Adios Facebook

I am allergic to Facebook. I have never been allergic to anything till date but I realized I am a obsolete - of a bygone era - an extinct species as far as FB is concerned. My friends – the few of them left, ask me as to why I don’t come on FB? Well, to start - I don’t have pictures to post of my recent company trip to some place far-away nor I have Saturday party nights to boast about. I don’t have status updates claiming about how excited I am that it’s Friday night. For me every day and every night remains the same. I am a stay-at-home mom whose day starts at 5am irrespective of the day of the week and ends at 11pm – not in some disc or fancy restaurant or pub but in my children’s bedroom after picking up the clothes, toys and books that have been left on the floor after the two of them have decided to call it a day. Well, that’s nothing to tweet about or be complimented for in FB, right? I chose to be a stay-at-home mom not because I did not have the caliber to work but because I don’t have the help to take care of my kids. I am not sure of leaving the kids behind in someone else’s care to go to work. But does that mean I work less or enjoy lesser? Not a chance. It's just that my day is filled with baby stuff and nobody in FB surely wants to hear to that. I can’t bitch about bosses or tweet on the state of traffic or about the work clothes I purchased from the new store in town or how its promotion time to a swanky new office. In my world my kids are my boss, jams are stains left on the white linen, clothes are still nappies purchased and promotion is moving from feeding the little one in one place to running around because she has learnt to use her feet and oh! boy is she fast! I realized I also don’t have pictures of my recently done pedicure. I saw a picture of an acquaintance in FB showing off her beautiful feet thanks to the pedicure done on a relaxing Saturday after a hectic week at work. She got over sixty likes and an equal number of flattering comments. I realized I am not made for FB when just before retiring to bed I remarked to my husband almost half sleepily – ‘I want to post pictures and get likes too - I think I will get a PediaSURE done’!!!... Goodbye FB. Adios. P.S – Pediasure is the drink for kids below 2 years.

Just saw the song Badtameez Dil!!! Liked the connotation to the word Badtameez. The 1980s Hindi movie scene saw a lot of use of the word Badtameez. The word was often followed by a high octave background sound then silence and then tears rolling down. Thankfully, 21st century mostly cut down on the tears part. Here was the young generation which was more confident. Badtameez, a slap and walk away. So this song was a fresh take. I dint understand the lyrics of the song.....oh! love - 'paan mein pudina' and 'Thaali mein katora leke' is actually not lyrics - a lot of us can write such lyrics - but what I did like about this is the energy of the song. Life has its own complications and limitations but steal those little moments and allow your heart to be a 'Badtameez' to you and laugh along with it. Enjoy!

The cook in me...

I am not a great cook, infact; I am rarely an ordinary cook. I have more bad days than good ones. I started cooking only to fill a stomach -to go on with the day and its many exciting things. Food was not exciting for me. I liked good food. But most food was good for me. And hence life was good. Even as a child, I was not greatly bothered about what was for lunch – what was the ‘dabba’. Food plays an important role not only to satiate our stomachs but also in our early social development. What is for the next day’s dabba is every parent’s dread. Something that’s tasty, not sticky, nutritional, fast to cook and good to eat – the criterion is just too much to accomplish on a daily basis. There are then three types of dabbas brought – one which is always nutritional or traditional. Like a typical south Indian would not think twice about bringing curd rice and vegetables for lunch – but for a north Indian that would be a complete no-no. Something more ‘masaledar’ is a must. The second type of dabba will have its emphasis on the ‘looks’. Corriander leaves neatly sprinkled on the top and a slice of lemon by the side. Tissue paper and a side ‘dessert’ dish is a must. This dabba was everyone’s envy. Who does not want their dabba to look good? I remember a classmate who used to bring sandwiches to class. There were four loaves of white bread, the edges trimmed off, a slice of cheese and two pieces of neatly cut tomato in between and a drop of ketchup on the top. All this neatly wrapped in a fresh wrap. Neat, yummy, non – sticky, it fulfilled the entire criterion in the presentation front but fell short on one factor – minimizing hunger. Then the third type was the mixed category. Good days – good dabba – bad days – bad dabba – great days – special treat for the entire group – horrible days – you would not want to go there. Most of us fell into this group. The dabba the day after the result came out usually gave away the parents opinion of the result got! The dabba also played a huge role on those days when unexpectedly and unfortunately the teacher decides to ‘bond’ with her class and share her lunch with them. Maybe, it was her best days and she really wanted to show off her dabba – but for the class – each one of us secretly prayed that today mamma should have packed something really really nice. And in this regard, I noticed that a well made aloo paratha always won in front of a well made idli or dosa. So for a south Indian - making the dabba presentable, delectable and shareable (quantity wise) was a able task in itself. And hence the fact that food was not so important to me – was good. But not all good things in life stay forever and it was the same here. Tragedy struck. I now started dreaming food. Pav bhajis and Chinese. Italian and Desserts. I would get up in the middle of the night – hungry. But I was not just hungry for food. I was hungry for a specific food. I knew the exact taste and feel of the food in my tongue. The cheese melting down the hot food, the dessert spilling from the sides of the bowl, the sizzling of a hot sizzler and the spiciness of the chilli in the jumbo vada pav, the extra sweet in a dripping hot jilebi, the tanginess of the pani in the panipuri – I knew it all. Oh! food. I did not like anything that I cooked. It was the same before. I did not care for my food to taste like the Chefs of Masterchef Australila. If it had the salt, spice and tanginess required – it was good. If it was delectable – it was among my great days. But now – I was craving for all that I dreamt. I know not how this started – I first thought it was pregnancy blues – the ‘want’ for a specific food and all - but the dreams and craving never went way after delivery. That is why I say – life turned upside down. I dedicate this blog to those places that have haunted my dreams – restaurants which have created food so special that it has turned me – a complete non-foodie for all these years into a complete foodie. And not just a foodie – but one who wants to make the food I dream of. Till I get there – wish me luck.:) Try the ginger masala chai at Shimla, the fresh oven bread in Pondicherry (plain bread melts in your mouth but bread with cheese is something else here! – it disappears!!!), the pizza in Johannesburg, the perfect omelet at Fresco and bread and baked beans at Benmore Gardens, my mom’s vettai koyumbu (tamarind and only tamarind sambar) and Mysore Pak, Pavbhaji at Canon food stall, Mumbai, Sugarcane juice below the Kingcircle station bridge, Mumbai, Strawberry icecream with double cream at Bachelors, Mumbai, Masala puri at nandidurg road, Bangalore, fresh handpicked strawberries from the farm at Brisbane, sizzlers at Kobe’s Mumbai and Caesar’s, Bangalore, dal bhatthi churma my friend Sonu's mom makes, the sambar Karthik makes (that’s husband – though the sambar has been made only twice to show-off to kids) and finally the homemade digestive kadduka podi’ my dad makes specially for me to digest all that I indulge in. It is made of ‘kadaka’ - bitter tasting fruit whose powder is used for digestion, mixed with cumin powder, a pinch of salt and sugar and a dash of lemon. You will first taste the bitter of the fruit followed by the sweet of the sugar and finally the tanginess of the lemon. It hits you like no tequila might ever do. You have to gulp it down and jump around a few times. There is no other way to have this. But I love having this coz – like all the yummy delicious food that melts in your mouth, this mix has so much love that it melts your heart!!! Dad – I think I will need more of this concoction.

