Sunday, June 12, 2016

The Baniani

This Saturday morning did not start well. About two hours earlier than I was going to wake up, Vijay opened the door to the room, managing to make just enough noise to startle me awake. And that was not good.

One thing led to another and a few hours later, we were on the verge of a major fight, led entirely by yours truly who was intent on blaming the husband for everything in the world that's wrong, including the melting of the polar ice caps. The poor man, recognising that I was in a more hormonally-inflicted state than usual, managed to keep his cool throughout, but no matter what he did, I was not calming down. This went on for a long time, well past mid-morning.

That's when he hit upon an idea. 

'And another thing...' I was spewing when I noticed that he was cackling to himself. 

'What is it now' I said through gritted teeth.

'Oh honey.' He smiled widely. 'I just remembered. M (Our elder nephew) is upstairs right now.'

'Okay' I growled. So? I figured M, who lives in Mumbai had arrived because it was his parent's anniversary. Vijay's sister lives two floors above us in the same apartment building, so it's all like one joint family scene some days. 

'You don't understand.' Vijay protested. 'he's sitting upstairs...wearing a girls' banian. You know...' 

'A camisole?' I wondered, inspite of myself. 'Why would he do that?'

'I don't know!' Vijay burst out. 'But he is. I somehow controlled myself from laughing at him. I thought you'd like to see him. You want to come up now?'

'What? That's ridiculous. Why would I want to do that?'. Ridiculous. I knew this was just an attempt to distract me from scolding him. 


10 minutes later, upstairs, Vijay and I stood just outside R. Didi's flat. 

'Now remember.' Vijay warned. 'You're here to wish her a happy anniversary, just like I did. We're not here to see M in his camisole.'

'Of course not,' I scoffed. 'This is silly anyway. Don't know why you dragged me here.'

The door opened and it was R.Didi. 'Happy Anniversary!' I bent down and touched her feet. My eyes scanned the flat for M. Yes, there he was in the living room reading the paper. Good. 

She was delighted to see me. 'Ah Yashodhara. Perfect, we were just talking about where we should go tonight.'

I walked in further into the room, saying 'M is here? Let's see - M, hi!'

'Hello, Mami.' said my handsome young nephew, lowering the paper. I stared in disappointment and looked at Vijay. Vijay looked equally dismayed. M was wearing a pale green shirt over his shorts. 

'You had a bath already?' Vijay demanded.

M looked a little taken aback 'Yeah...just had one.'

Vijay and I looked at each other while R didi peered around. Vijay mumbled. 'What was the hurry? Why couldn't you have waited a little longer? It's not even 11.' 

'Er...what happened?' M asked suspiciously. 

I was looking sullen. 'Nothing.'

'Yes, what is it?' chimed in Rama didi.

'Nothing, nothing.' said Vijay. 'It's just that...there was no need for him to change so quickly out of that...'

'You were wearing a girls banian and I wanted to see it!' I burst out before I knew what I was saying.

'Huh?' M looked flabbergasted. 

R Didi stared at us for a moment and then began to laugh. 'Yes, that thing he was wearing? I thought so too - I wondered where he'd got that banian-i.'

'It wasn't a baniani.' M said, clearly torn between irritation and amusement. 'It was just a normal banian.'

'No, no.' Vijay protested. 'It was a spaghetti-waala-straps-waala top, the kind Y sometimes wears for Zumba.'

'Huh!' said M. 

'Where is it?' I demanded. 

'In the wash!' said the hapless nephew. 

'Put it on and show us.'

'No way!'

'I'll get it.' Vijay went into the bedroom. 

'I didn't bathe in there!'

'Okay, this one?' he headed to the second bedroom. 


'Fine, here?' He went into the third. R Didi was now busy laughing loudly at the proceedings, while in the meantime trying to tell M that he should fetch his banian himself instead of making Vijay-Mama do it. Within a few seconds, though, Vijay was back, triumphantly holding up a white banian with dark blue border.

I examined it critically. I had to admit the straps did look the spaghetti-waala type. But otherwise...

'It doesn't REALLY look THAT much like a girl's banian.'

'You have to see him wear it.' Vijay turned to M. 'M, come on, put it on for a sec.'

'You must be joking!' M burst out and seemed to realize something. 'Wait a this why you brought Mami up?'

