My best friends

I am the only child of my parents - in this sense, I belong to a rare species, at least as far as India is concerned, where most families have 2 or 3 kids. When people hear of this for the first time, they often tell me "O, it must have been quite lonely for you, growing up all alone." Looking back at my childhood days, I don't remember going through a distinct feeling of loneliness at any time. There have been times when I have wished for more company to play with, even times when I wished I had a brother or sister, but they were not very strong or recurring feelings. During most of my childhood and adolosence, I was in a world of my own, mostly with my best friends - BOOKS.

I wanted to dedicate this post to these friends and how I have grown up with them, how they have kept me company in happiness and sorrow, been my cheer at times of distress and still occupy an important place in my life.

I was introduced to the mesmerizing world of letters by my uncle, who was a Masters in English Literature and a Professor in a college. I remember he used to buy me a whole lot of childrens' books with illustrations, most of them with Russian names and characters. In those times,Russian books were popular in India and a lot of English books that were available in the market were actually Russian books translated and published in English, probably as a result of the socialist-Russian links of the Nehruvian era. Most of the characters were Misha or Tanya, the former being a popular name. I also remember some non-Russian books he got me - one was of Swashbuckle, the highway robber, who was very fond of eating blueberries and had a beard and face that were full of the berry's stains. I still remember the book for its beautiful illustrations.

And then, as I moved on to Class III and IV, there were the Enid Blytons - the Secret Seven, the Famous Five, Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew. I particularly loved the tomboy "George" (Georgina) in the Famous Five and even tried to emulate her for some period of time. The biggest treasurehouse for that generation was undoubtedly the "Amar Chitra Katha" series by Uncle Pai (Ananth Pai). Looking back, I think we need to salute Uncle Pai's significant contribution to keeping Indian mythology alive in the minds of the youth. Most of the mythology and Indian folklore that I know, is from the Amar Chitra Katha or Tinkle comics. What a rich collection it was! In those days, I remember that I would do almost anything to get hold of a bound collection of Amar Chitra Katha. The Indrajaal comics with superheroes such as Phantom, Mandrake, Bahadur,Flash Gordon and Garth were also favorites. Of these, the Phantom attained cult status with me (as with many contemporaries) and he was my "hero" for all the devilry that he attempted - crossing the "Piranha-filled river suspended on a ropeway",taking on villians single-handedly and living in the skull cave in the jungle amongst the Pygmy Bandar.

By the time I moved on to high school, I had found a group of like-minded friends and discussing books during lunch was the "in-thing" in school. I remember reading the entire collection of "Sherlock Holmes" novels - 2 bound volumes - in a month of vacation. During this time, I bugged my parents and got myself enrolled 2 local libraries. This opened a new world and I started reading Jeffrey Archer, Sidney Sheldon, Ken Follet, Erich Segal and a number of nice British authors. For whatever reason, I also liked Victorian novels and some of the classic English stuff. Jane Austen's Persuasion is a favorite. So were most of Daphne du Maurier's books with "Rebecca" and "The King's General" topping the list. One of our English teachers introduced us to a wonderful writer named Georgette Heyer - she has been often discounted as a "romantic writer". True to some extent, since most of her writing involved romance in the lives of English noblemen. But her language was so refreshing, with wonderful, sarcastic humour chipped in. Reading her books has done a world of good to my vocabulary too. Short stories of O.Henry, Somerset Maugham and a couple of others were also favorites. Sometimes I wish I had written down the names of every single book I read. Because there are some books that I remember vaguely, but do not remember the names. "The Scarlet Pimpernal"by Baroness Orczy, "The Lost Horizon" by James Hilton and "The Citadel" by A.J.Cronin and the all-time-favorite "To Kill a Mocking-bird" by Harper Lee are some of the books I remember reading with a distinct sense of satisfaction.

Although there was a "parent-enforced lean period" in my reading due to board exams and Engineering entrance exam preparation, I still squeezed in a little bit of time to read my favorite stuff, all of which was fiction. I think I chose to ignore the existence of non-fiction till a much later period of my life. The first non-fiction book that I really read cover to cover was "Freedom at Midnight" by Dominique Lapierre and Larry Collins - and I really enjoyed it, probably because it told in a near-fiction manner, the story of the events that unfold during the birth of India and Pakistan. That led to another book by the same authors "O Jerusalem". I got into non-fiction then, and still read some of it, but I can never find in it the charm and lure of beautifully woven fiction.

Into adulthood, life took me through rough turns and there was a time when I was wounded, bitter and withdrawn, so much so that I did not want anything to have to do with people. I was outside India and stayed alone - Books were all the comfort and company that I had. They would magically transport me, at least for a few hours, to another world, far away from reality. For a while, my life revolved completely around work and books. Any time outside of work, even when I was on the bus, I would read, almost feverishly. The only other thing I did during that period was listen to music. I remember I did not watch a single movie or TV show for almost 8-9 months. With time - and reading, I should add, I came out of the trough and moved towards being my old self. There are lots of authors and books that I relished during this period. Some of the most memorable experiences are of reading "The God of Small Things" by Arundhati Roy, "Out of Africa" by Karen Blixen and "The Bridges of Madison County" by Robert James Waller. Richard Bach were also wonderful reads during this time. Some of the books have lasting influence - After reading the "Exodus" by Leon Uris, I have always been partial to the cause of Israel and the Jews - I admire their sheer gumption and focus. I turn a blind eye to their faults, but somehow I can't help empathising with their cause.

After I returned to India and got married, my husband once gifted me a book "Ladies Coupe" by Anita Nair, which got me hooked on to Indian English writing. I tried to read as much as possible of Rabindranath Tagore, translated into English. Chitra Divakaruni Banerjee's "Mistress of Spices" was also particularly enjoyable, althought I haven't even tried seeing the movie for fear that it will spoil the story etched in my mind. The fact that DH loved reading also helped. We have spent many a weekend curled up at home with books, both of us enjoying the tranquility.

The last 2 fiction books that I read, and are worth mentioning, are "Harry Potter and the Half blood prince" (Vol 6 of Harry Potter, of which DH and I are avid fans) and "One hundred years of Solitude" by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, which is a lovely and haunting story, beautifully crafted by the author. I finished the latter and a day later, went into labor and had DD. After DD was born, work and home left me with little time & energy for books. The only peaceful time I had was the time I had before retiring for the day, after DD slept. I love fiction too much to read it in time-bound instalments. So these days I read more of non-fiction, which I don't mind breaking up into 30 minute sessions. I am now reading "Collapse" by Jared Diamond, which talks of how ancient civilizations collapsed and is quite interesting. I look forward to the time when DD is older and I can go back to reading fiction :-)

I also hope and dream that DD grows up to love books - not because I want her to be like me or because of the obvious advantages associated with reading, but more because I would like her to savor the experience and allow it to enrich her life in ever so many ways.