Lets act now.

I recently read a write-up about child labour and the state of children who live in the street. I have a child of my own and it pains me to see children begging on the street. I feel ashamed to walk past them. If I give them money I don’t know if that would encourage them to beg more. What if they use it for drugs or does this money even go to them or does it go to the CEO of the begging scam? If I walk past them – I shudder to think of what I will go through if my child was, god-forbid, ever in that situation even for a minute. But what do I do. There are thousands of children begging on the street. Where do I take them? Are shelter homes any good. Don’t they exploit these children? And how will these shelter homes accommodate them? I do not have the space to house these kids – but I want to help.

The author in the write-up spoke of the govt having the funds to help these kids. But, my question, as is all our question- are they really bothered? Have they set up any information to say the least in place to direct funds and resources to help these children? How come in the past oh-so-many-years there has been no single govt. or politician who has ever ever been nominated for “Hero of the year” or any such award that’s been handed out to people helping and reaching out. This despite the fact that they have the power, money and all the resources. Politicians ride on the fact and courage that the common man – individuals who care and want to make a difference don’t have much time in their hands. You and I can go and ask for action but how many days will we stand and demand. Our own work and pressures pulls us back.

Spreading awareness constantly and consistently, educating children and adults on the plight of these children and ways in which they can help and sorry to say but glamourizing the whole 'reach out' act could be the way out. If it is fashionable to be seen as someone who cares and someone who makes a positive difference in a child's life – then you will have half the politicians working on this. For the rest - individuals with no money but all the heart – will take care.

p.s – Can we start a “Save our children” week where NGOs and volunteers can set up stalls in the most prominent places and educate people on how to help. Right from street plays to raise awareness, to campaigns to education – lets do it all. Lets dedicate one week to give these kids a better life – a reason to smile. If anyone can advise me or offer help please contact me at harinibala@yahoo.com.
Lets make a difference – NOW.

A hug a day keeps wrinkles away!!!

Adults take a cue from these little angels. When you are not-so-high in spirits and life seems down your little one who has been watching you closely from the cornor of her eye suddenly runs up to you to give you a “huggie”. Arms melt into each other instantly and the next minute she is gone – back to her play. No questions asked – nothing. It is a magic moment.

Why do we adults restrict ourselves? Why ever do we think not twice - not thrice - but for ever to walk up and give a hug just to say - "Smile -It will be alright".

A hug a day keeps wrinkles away!!!

The sea and I

I left the shores -
I bade it goodbye
and headed to meet the sea
to sail under the perfect sky

The sea welcomed me
embraced me in its arms
But some thing troubled it deep within
And something was just wrong.

I set out though
For a journey of my life
Trusting the sea
to take me in its side.