'Of course not.' I said piously. 'I came up to wish your parents a happy anniversary.'

'Hmmm.' said the young man, entirely unconvinced. 

'Are you putting on the baniani?' I ventured.


'Where did you get this anyway?' Vijay asked, with interest. 'Is it your girlfriend's?'

'No, okay? I don't know where it came from! I got it out of P's cupboard!' 

He was referring to his younger brother, our younger nephew. There was a moment of stunned silence and then R didi, Vijay and me started guffawing. 

'You mean.' I gasped. 'I might walk in here one morning and see P wearing the baniani?' 

Oh happy day. 

None of us really had any idea why this was so funny, but somehow the prospect of seeing at least one of my strapping young nephews sitting around in a girl's banian filled my heart with glee. The day had totally turned around for Vijay and me, and we went home in an inordinately companiable manner.

Later that evening, M and P were like the rest of us, dressed all spiffily as we headed out to the celebratory dinner at the club. 

I whispered to M 'I hope you didn't tell P about the baniani thing. It would ruin it if he suspects we're all waiting for him to put it on.'

'No, I didn't' he said drily. 'But I don't think it will remain a secret for long.'

'Really?' I was disappointed. 'Why?'

'Because.' he sighed. 'Pickle and Papad came up today and were shouting all over the house - we know you have a girlfriend and you wear her banian. And also her jeans. And shoes.'

Damn. I shrugged and shot a guilty look at Vijay.

NO idea where they'd picked that up from.

Sunday, May 22, 2016

When Breath Becomes Air

It's not often that I talk about books on my blog (yes, yes, I know, but my own books don't count here!)... but Paul Kalanithi's 'When Breath Becomes Air' is one that took my breath away. There's a pun in there somewhere, but you must excuse me. It's a rather facetious way to start a post about a really great book with a message of profound importance.

Paul Kalanithi is working towards becoming a fully qualified Neurosurgeon - after having been in training for almost a decade, he discovers that he's got lung cancer and it's clear he has only a few months, or at best a few years to live.

In his memoir, which is written with great honesty and feeling, Paul comes off as a very promising and caring doctor and essentially a really nice guy. He loved literature and his use of language is is lyrical even as what he writes about is immensely relatable - strange that few of us have ever been neurosurgeons. Even the use of medical terms doesn't throw a reader off.

Essentialy, Paul talks about his experience of dying, or rather living with the knowledge that he's got anywhere from a few months to a few years to live. I find myself struggling with how important I think this book is, given that for so many people I know, including myself, our so-called problems just pale by comparison to that of a young man faced with the pain of a debilitating disease and the certain knowledge that death is around the corner.

Paul with a colleague in Stanford Hospital in Feb 2014
One of the things that I'm amazed with is that the book contains nothing or very little that I could sense of irony. Paul always had a desire to understand death and to relate to it - the fact that it crept upon him so quickly even as he spent years in training as a neurosurgeon responsible for saving so many lives himself - it seemed like it would have been potent material for a lot of bitterness and irony. If there was any, Paul left it out of his book, and given how honest the book is, I think he possibly chose to let it out of his life.

Paul and his wife Lucy decided to go ahead and have a child, which was the other surprising thing for me - they knew they had a host of problems and limited time with each other, but their choice was to create another life. Even though the other side of the argument is equally rational, which is the simple desire to experience that type of love which comes with having a child of your own - I still feel that it was ultimately a very brave thing to do. On the other hand, it's usually the brave things that are most rewarding, and Paul's note to his daughter at the end of the book is what had me in tears. I would have reproduced it here, but I think it's best discovered in the flow of the book.

Paul never got to finish his book. That is to say, he became too sick to complete it but his wife Lucy took over and she actually completes it for a reader in a beautiful, poignant manner that describes Paul's end and how they took it as a family.

Paul died at the age of 37 in March 2015 ( It strikes me hard - I'm 36). The book was published in January 2016. I've always disliked the word 'posthumous'. Seems to me so pointless - something of note happening after the person has died. But this particular book, published posthumously seems anything but pointless. The exact opposite, in fact.