Confessions of a resolution-breaker

For a good part of the last decade, I have embarked on every New Year with "losing weight and getting to shape" as one of my resolutions. New years are born, progress into middle age, grey and lumber into old-age and death, but this resolution of mine has always remained the same - fresh, untouched and young. It resiliently survives every year and gets into the next list for the next year. To be fair to myself, this is the only one that has remained in the list for so long - all the others are either kept or knocked off the list because I know they don't fit into my scheme of things.

I am going to use this post to rant about my inability to stick to this resolution, which continues to haunt. I am sure I will have plenty of empathy from like-minded readers out there. And this post might also be sneered upon by many a fitness-freak. But then that is a risk that one always has while speaking out one's mind.

As I have always affirmed, I love good food - read "fattening food". Most people who know me consider me strong-willed (hubby will vehemently vouch for this). But this so-called strong will trembles like jelly and comes down on its knees at the thought of good food. So when hubby dear suggests we order pizza, I make a feeble attempt at refusal saying "O should we really?" And to give him due brownies in his contribution in making us a rotund couple, he says “Yes" with utmost finality and certainty. My mind, which was trying to do a tight-rope walk on the very thin line of my new year resolution, does a little jig and hums to itself as it loses balance and falls into the abyss. I waste no time in ringing up Pizza Hut and ordering a pizza. When the pizza guy offers a new stuffed-cheese version, I give in and tell myself "Ok - just this once".

I have never been a "sports-loving" type person who loves physical exertion. The rest of this paragraph has a list of excuses that I have for not exercising and staying fit. If you are a fitness freak, please feel free to skip the remaining stretch. In the convent school that I went to, we had 1 sports-hour a week till standard 6, after which age, I assume that the nuns were of the opinion that girls did not need sports. Being an only child, I thrived on books for company during vacations. Well into my adulthood, I found that the lack of interest in physical exertion was not helping me with my resolution at all. I used to walk to and from school daily - which was a good 5 km, and was enough activity for me then. The only activity I still love is walking and I get to do very little of that with my long hours at work and now, a baby at home.

Inertia, inertia, inertia - I stick to my resolution by exercising promptly and keeping tab on my food habits for a week. And then I relax for a day.. And inertia sets in. And I feel almost certainly that my metabolism, which has a mind of its own, is also so used to status-quo that any change in the fat-burning rate is very slow and requires a lot of stimulation. Heredity is not a strong point for me here. There are marked tendencies towards pudginess on both mom's and dad's sides. And it looks like I have inherited the worst from both the gene trees.

And last but not the least, I have to talk about the many friends and well-wishers and sometimes total-strangers who have taken liberties to casually joke about the weight-factor. The first few times this was the butt of jokes, I went beet-red with shame. I made silent promises to myself that I would do something about it. The next few times, I really didn't feel as bad about it as initially. And then within a year or so, I got to a stage where I could joke about it myself. I should say that these people have made a phenomenal contribution in making me mentally "accept" the problem. And as long as I could accept it mentally, I could live with it. I recognize this, but am yet to shake myself off this state.

And so I begin 2007 with this resolution still in my list. This year, I have spent some time thinking of the reasons behind my failure. And now that I have made my confession, I feel a wee bit more equipped to stick to my resolution. Cheer me on, folks :-)

The Tower of Babel

I love languages. Probably, some of this love stems from the fact that we spoke 2 languages at home, and I was exposed to 2 more languages quite early in life. But 3 of the 4 languages I knew were Indian, and 2 of them South Indian - so obviously they had similarities. My first exposure to a non-Indian language was when I started learning French. It was during this period that I stumbled upon connections between French and Indian languages - and marvelled at the wonder of the links.

A shirt is "chemize" in French, a baggy top is "kameez" in Hindi. Bread is "Pain" (pronounced "paan" without stressing the last "n") in French - And wow, it is "pao" in Hindi. Brother in English is so similar to the Sanskrit "Bhraatha" and the root for "patriarch" and "pitha" must be the same. Lufthansa, the German airlines, literally means "flying bird". "Hamsa" in Sanskrit is a bird - swan. The name for numbers also point a close connection - Septa, the Latin root for 7, which is "Sapta" in Sanskrit - if we start looking, what we find might be just too amazing. I guess most of these connections would have been spoken about and researched by etymologists across the world. My thrill and amazement at these links is proabably more due to the fact that I discovered them through serendipity. But there are certain bizarre similarities - In colloquial Tamil, the "kiddie" word for water is "akkam". I had heard kids saying that all my life, but when my daughter started said that word one of these days, it struck me that it was so close to "aqua", the Latin root for water. Was this a real connection or was this coincidence?

If you look up Wikipidea on the Tower of Babel, it says "According to the narrative in Genesis Chapter 11 of the Bible, the Tower of Babel was a tower built by a united humanity to reach the heavens. God, observing the unity of humanity in the construction, resolves to destroy the tower and confuse the previously uniform language of humanity, thereby preventing any such future efforts." I don't know if this story is for real, but somehow, like a lot of things in mythology, it does seem to make some sense.

If you would like to look at the connections between words in different languages, here is a nice site that discusses the origin of words and how they appear across languages - www.takeourword.com.

New beginnings

We would all love to start the new year with some joy, cheer and optimism. I apologize if this post is not fitting to the mood of the season. But I found this topic to be more meaningful than all my usual blabber and more representative of new beginnings.

On the first working day of the new year, a colleague of mine had sad news to share - his cousin's 3 year old son had been diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Luekemia (ALL), a form of blood cancer. This is the 2nd time in the last couple of months that I had heard of the disease. Two months back, I had received an email from a colleague, appealing for financial aid for Aditya, a 4 year old kid affected by ALL, whose only hope lay in an expensive Bone Marrow Transplant that could be done only in the U.S. Incidentally, Aditya's mother had also worked for our firm a few years back. He is now undergoing treatment in the U.S. Words cannot describe the suffering that these kids and their parents endure. God help them in their suffering and give them the courage to sail through this. http://adityak02.googlepages.com/latestupdates - This page has updates posted by Aditya's dad on his health. There is also a link through which donations can be made for his treatment.

