carried back gifts for 80 people on my last visit to India (I love that I know/love so many people)
Signed up for organ donation
Learnt to make “mishit doi”
Watched a World Cup cricket match at WACA
Got myself a new name – “mummy”!

So yes, there is another one of me roaming the earth now. On some days, she makes me feel like I am “three” (that’s how old she is now)….but often, I feel like I need a knee surgery just to keep up with her (which, by the way, I do need… to fix the torn menisci in my right knee).

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P.S. I spent my birthday planting trees with a group of workmates, as part of a community drive from work (in collaboration with Greening Australia). And although physically it felt like a boot  camp (walking miles, shovel in hand, and squatting and standing to plant over 100 trees, especially with the injured knee) it made me very content and happy. I will go back to the site in a few years to see how the seedlings have grown :).

Doing a Dylan

How many hairs have I lost this year?
How many plates have I washed?
How many times did I poop and puke?
How wise have I been with water?

The answer my friend,
Is flowing in the drain...
The answer is flowing in the drain.

(No offence to Dylan, but seems like the key things in life can be traced back to our drainage systems.)

And now for the real song, just so that you don't leave this post promising never to come back again...