I read a few reviews of the book before I bought it and I recall the one that said it left a reader unsatisfied because it didn't quite have the 'answers.' But as I read the book, and closed the pages with sadness, I thought the answer was intrinsic in the pages. Yes, life is brief, it is ironic, it is painful, and yet it's incredibly beautiful. The answer is in not losing sight of love.

Tuesday, May 3, 2016

The Box of Love & Laughter!

So here's the deal! I get my own brand new 3-box set...and you get all my books in a neat package at a highly discounted price from Amazon!

Also, check out this cool new feature called Kindle Instant Preview - click on any of the covers below to get a preview of the books, in case you still need convincing about why you need to buy. Makes for a very good gift for anyone who appreciates intelligent humour laced with romance!

P.S - I'm very kicked by the cover design. Check out the pic below!
P.P.S - please don't be like my friends and post smart comments i.e. ''I already have the books, can I just get the box?'

Saturday, April 23, 2016

A Little Too Class-y?

( This piece has been written for ConnectMyGurgaon)

'Go on, go on, you have Taekwondo now! GO!' I bellow at my kids.

'Yes, Mom, I know.' yells Peanut, ' But Pickle can't find his belt!'

There's some more argument about Uniforms and finally I shove them out the door. They rush out and I heave a sigh of relief.


Whatever happened to free time? You know -just chillin', hanging around, reading - basically, doing nothing?

Gurgaon, like many other cities, offers a whole range of services and I for one have been availing of them for myself and the kids - and how. I started a bunch of things during my sabbatical - guitar class, piano class, yoga class. On top of it all, I took Zumba classes and ended up an instructor myself. All of this still goes strong for me even though I'm back at work - the music classes are once a week, and Zumba is on weekends, while Yoga has moved to a fortnightly or even monthly instruction rhythm with my excellent teacher. It's manageable - but just about.

For the kids - I'd started a couple of years ago with Piano and vocal classes for 8 year old Peanut, and then got Taekwondo going twice a week for all three kids. My husband happily added Tennis three times a week on the available days. And then, Pickle & Papad started clamouring for music classes and I found through Urban Clap, the same instructor who'd got Peanut started years ago, and he now comes home once a week to teach them guitar and piano.

In the meantime, as the kids have become older, their timing at school has increased. Now they barely have an hour at home before running out for class. Surprisingly, there has been no rebellion from them as they seem to enjoy most of their classes. But now, Sunday is the only day when we're all free ( wait, no, crap! I teach Zumba on Sundays but never mind) - it's the only relatively relaxed day for all of us.

Vijay seems bemused by all this. He doesn't feel the need to add any skills to himself - he talks about joining a Gym or taking up Yoga, but that's all more talk and less action. He hasn't said anything about the schedule that the kids are following, apart from some mild surprise on the days that they say they didn't really get enough park-time.

Now that summer's here, we're all signing up for swimming too. The kids aren't good swimmers yet, and I'm tempted to use the weekend to get them a little bit of instruction time. But it's really all getting too much.

It's worth a mention that all these classes add up in terms of cost too. I just did a quick calculation and it's almost thirty grand a month to keep all of this going. I'm super-lucky that my Zumba classes offset some of these costs while still keeping me fit, and they're great fun too - but after the rent & the Zumba license fee I pay, and given that I'm restricting classes to just ten students, they'd cover only a third of the cost of of all our classes.

But the main question is - why should it be like this? There really isn't actually that much pressure that we take from the outside world on any of this. We're not really the keeping-up-with-the-Saxena's type of family anyway. The classes just seem to have been added organically by themselves. Young Peanut isn't the least bit perturbed -in fact, she's been asking 'What class do you think I should take on Sundays, Mom?' She pushed me for joining Ballet a while back, that was the one which I said no to.

It's also not that big a deal in terms of transport or coordination because most of the classes are at home or around home. In a way, it's tempting to continue since it does seem to be a good way to just have the kids doing something apart from watching television or 'wasting their time.' Sports build character. Music will be a friend for life. Taekwondo would be really life-saving especially if they're faced with another pint-sized attacker who moves in slow motion. Discipline. Perseverance. Grit. All the good stuff. Yeah.

But what about just being bored? What about coming up with creative things to do out of that boredom? I remember being bored a LOT as a kid. Hot summer afternoons watching random insects buzzing. Pulling out books which suggested projects - spray painting with toothbrushes, creating colourful cane-baskets and other such random things.