It is when one hears such things that one realizes the pettiness of whining about the small hicuups faced in life. For a while, let us stop being warped in our problems - Let us pray for the health and long life of these kids and the many many others who die of hunger, malnutrition and disease. Let them have new beginnings and reason for hope and optimism. Let this world be a better place for them this year. Let the buds stand a chance to bloom..

A whiff of fresh air

I love December - it is the month of festivity and celebration. It's the time to look back on what we have done in the whole year and what we have forgotten to do. It's the time to look forward to a new and better year. But I love this month most because this is my "recharge" time. For the last couple of years, I have become used to taking at least a week's break in December - and I don't use this break for travel or vacation. I use this time to recharge my batteries, allow myself all kinds of luxuries and generally indulge in anything that fancies me. The very fact that I don't have a plan or a schedule or a to-do list, makes me look forward to this break. And this year, the break came when hubby and his mom had to go off for a short trip to settle a few things back in Kerala. My daughter's nanny agreed to stay over with me for the duration, giving me time to do my own stuff. And boy, it was really good.

I rediscovered the simple joy of getting up in the morning and having a nice cup of coffee while reading the newspaper. This was something I took for granted in B.C (Before Child) days, but now I cherished the experience so much. I took my daughter for morning walks in the garden below and we played with pebbles. I read to her, played silly games with her and took her out every single evening. We enjoyed kiddie rides, went to the beach and park, and had a freaking good time. I watched her as she reacted wondrously at new experiences. What a pity that we grow up and lose most of this awe for anything beautiful and new.

During the day, I read books, listened to some of my favourite music, went window-shopping and sometimes just curled up beside my daughter when she slept. I made it a point to forget all pending tasks and anything that came to my notice, I just brushed aside. I didn't even write a post for this blog :-)

At the end of it, I felt a calm energy inside me. The return to routine life was a jolt, but I know that I can have another break next year. And in any case, if I do this daily, it is going to become like the morning cup of coffee that I used to have - no novelty and hence taken for granted.

Wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

A holistic treat for the body, mind and soul

These days, my life is very eventful. I wake up everyday with a feeling of uncertainty on the new possibilities and risks that I may face during the morning. If I succeed in overcoming these challenges, I get to go to work, where I settle down to relatively unremarkable pursuits. Parenting is always a recurring favorite in my posts and this time, I wanted to rant about how parenting makes you acquire multi-dimensional skills by putting you through this training in alertness and quick-reflexes, that would put even the U.S Marines to shame.

Scene 1: I am trying to make myself a cup of tea, after putting my daughter amidst her favorite toys. Although I watch the boiling water and add the ingredients in the right measure, I can still see my daughter through my mind's eye. Now, this is an extra eye at the back of the head that God gives parents of toddlers to save them from annihilatuing themselves in frustration. Dear Daughter (to be addressed henceforth as DD) looks bored with all her toys and lets out a big yawn. She then gets up and saunters lazily into the kitchen. My mind's eye sends a red alert to my still-sleepy brain, and my brain kicks into action. DD 's saunter turns into a trot as she rushes to the oil-jar cabinet and starts pulling something out. My brain sends a complex signal to hands, ordering me to switch off the stove and make a leap to catch the flip-open oil container that is just being thrown to the ground. I dive towards the container and manage to catch it by the handle. And now I realize that DD is standing in my diving trajectory. Yet another signal from my brain to quickly change my trajectory to avoid crushing DD - my body reacts to it by swinging right just in time and I manage to crash onto the refrigerator instead. The entire event took less than 2 seconds. DD,who was watching me thus far with mild interest on her face, turns around to pull out the next container from the cabinet. She believes in systematic onslaught.

Scene 2: This is Sunday morning and I am ready to feed DD her breakfast - nice soft idlis and piping-hot sambar. I take idlis in a plate and look towards the dining table, at the centre of which there is a casserole filled by the sambar. My mistake - I had left the sambar open when I went to get a ladle. My body froze for a second at the sight - DD standing on her toes and stretching to pull the casserole by its ear towards herself. My brain quickly analyzed the situation and after a quick analysis of all factors including the distance between me and DD, chose to react by screaming. The scream was very effective - DD stopped dead in her tracks, rested her feet fully on the ground and turned to me to see what made me scream. And I made an athletic dash towards her that would have put Flo-Jo to shame.

Scene 3: I am giving DD her bath. I have massaged lavish amounts of oil on her skin and hair and decide to let it sink in for sometime. I fill her tub with warm water, making sure that the temparature is just right for her. After I fill the water, DD normally plays around with it using a mug, a small cup and spoon, all of which are my "distraction tools" to prevent her from fussing/howling and climbing onto me with all her oil. But this day is different - after a while of playing, DD decides that she is bored. She points to the wall-mixer faucet set and says "TAAAP" - I nod in agreement and smile at her. She then quickly opens the knob of the cold-water tap, allowing water to fall inside the tub, and revels in splashing cold water all around. In desperation, I turn off the controlling knob of the water supply to the bathroom. She gasps in surpise for a moment, then realizes that I have done something to stop her from having fun. She lets out a blood-curdling scream followed with a long banshee-like wail. I don't relent - so she progresses to stamping her feet on the ground and shedding tears accompanied by unstoppable sobs. Both of us stick to our guns and by the end of this session, I am a heap of nerves and ready to break down if anyone dares to speak to me. And her? - the moment she is out of the room she totters towards the living room with a look of serenity and then goes into the kitchen to give our cook a most angelic smile. Talk of resilience..

Exercise keeps the physical being alert and fit. Crosswords, puzzles and su-do-ku help keep the brain alert and young. And motivational literature and talks help us keep our spirits buoyant.Having a toddler, as you would have realized, takes care of all the above. Situations might just go a little overboard at times and take you to the frontiers of these skills, but that's part of the game. So parents of the world - rejoice!

For the foodies of the world..

Hubby and I have always been great food-lovers. I am a staunch vegetarian while he is not - and this, to many, may seem to be a chasm too wide. But we share the same love for good food, the willingness to experiment and the sheer no-holds-barred indulgence of our taste buds. When we see great food, we forget all new year and any other resolutions made to shape up. Calorie consciousness flies out of the window and we settle down to enjoy the feast with all our senses.