It was a calm sea
And all seemed well
Till came the waves
Oh! how it swelled - it swelled.
　
I met the waves
both high and low
And the rains that poured
From today to tomorrow
The chilling pricks of hail
that hit now and then
reminded me that indeed
that all was not well.

I was tossed and turned
and I feared the night
but the day was no better
with a raging storm in sight
It threw me over
But why did it hold me too?
The sea – Oh! My sea
What did I do to you?

What will my day be?
Where will my journey end?
Will I ever sail with you
Till the very end?

I sailed for days
In silence all around
Those dark gloomy days
Were so unsound

Days turned to months
And respite I knew not
But I sailed on
Why I knew not.

Was it for love
Or was it for hope
Or was it for maybe
Some reason unknown

I sailed through
Till I met the sea
Oh yes the sea
The real real sea
The sea that it was
In its truest form
Not for me or
Not for the world
But for its own self
In its purest form.

A sea that I knew not
A sea that I had never seen
A sea so different
I knew not where to begin

My end became my beginning
And I left the shores again
And bade it goodbye
For all reasons known
We now sailed along
The sea and I
Through the highs and lows
Under the perfect sky!
　

What have I turned out to be?

What have I turned out to be? Post motherhood combined with not working professionally - my entire focus shifted on the home front. Cleanliness at home became next to godliness. I would hear my husband remark a few times – leave it. Why are you always washing or cleaning. On a much awaited Friday night I would often find myself thinking on what had to be done first thing on Saturday morning. Up until a few years back during my ‘oh-so-amazing’ single days my list of things to do would be either of the following:

1. NOTHING
2. Wake up at 9am and after a quick bath head out for a blast of a day (my Bombay days)
3. Wake up to a wonderful morning to head for a leisurely walk with folks followed by some hot breakfast (my Bangalore days)

However now my list ran somewhat like this:

1. Wash vessels
2. Wash shirts
3. Wash baby clothes
4. Patio clean
5. Clean house
6. Dusting
7. Vacuum
8. Grocery

I never thought much of it till I one day while getting the lil’ one to sleep I was flipping the pages of my scribbling book. I noticed pages after pages with the same notes. It was the above list of things to do. And this was the same list that would run my head on a relaxed Friday night.

I still did not think much of it till I had taken an appointment with a lady to come and clean my Bath and shower room. This was an extensive job and I did not have that kind of time in hand. So the date and time was fixed for a Thursday. I was happy. On Wednesday night I slept well. I dreamt of a sparkling shower room. I woke up early and finished making lunch. I cleaned the house and kept looking at the time. The appointed hour was 8am and I dint want to miss her. I told my lil one that when she wakes up she will get to see a fresh Bath and shower room. I checked and rechecked the area. Was it too dirty? What will the maid think? Shall I leave it the way it is or should I clean it a bit? I then went and checked myself out in the mirror. What would she think of me? Did I look alright? I set the house quickly. Dusting and all. I arranged cups to serve coffee for her. I scrambled to get it all done before she came. I often find myself running short of time and hardly get any time for myself – but in my mind this had to be done.

The clock struck eight and I looked at the door. I expected punctuality. Like she might just be waiting outside the door eagerly waiting for the clock to strike the magical number eight so that she could come to clean my ‘oh-so-magnificient’ Bath and Shower Room. Anyway- the clock then moved to quarter past eight. No knock still. (There are no calling bells here in Johannesburg.) I was anxious. Surely I had not missed her. I bent under and strained my eyes through the gap in the door to see if I can see any shadow outside the door. Maybe she knocked very feebly and I dint hear it. This despite the fact that I was standing right beside the door all the while. I wanted my Bath and Shower Room clean and like the way Ryk Neethling the South Africa Olympic Swimming Champion said before the start of his race “For nine months I had visualized this happening: getting ready, standing on the blocks, blasting off”, I had visualized having the maid over at my home to clean the bath room from the day she agreed to come (which was a week ago).

It was quarter to nine by now and there were no signs of her. I began to get slightly tensed. Why did she stand me up? Why was she not here? I dint even mind her coming late as long as she came. I checked my mobile twice to see if she was trying to reach me. Damn! She dint even have my number. Will she never come? I was disappointed and dejected. I was even angry. How could she do it to me? I remembered what my dad had told me when I was young – “Expectations bring disappointment” Of course; it was said in a particular context. But I thought it was so true. I was tempted to call him long distance and tell him that that his words were so true. I was sulking.

Well – its 10am and of course she has not yet come. But thanks to her – I realized how obsessively passionate I had become about having the house clean. I was here behaving like a child denied of her much awaited outing or more so a young lady being held up by her first date!!!....... What have I turned out to be?

So – as realization dawned, I vowed not to get head-over-heels in love with cleaning and all that is associated with it and after a good nine months found this quick hour to put this piece down. I am feeling so relaxed and rejuvenated. It’s a nice feeling.

But hey…wait a minute…who will clean my Bath and Shower Room now? Looks like I got to go!!!

This might not be the ideal piece for a blogsite – I mean why would someone want to chance reading about my shower room story – but if a blog reflects one’s state of mind – then sadly this IS the piece. Enjoy!