What about me thinking about all of this was a conversation with a senior colleague, with older kids than mine.

'I've told them horse-riding, and for my elder one, guitar, and that's IT.' She said decidedly. 'And when I got home yesterday, my younger one had decorated her entire desk with nail-paint. She asked if I was mad, and I said - NO, it's BEAUTIFUL.' She turned to me. 'See? That's what comes of being bored! Isn't it great?'

It's great, I murmured, feeling confused. The fact is that some of these classes, especially music, they just don't work or mean anything without at least a little bit of daily practice, and that then further adds to the amount of 'structured time' that they have at home. Where really is the time to be bored?

I wouldn't say my kids aren't creative because they seem to be making a lot of stuff at home too ( read: messes) - Peanut especially draws a lot, now teaching herself a surprising amount through Youtube Instructional videos. So I can't quite put my finger on the problem, but I get the feeling that kids should be allowed to do more 'nothing' than always doing something.

But it's all so convenient, so easy, so productive, that there just doesn't seem to be a good reason to stop anything right now.

So I have now come up with the perfect solution.

We need to move out of the city. That's all.

P.S - I'd love to hear what you have to say about this subject! Comment? Share your experiences and thoughts. 

Thursday, April 14, 2016

The Passports

For the longest time, Vijay and I had put off the idea of getting passports for our twin boys. We had only ever travelled to the United States once with young Peanut, and even now, Vijay would ask her what she remembered from the trip, and when she drew a blank, he'd sigh and lament 'See? What was the point of that expensive ticket?'. She was two years old at the time.

But we didn't have that excuse given that the young boys themselves were now over 5 years old. So we kept telling each other 'We should get passports done for the twins.' And then we'd agree solemnly and proceed to do exactly nothing about it. This went on for a long time.

I was going through our files recently and saw that Peanut's passport had expired.

'WHAT?' said Vijay.

I showed it to him - more than five years had passed since we'd got hers, and it was actually almost a year ago that the passport had expired.

For some reason this galvanized us into action. I determinedly went hunting online for the passport website of the government - here it is for those of you who are worse than me in such matters - and immersed myself in the process of figuring out the forms and documents required and so on. It took me a while, but not anywhere as long as I'd assumed. In about an hour, I had the forms ( fairly longish) filled for all three kids - the first one took me a while but the second and the third were much smoother because by then I had all the information ready.

Vijay insisted that we go ahead and schedule an appointment at the earliest, so I gave in and decided a half-day off on a Friday in the subsequent week wouldn't be so bad even though it meant the kids would have to miss school, which is something that I hate. We took the appointment and for all three kids, the slot was 9.45 a.m. to 10 a.m. This was strange. How would we manage to do it for all three at the same time? Still, we resolved philosophically, we would just have to see.

The day before the appointment was chaos. It was all very well to fill in forms online, but I had given the responsibility of getting all the documents printed, attested, photocopied etc. to my dear husband who put it off till about the midnight of the last day, and so we were basically tense and arguing with each other. Okay, so I was tense and arguing with him while he beatifically went around arranging the papers and ignoring me, whistling softly to himself. I had to admit he ended up doing a pretty good job with multiple back up copies everything, even the things that we didn't need.

Annexure 'H' - mysterious thing but we found a copy online. Check. Both of us signed? Check.
Passport copies of parent with spouse name endorsed? Check.
Birth certificate with self-attested. Wait, did this mean we had to attest or the kids had to attest? Never mind, we'd figure it out there. Check.
Aadhar cards as proof of address, Check.

You get the picture. So on the appointed day, we took three excited kids who had no idea what to expect to the passport office in Udyog Vihar. We left about 40 minutes before the appointed time and ended up reaching 15 min early at 9.30 a.m. Pickle and Papad especially were thrilled at the idea of getting their passports. They clearly thought that the minute they had the little booklets in their hand, they'd be whizzing off to 'America' or 'London' or 'even Asia.' as they put it.

My heart sank at the sight of the government-y looking building, whatever that means. It actually looked like every other dull old building, but it was the air of quiet desperation amongst the people lining up that got to me. But wait - there weren't really THAT many people. In fact, whoever was there was being ushered in fairly quickly. This wasn't that bad. We went through the unsmiling security checks and found ourselves in a waiting room sort of area with some people milling around. There were four or five counters, and I sat down with the kids while Vijay went and stood in a line with the papers.