In the first 2 years after we got married, we have had more dinners outside than at home, more out of need than anything else. We both used to work late and by the time we got out, most hotels would be downing their shutters. Some of the lingering memories from those times are of both of us scurrying through the half-downed shutter of Adyar Sangeetha restaurant, with the manager attempting bravely to hide his anguished expression with a wannabe-benevolent smile. During this era, we have scoured most of South Chennai, particularly Adyar and Besant Nagar, in search of good grub. And the results were to be seen - I mean, you just had to take a look at the two of us :-)

Now, the rest of this post is a eulogy to the good eat-outs in Adyar. If you find this is too parochial and silly to be discussed/written about, please feel free to leave now. I have listed a few of our favorite places in no particular order.

Eden, the vegetarian restaurant in Besant Nagar is certainly a place to go, and if you go do not miss the "Corn on Toast" starter. And for those of you who love the taste of cheese (and are capable of developing a temporary amnesia to the fact that too much of cheese clogs the arteries), do try the "Chef's Baked Bowl". The pasta in Eden is also good, although not the greatest.

There is another place in Besant Nagar, nestled in a spot quite close to Eden - This restaurant has had many avatars in the last few years. I don't remember the first avatar, but the second was called "Sage and Onion" which served just-above-average food for much too high costs. The current avatar "Pasta and Noodles" is the best attempt from the management so far - the food is quite good and although the prices continue to be on the higher side, it is certainly worth a visit.

Then there is Wangs Kitchen, that dishes out good, properly Indianized,Chinese fare. I love the sesame fried baby corns that come as starters. For those of you who have not been here, please note that the portions are really huge. So if you think you need 2 dishes, pause, and order 1. You will most probably end up having some left over even from that. And yes, don't forget to thank me in this blog for this tip, which would have saved you a couple of hundred bucks.

When in Sangeetha Adyar, don't forget to check out their "speciality of the day". If you are in a mood for a simple dish or if you are in a hurry,try podi dosai or Special Sambar rice. If you are having breakfast there, do try Pongal-vadai, followed by a nice cup of special coffee. Great way to start off a day! And needless to say, before you enter, you should give up all unholy thoughts about the excess usage of oil, ghee etc before you dig into the food. I recently passed by Sangeetha and saw that they have put a notice claiming to use olive oil for cooking. That's probably an encouragement the more health-conscious lots to give in to the simple temptations they offer.

The famed Murugan idli shop has recently opened up in Besant Nagar. Although we have passed it many times, we have never entered it because of the milling crowds - If there is one place more crowded and noisy than Sangeetha, it is probably Murugan Idli. We have heard enough from friends that suggests that it is something worth crowding for.

Farther from Adyar, en-route to the Chennai airport, is the GRT Radisson Hotel. The best thing about this place is the restaurant called "The Great Kabab Factory". If you are under the impression that "vegetarian kabab" is an oxymoron, try this place. The chef has the tastiest veggie kababs I have ever had. And there is an equally succulent, non-vegetarian option too, that my husband vouches for. And the best part is that you don't have to order and you don't have to worry about what combination tastes best. The waiters will lovingly dole out one kabab after the other, and tell you what sauce they taste best with. The only regret you are bound to have is that your stomach is not elastic enough to take in the whole meal that they offer. Sigh..

Close to Besant Nagar Bus stand, there is the "The Fruit Shop" (also known as "The Fruit Shop on Greams Road" since they started off their first branch there). If you feel like a wholesome, fresh fruit juice or milkshake, this is the place to be. They have heavenly milkshakes and the best part is that you can say from the taste that the ingredients are fresh and there is no adulteration. Their ice creams are good too..
And finally, there is this new place that I went to yesterday, which started this whole trail of food thought.

There is a new hotel on Old Mahabalipuram road, now known as the IT corridor. It is called Fortune Select Palms - funny name for a hotel, I know.. But it seemed quite good from outside and yesterday, two of my colleagues and I decided to give it a try for lunch. We expected something normal and were overwhelmed by the extraordinary quality of food! Right from the cream of mushroom soup, to the walnut cake, every single dish that we had, tasted just as it should. The pasta was heavenly and even the sprouts and salads tasted good.(hee..) This was too good to be true - and so close to work! And the rates were quite reasonable, in fact better than many city hotels that claim to be in the same band. What a discovery!

If you have reached up to this point, you are most probably the kind that drools at the thought of good food. In case you happen to be in Chennai,give these places a try.

Nostalgia time

Today, a lunchtime conversation with a colleague who had visited the UK started me off on a nostalgic trip of my stay in the country. I always knew I loved the experience of living there, but as I mulled over my memories, I found that there were a lot of moments that I truly treasured, so many experiences that I cherished and held close to my heart.

So I thought I will share some of the things that linger in my mind from my 2-year stay in High Wycombe, a beautiful town in Buckinghamshire, some 45 kms from London. The town was recently in the news for being home to the suspects in the Transatlantic aircraft plot in Aug 2006. But my memories of the place are as a serene, welcoming town that had a huge diversity in its population including Asians and Carribeans. So here is the flashback..

One morning soon after I landed, I decided to walk to the town centre on a Sunday morning. After having been used to the milling crowds in India, I was astonished to see a deserted town centre. I remember Walking on the cobbled pathways in the High Street on that wintry morning, listening to the echo of my own shoes.
There were the long solitary walks I used to take across the park along the river Wye. The grass was such a bright green that it would almost hurt my eye. Sometimes I took bread with me to feed the ducks.

My apartment was half-way up a small, beautiful hill. That area, called Downley, was one of the typical quaint English villages, with beautiful avenue-lined roads that wound up the hill. I would often walk up to the very top of the hill on evenings and watch the sunset. That was one of the most beautiful sights ever and every time I did that, a feeling of calm would descend on me. The beauty of those surroundings was almost therapeutic.

Weekends were lazy times when I did not have much to do (I could really do with one such weekend now!). I would walk to the town centre, sit in a coffee shop that was strategically located at the entrance of the Octagon Centre (the Mall) and watch people. There would be all kinds of people going about their business - fighting couples, dating teenagers, Asian families doing their weekend shopping, old ladies fussing over their pet dogs. And I would sit watching them sipping my cappuccino and a munching on a fresh blueberry muffin, for as long as I pleased.

One Sunday morning, I got up and found I had nothing to do. So I boarded a bus from the starting point in the Town centre and sat on till the end-point.. and came back in the same bus!

Whatever culinary skills I possess, I picked up when I was there. I used to try out new recipes and had a band of good friends who used to invariably land home on Saturday mornings after their weekend shopping. All of them were bachelors and whatever I made, was manna for them. I used to receive adulation even for a simple gobi masala and yes, I lapped up all the praises.

A few of my Indian colleagues decided to learn French and I joined along. We took lessons from a French lady, Martine. She is one of the most warm-hearted and kindly souls I have known. Our classes were early in the morning on weekends. Since Martine knew we would skip breakfast to come to our classes on time, she would always bring a whole lot of French breakfast with her - and we would learn our French while feeding our growling stomachs on petit-pain-au-raisin and the likes. Her warmth and friendliness made my French sessions memorable.

I stayed alone for most part of 2 years in High Wycombe. And the best part of staying alone was perhaps that it left me with more time to be with myself. Looking back, I think it is one of the best periods in my adult life.

Social tribulations

This Sunday, we were invited for a wedding reception. Truth be told, I have never found it very exciting to attend wedding receptions, especially in Chennai. Now, I am definitely no social butterfly, but I am also not one of those lone-wolves who become hostile at the sight of company. Yet, whenever I had to attend a wedding or a reception, I did so with great inhibition and difficulty.

The first problem at hand was selecting the attire. One of the things I dreaded most was draping the sari. Somehow I never mastered the art of wearing a saree neatly and carrying it gracefully. Hats off to Sonia Gandhi, but this was certainly not my cuppa tea. With this handicap, I was not left with much options in attire. I would then have to find out a salwar suit that was sufficiently good for the occasion AND not jaded-looking AND of a size that I have not overgrown AND which matched with my standard sandals. Finding out something that satisfied all the above was a truly Herculean task.

The next would be to motivate my better(?)-half to budge. My husband believes that weekends are meant to be spent totally at home, and specifically on the couch, with the TV remote in one hand and laptop on his lap (superfluous I know). Any statement from me that calls for a shift in this sofa-spud pose is met with different stages of reactions - his first reaction is I-pretend-to-be-deaf, the next is a frown with a raised eyebrow but still no verbal response or physical shift of position. Hubby dear being an Industrial Engineer by qualification, really believes in economy of movements, you see!. Then finally, when my push comes to the shove and he can no longer ignore it, he lets a loud yawn or shrug and asks me "Now What do you want me to do" with a sacrificial-lamb-being-dragged-to-altar look on his face.

Finally, when we both are ready and dressed, we would start this mad-hunt for the wedding invite, which, by then, would have been buried under the huge pile of mail and bills stacked in our draw. In the event of us finding it, we would then rush to a map to find out the location of some S.K Mahal or A.M.R Kalyana Mandapam in some usually-unexplored part of Chennai. Most of the times, we would have huge arguments in the car as to which road we should take. Hubby's logic is that since he drives, I am supposed to be the navigator and hence, should not only know the way perfectly, but also provide advance instructions to him on when and where to turn. HAA HAA..

And so, after much trials and tribulations, we would arrive at this overcrowded wedding reception, which would be alive with "light music" playing in the background. For the uninitiated among you, this so-called light music is louder and noisier than most of the heavy metal and rock music that you have come across. To say it is deafening would be an under-statement. The one and only good thing about this music is that it enables the guests to shower undivided focus on peoples' dresses and jewellery. Since there is no possibility of conversation, all you do is watch around and see who is wearing what. The looks and glances one sees here is a topic for a separate blog in itself. Hmmphh..

And finally the icing on the cake would be this huge queue to go up the podium to wish the couple and another round of musical chair to secure a place for dinner. Do people really do this so their marriages become a "memorable" occasion and are etched in the guests' minds? Then I think they are right.

Now you know why I am mildly standoffish towards receptions. But what I wanted to say here was this : The one I attended this weekend was a refreshing change. First of all, blessing of blessings, the reception was held at a place closer home. When we got there after an uneventful (read peaceful) journey, we were delighted to find the hall was not overcrowded. For a change, there were no people breathing down our necks for the chairs. And instead of the dreaded "light" music, we had soft instrumental music (carnatic- Veena). To put it mildly, I found this to be uplifting to my spirit. For once, the music did not make my adrenaline levels go high and set my heart racing in frustration. Instead it was relaxing. And oh- there was no queue for dinner, since the number of invitees just equalled the hall's capacity. I could not have asked for more. I came back, having enjoyed my time there and wishing that I'd get invited for only such receptions in future.

Snippets from the past

Yesterday I got home from work a little later than usual. My daughter was sitting in the living room, playing with her toys. She looked up to see me and I was surprised to see that her usual sunny smile was not breaking out on her face. She looked at me for an instant and then continued playing, as if she wanted to ignore my presence. Was she angry that I was late? Was she tired of looking at every single car that went by our apartment, thinking it would be me? There was a big tug in my already-guilty conscience. I went to her, kissed her and called for truce with an offer I knew she couldn't resist - I offered to carry her around as an "uppu chakku" (in which we would pretend that she was a gunny bag of salt that I was carrying for sale). Predictably, she giggled and came running to me. And all was well..

Later, I wondered as I watched her sleep - Was my baby old enough to feel angry at my being late? Or was I imagining things? How much of this would she remember when she grew up? My earliest memories started at around the age of 4 or maybe 5. I can't say I remember a lot, but these are some of the earliest things that I still remember.

I was then staying with my mother at her parents' home. I remember with striking clarity, a day when my aunts (mother's sisters, who were in their teens then) asked me to look at the old grandfather clock in the hall and tell them the time. They knew that I did not know to tell the time, but they just wanted to keep me from pestering them with questions. I went back saying that the little needle of the clock was at X and the big needle at Y. But that was not good enough, they said, and sent me back to stand near the clock till I could read the time properly. I remember standing in front of the clock, full of consternation, my mind filling with a sense of sadness and shame because I knew I wouldn't be able to do it. I'm sure my aunts didn't mean to be cruel or make me feel bad, but the strength of my feeling is proven by the fact that I can close my eyes even now and remember myself standing in front of the clock.

One day, when I was in kindergarten, my class teacher had told us to memorise a rhyme. I totally forgot and the next day morning, when my cycle-wallah came to pick me up for school, I remember the feeling of terror that flooded me when I realised I had forgotten. I refused to go to school that day, and it took a whole lot of persuasion and assurance from my mother and aunts to make me go. And I felt my feet turning into cold jelly when the teacher asked us to recite the rhyme - thankfully, she asked the entire class to recite together and I got away mumbling some nonsense amidst the noise. That rhyme, still etched in memory, goes "Cock-a-doodle-doo, My dame has lost her shoe.."

I remember all the books my uncle used to buy for me as a child. A most treasured one was a colourful picture book that had photos and names of beautiful fishes. I am in no way interested in fish-rearing and cannot even tell one fish from another. But I still remember that the most beautiful fish in that book was called "The Golden Gourami". I don't have a clue as to why I remember just that fish!

When mom and I moved to a new city to join dad, and I was put a new school, everything changed. I had to get used to a new language and make new friends. On my first day at the new school, I remember waiting after the classes for my mother to pick me up. For some reason, I can still remember the white polyester saree with small blue flowery design she was wearing on that day.

I remember stretching my hand out to mom for round balls of "paruppum chadam" (rice and daal). I have still not grown of it as my comfort food.

I remember being extremely shy till I was 6 or 7. So shy that I wouldn't tell my name or even say hello when we had guests at home. I have no idea what changed that!

And then there are these photo-frame kind of memories - walking down the morning market with my mother, and asking her to buy some plums(I hate them now) for me, sobbing my heart out when my mother insisted on my hair being cut short, the embroidery shop that my mom took me to have a beautiful lacy pink frock stitched on my 4th (or was it 5th?) birthday, the small shop she used to take me to buy "rose-milk" for me..

The pile of memories grew with me, but whenever I delve into the past, I find some of these earliest ones the most comforting.. and I love going back to them.

Xtreme Connectivity

I have never ever been the cool,gadget-loving yuppie - I have always taken a long time to start using/get used to gadgets. My husband, on the other hand, loves gadgets of any kind, right from crazy barking and jumping alarm clocks to the iPod. He can spend hours together fiddling around with his gadgets, searching the internet and resolving problems, leaving his weekend tasks to pile up until I took them up and completed them in desperation. The last 2 weeks, he has been mulling over the idea of buying a smart phone for himself. He had a pretty archaic mobile,the possession of which might have caused many a young yuppie go beet-red with shame. We went shopping on Saturday and he got himself what he wanted - But at the end of it, I was wondering about the wisdom of our purchase - The arrival of his new smart phone meant that he was permanently "connected" - or should I say hooked? - 24 by 7.

When I was growing up, my parents had regular 9-5 jobs. They would be home by 6 PM and then the entire evening was 'family time'. In fact, the telephone was the only "connecting device" in those days and I don't remember that either of my parents got too many work-related calls after their work hours. When I started working, things were pretty much the same. The work timings were extended, but once I got home, I was cut-off from work except in emergecy situations. And then the mobile revolution happened - despite the obvious advantage of always being connected, the disadvantages were also ours to live with. Work almost always came home because anyone could easily reach you at the push of a button. 5 years after they arrived, the mobile phones have made a huge dent in the quality of time spent with the family during evenings and even during weekends. Of course, one might say, it is a choice that we make. But then how many of us make that choice?

Then came the era of sleek laptops, fast internet access and cheap broadband connectivity. With such facilities, how could one not be expected to check emails in the morning, before one starts from home? And so we bade goodbye to tranquil mornings and got "connected" for the updates on work.

And now with the advent of smart phones, you can check emails while on vacations, while you are commuting to work in the mornings or even when you are at dinner with family - WOW! Where has technology taken us?

And we continue to yap on about work-life balance, stress-busters, the benefits of yoga, weekend get-aways, vacations et al, when all we need is probably some "unconnected" time to relax.

Chennai-speak

I thought I should post a little something on the city that has been home to me for most part of the last decade. I cannot provide any authentic new information on Chennai, as it is all already available on the internet. So I have chosen to opine on what I like and dislike about this bustling metro.

7 Things I love about Chennai:
------------------------------
1) Down-to-earth and industrious people - There are exceptions, but most people are willing to help any stranger who asks for a way. They also believe in earning their income. The infamous autowallahs are an exception, I guess.

2) Cost of living - Chennai has an economic flexibility - it offers options for the poor as well as the rich. Right from the roadside Achi idli shop, where a decent and filling breakfast still costs only Rs.10 to the Taj's Coffee Shop, Chennai has it all.

3) Cosmopolitanism - Although it is nowhere near Mumbai, Chennai has moved a lot in this direction in the last 10 years. Frappe is as accepted as Filter Coffee and pizzas sell more than Masala dosa. And yes, the famous "December Music Season", previously dominated by Carnatic Music, has now thrown its doors open to Hindustani, Western Classical, Fusion and other experimental music.

4) Sambar Vadai,Pongal,Podi Dosai from Sangeetha/Saravana Bhavan - We have a friend who has globe-trotted quite a bit and whenever he comes to Chennai, he asks us to take him to Sangeetha for a masala dosa straight from the airport. Such is the dosa magic.

5) The beaches and the hyper-activity surrounding them

6) Many many temples - you name a god and there will be one of His of Her temples in Chennai. Almost every road has a "Pillayar" (Ganesha) and interestingly, some of these "pillayar's" have a prefix denoting what blessing they specialis in providing. REALLY! - "Adi Sankara Santhana Ganapati" (Pray to him for Progeny), "Ishta Siddhi Vinayagar"(General - all desires), "Ananda Ganapati" (Happiness), "Selva Vinayagar" (Wealth) etc.

7) The Adyar/Besant Nagar crowd - Totally biased opinion. You can take it or leave it


7 Things I resent about Chennai:
--------------------------------
1) Haggling with autowallahs who ask for the sky and more

2) The 9 month long summer, consisting of 6 months of intolerably scorching heat

3) The way Chennai's roads cannot handle rains. Storm water drains don't exist and entire areas are inundated at the very onset of monsoon

4) Peak hour traffic - but then which metro doesn't have it ?

5) Some policemen who accept petty bribes

6) Set-top box - Why? Why? Why did Chennai become and stay the guinea-pig?

7) Polygamous politicians

Now, if you are thinking, why 7 - it is because I have to stop before you fall asleep and by the way, 7 also happens to be my favourite number.

Pipe dreams???

I was inside this quaint little cottage with stone walls and tiled roof. It was soothingly warm inside and the delicious smell of hot chocolate pervaded. I was sitting in a cozy chair near the window, my legs stretched out, turning the pages of a book lazily, looking out of the window once in a while. The scene from the window was simply breathtaking – hillocks covered with green pastures, clear blue sky and a small silver stream of water flowing through the meadows. I could ask for nothing more – this was my perfect moment of peace and tranquility. Baaaaaaahhhhhhh… A shrill cry ran through the air and shook me. I struggled up and threw off my sheets. My daughter was bawling next to me in bed from her teething pain. My husband was sleeping peacefully (like a child?) on the other end of the bed. My daughter’s cries don’t normally get him out of Dreamland as easily as they get me. I rocked my daughter back to sleep – thankfully, she fell asleep easily this time. As I tried to settle down to sleep, I recollected my dream fondly and wondered when that would come true, if at all it could come true. A bit of time for myself to laze around, do what I want and worry about nothing else. I guess I have to wait at least for a couple of years – or is it more?

I work full-time. For those of you who think full-time is morning 9 to evening 6, here is a peek into my routine. After I get back home at 7 (1 hr commute), I spend the remaining time with my daughter. We play peek-a-boo, read the story of “How the caterpillar became a butterfly” together and we even do some silly little jigs to her favorite music. After that is her bed-time. Putting her to bed can take as little as 10 minutes or as much as 90 mts (very rare, but really!), depending on how she has slept during the day. So, on the easy days, after she has slept, I come out and complete some pending chores – putting the ironed clothes back into the closet, putting her toys back in place, writing out cheques for bills and the likes. I have my dinner and by that time, I am ready to crash onto bed. Sometimes I spend a few minutes checking emails or watching headlines on T.V, but then this disciplinarian inner voice tells me to not waste time and get to bed, because sleep is precious. My husband usually works late and is never around in the evenings on working days.
I need at least 7 hours of sleep a day, preferably 8, to keep me energetic and functioning fully well. And since my daughter is an early-riser, I prefer retiring early. And then, the next morning at 6 AM, I either wake up to her chatter or she decides to wake me up by smooching me all over my face. If it has been a good night, with little disruptions in her sleep, I feel fresh. But if she has been unwell, or has had teething troubles or such, I get up but my body is longing for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. And then the day starts….

Whoever coined the word “working mom” was a bit out of vocabulary I think. We have a choice of adjectives in English to describe this state– How about stressed mom, besieged mom, inundated mom, hassled mom, fraught mom? Does it sound very bad? But any mom-to-a-toddler who works full time would agree with my choice of words.

Gone are those days when I could spend my time lazing through books and magazines. Now, even if I lock myself in for a long bath on weekends, I strain my ear to listen to my daughter’s protests asking for me from outside. And 90 out of 100 times, I hear it clearly 10 minutes into my bath. And so it doesn’t take a Freud to help interpret the above dream of mine. Like Julie Andrews sang in “The Sound of Music” I can list down a few of my “Favorite things” that I long to do. Here are some of my dream things-to-do..
- Have a whole morning lazing around doing nothing - Get up when I want to, make a cup of steaming coffee for myself and read a newspaper fully
- Reading a whole book in one sitting
- Being at home alone for a whole day with the calling bell and telephone disconnected
- Shopping for a full day without a care in the world and without feeling guilty
- Having a late night dinner, without having to worry 15 times every 10 minutes about my daughter waking up and crying for me
- Listening to good music at least 30 minutes a day (without noise disruptions)
- Making this blog of mine more readable - he he he

Like ABBA sing in their beautiful song,
“I have a dream, a fantasy
To help me through reality……
.............................
I believe in angels
When I know the time is right for me
Ill cross the stream - I have a dream”

The goodness of flaxseed oil

Recently, while browsing, I stumbled upon an article that talked about the wonders of flaxseed and flaxseed oil. I was dumbfounded to say the least - Flaxseed, known as Alivira in Tamil and Muthira in Malayalam, although valued in the past for its medicinal properties, has lost most of its sheen in the recent past. In fact I know families that avoid it conscientiously since it is branded as "the food of the horses". Looks like the horses continue to benefit while we moved on to burgers and pizzas and what not. The article I read pointed out the flaxseeds and flaxseed oil are rich in Omega-3-fatty-acids, which are much needed for the body, and are known to be beneficial for heart diseases, inflammatory bowel diseases, arthritis and according to some studies, even cancer. WOW! And all along, I was under the impression that Omega-3-fatty-acids can be got only from fish! Being a vegetarian by upbringing, and later by choice, I had always felt that I was missing out on these fatty acids. Was I thrilled! More crawling in the internet told me that flaxseed oil is not suitable to be heated for cooking as it loses its properties when heated. There are lots of sites that give recipes using flax seed including some yummy-sounding ones.

For those of you who are in Chennai, cold pressed flaxseed oil is available in ECONUT, the health food shop in Besant Nagar - at least this is what I found from the internet. I am going to check it out soon!

The Art of Parenting

Last week was a real hectic week – My husband’s sister, her husband and 4 year old son were with us on the last leg of their vacation before they returned to the U.S. With 2 kids at home, it was complete pandemonium. The kids were playing together, fighting for the same toy, stepping on each other and shrieking, all at once. Till now, I was under the impression that the most difficult and trying part of parenting was till age 3. Logically, I thought, this was the age by which most kids could at least communicate their basic needs. From infancy to this point, whenever a child cries for something, we parents respond to it through their guesses, which at times may not be quite intelligent. So the ability to express themselves, one would assume, would liberate the children from most of their problems. This last week cleared away all such delusions as I saw my nephew’s tussles with his parents.

For the first 2-3 years, the problems are because we don’t know what the kid wants, and after that I guess it is because we know precisely what they want :-).Strange are the ways of nature! I have heard lots of people say “After you have kids, life is never the same again” with a note of finality in their voices.It was one of the clichés that you kept hearing, I thought when I was young. Like many mothers of my generation, I am an “Internet mom” – from the early days of pregnancy, I was constantly reading up on the baby, its development stages and the do’s and the don’ts, trying to equip myself fully for any challenge that parenting would throw. But little did I realize what I was in for, until I came face to face with it. At times, I have found parenting to be trying, frustrating and even daunting experience. A little bit of introspection would probably reveal that parenting is one of the ways we fulfill this need within us to grow, to become better human beings. For most of us, the entire experience reshapes us and moulds us into better individuals. Parenting, in that sense,is as much about our growth as it is about that of our children’s.

After my daughter was born, I don’t remember taking a single step, be it giving her a medicine or buying a nappy rash cream, without checking it up on the internet. But there were times when the soundest logic does not work with your child, the seemingly sure-to-work steps will backfire. This, I think, is one of the most beautiful aspects of parenting. It has taught me humility and acceptance. A year ago, I would have guffawed at any mom who would have told me that something doesn’t work with her child. Today, I know that there are some things that you cannot change, some things that cannot be controlled.
Another great thing about parenting is the emotional security that it provides. Here is this small person, who loves you unconditionally, who doesn’t care a whit as to whether you are clad in rags or dressed to kill, and loves you the same either way. Here is one person who reserves for you the sunniest of her smiles and the tightest of her hugs. Who would not want to come home to that kind of love?
And yes, parenting has definitely changed the way I look at the world – when I hear the word “child abuse” and read about how some of the young children are exploited, my eyes well up with tears because I see my child in them. And I am moved to do something for them.
There are so many other small changes in me after I became a mom – parenting tinkers around with you, toughens you up a bit here and softens you a bit there and makes you laugh and cry in this process.

Reams and reams of paper have been dedicated to the topic of parenting and a Google search would throw up a plethora of writing in this area. But there are 2 pieces of writing that I like best.
One of them is what the great Kahlil Gibran wrote in his book “The Prophet” – this I think is the best-written guide to parenthood:

“Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts.
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable”

The other piece, although not comparable to the first in any way, is something that I really love for its succinct expression of how a child would remember a good parent. This is Arundhati Roy’s dedication of her book, “The God of Small Things” (which went on to win the Booker Prize) to her mother, Mary Roy. It goes thus:
“For Mary Roy who grew me up. Who taught me to say 'excuse me' before interrupting her in public. Who loved me enough to let me go"

If my daughter would grow up and think of me thus, I would believe I have lived up to the role of being a mother. The most poignant statement here is the last one, that talks about letting go – It takes a lot of love to bring up a child well, but I believe it takes more love to let them go on their way, to make their follies and learn from it. That, I believe, is the litmus test of good parenting.

Rain Rain Come Again...

Its Monday again! And this time, I had only a day's break for the week. Saturday was a very difficult day - after leaving work, I had to get my weekly grocery from 2 different stores before I went home. I hated shopping in the rain and slush, but I didnt have an option. The bright spot on Saturday was the fact that my husband was coming back from a month's trip abroad. His flight was due to arrive at 11.45 PM. I put my daughter to bed and napped till 12. After that I couldnt sleep as I was waiting for him to arrive any moment. Outside,I could hear the wind howling and the rain lashing. At half past one, I got a call from him saying he was not getting any cabs from the airport. I tried calling some cabs but none of them had anything available. I had stopped driving since my pregnancy and after the break, I was too scared to start. So we had always managed with a driver. At this time of the night, with the rain and wind, it would be no use trying to get our driver to pick him up! To make things worse, there was no power in our locality - they had probably switched it off to avoide people getting electrocuted in the water-logged roads? I read that in the newspapers during the last year's rains.It was a hopeless situation. At 2.30, he finally arrived - He had managed to get a cab from the airport, but after driving half-way down the road where our house is, the cabbie had refused to come further due to the knee-deep water. My poor husband tried persuading him and even promised him more money,to no avail. In a desparate move, he had waded through the water with his huge bag (28kgs) and his laptop. And whats more, he had to carry it up three flights of stairs to our apartment since the elevator was not working. Water had seeped into his "softcase" bag and he was worried sick that all the electronic toys he had painstakingly shopped for our daughter would be spoilt. By the time he reached home, he was tired, frustrated and fuming. He brightened up only when our daughter woke up at 3 AM, saw her dad and demonstrated her obvious happiness in seeing him by staying awake till 5 AM :-) Sunday was spent fully at home, unpacking luggage, washing and drying stuff, a far cry from the rest that we had looked forward to. Thankfully, most of the toys my husband had got were still working, except for a puppy that seemed to be singing only half of each song. That was still much better than what we had feared.

In any case, the entire story would pale to insignificance against the travails of the poor people who live in thatched houses with water seeping in, and sometimes pouring down through the roof. My maid, who came in to work on Sunday, said that her house was inundated and she had had to sweep out rainwater all night while her kids sat on the one bed that they had. She still had a shadow of smile on her face and went about her job with no big fuss - I really respect these people for their resilience.

Although the rain wreaks such havoc, I think not a soul in Chennai, including my maid, would dare pray for a year without rain. Because if there is something worse than this, it is the prospect of facing water shortage in the scorching 9-month-long summer in Chennai. The very thought brings vivid pictures to any Chennai-ite's mind -Milling crowds waiting for water, water tankers rumbling on the roads throughout the night- sometimes causing freak accidents, taps running dry while you are in the middle of your bath, plunging cleanliness levels because the poor cannot afford to buy water and resulting diseases.....

So we in Chennai, continue to pray for the lesser evil of having a good North-East monsoon. Whenever I sing rhymes to my daughter, I carefully avoid "Rain Rain Go Away" - What if the Rain Gods were listening and decided to grant my plea!!

Eureka - I'm going to blog!

For a long time, I kept thinking of starting a blog - but never got down to it. Somehow, I didn't find the motivation to write - and then there is this huge inertia to start off something new. So I dilly-dallied time and again. This morning was quite depressing- it is raining hard in Chennai, the place I live, and it has been raining so for the last one week. The city roads are flooded with water and commuting is quite difficult. And the moment I awoke this morning, it struck me (and struck me hard) that it was a working Saturday. What could be worse than having to go to work on a rainy Saturday? I almost winced at the thought as I sat up in bed. My daughter, a 14 month old, who had just woken up, gave a quizzical look at my expression. I hopped out of bed reluctantly - my daughter started chanting "kaa-kaa" reminding me of our daily ritual of showing her the crows and feeding them early in the morning. Our day had begun. She ensured that she kept me busy till the time I started for work, but even her frolic and fun didn't pep me up today the way it normally does.

After I came to work, even my usually energizing cuppa tea couldn't jump-start me to get on with my pile of work. I looked out of the window behind me and saw the water-logged grassland with numerous flotsam of algae on it. The horizon looked grey and the entire scene reminded me of the line from some book - Was it O.Henry's short story "The Gift of the Magi" where the heroine looks out and sees a grey cat walking on a grey wall or fence? I guess the greyness had to do with her mind, just as mine. I felt the sudden need to do SOMETHING to cheer myself up, something to break the MONOTONY. And in a snap, I knew what I wanted to do - BLOG :-)

So here I am - it is a beginning of an experiment for me. I have long wanted to maintain a diary of sorts for my musings. But I could never do it consistently. For lack of time, for lack of commitment etc etc.. If you need reasons, you can always find a zillion of them. So let me test my ability to push myself - I intend to write at least once in 2-3 days, if not more. Here I go.............