Pickle and Papad decided this was all a very nice adventure and started to run about, inspired by some other kids who were doing the same. My attempts at admonishing them and telling them about the seriousness of this whole venture went unheard. They tried to slip into a cordoned off area and the guard told them to get out, which they did and just went to create havoc elsewhere. I gave up trying to figure out where they are, and just sat there with a quiet Peanut, until I spotted them opening the door and trying to escape into the bright sunlight. A few sharp words from me brought them in again, and caused a couple of the people sitting around me to edge away slightly.

Vijay came back triumphant. In a matter of moments, the names of the three kids were called out in quick succession. The man behind the tall counter couldn't see them at all,  but he didn't seem perturbed.

'Is he here?' The man asked Vijay. Papad raised his hand and waved over the counter and the sight of his little white palm was apparently enough for the man. He proceeded to do the same for the other two and then we had to go through into the actual passport making area.

It was about 9.45 a.m. by the time entered, and what exactly ensued in those 15 minutes is not very clear in my memory. Vijay whispered 'This is all TCS managed - don't worry.' Suddenly the electronic notice board was flashing our numbers. We had to go to counters C5, C6 and C 20. Okay. You take Pickle to C6, I'll take the other two, said my husband. Okay, but...before I could ask him anything, he had disappeared with two of our children. I went trailing after him with Pickle trailing after me, and soon was at the desk of another unsmiling young man. He asked for the passport application and the birth certificate photocopy. I fumbled with the file and took them out and gave them to him. Move to the side, Madam, I have to take his photograph. Okay, I moved to the side. Stop moving around, little boy. Pickle had his photo taken. Then there was a thumb-impression taking exercise. Vijay appeared saying he needed the file with our passports, and by the way, since Papad's counter was actually right next to Pickle's, I might as well handle both side-by-side. Okay, but...he was off again to Peanut's counter before I could say a word. The new guy who was to handle Papad's passport took his picture and the passport application and asked me where the parent's passports were. I said waitaminute please and ran to get them from Vijay who was barely done with them by the time I landed up. I snatched our passports from him and ran back and gave them triumphantly to the second guy for Papad. The first guy who was doing Pickle's passport asked me for some signatures on a document to be submitted to the Municipal Authority of the zone where Pickle's birth certificate had been issued. In the meantime, the two men started to argue about the necessity of thumb impressions but the first guy convinced the second it was needed and so Papad also gave his thumb impression. He couldn't quite keep still so it took a few tries and the man was a bit impatient which made me even more nervous.

This part done, we went ahead to the next series of counters. This time, again, we were lucky enough that two of the counters were next to each other, but the parallel processing started to get a bit confused to me because speed and time were clearly of the essence. There was this one annoying woman there whose job seemed to be to make people uncomfortable in the process of keeping things moving along. N20, she barked at me twice? Are you N20? I am indeed N20, Madam, but right now, I am struggling with the documents of N18 which my husband keeps stealing from me for N19. She was unconvinced by my answer and just shouted in my ear again N20, you need to go to counter M-5 immediately. A flurry of documents, originals, photocopies, my children milling about, unfriendly faces were making me very disoriented,  and it was only the presence of the calm, unperturbed six feet two tall gentleman weaving about with a big folder and three sub-files that caused us to manage to get through the whole thing without much incident.

It was only at the gate where we were submitting our final application receipt that there was a bit of panic. Where is Papad's receipt, I cried? It was with you all along. I knew it, I knew it, I wailed and then Vijay pointed to my side. I had the receipt firmly ensconced under my armpit for some reason. I drew it out sheepishly and handed it to the fellow behind the counter, and just like that, we were done.

'Not...bad!' Vijay declared as we stepped out the door. I counted to make sure there were five of us as Vijay said 'it's only 10 a.m.!'

'WHAT?' I was shocked. That entire series of lines, stamping, photographs, signatures, counters, N20s being yelled had taken us only 15 minutes - and we were actually done? With three passport applications, all done?

We walked to the car, and as we got in, I marvelled at the change. I remembered how horrible it had been getting my own passport done in Bangalore several years earlier. The exact details failed me but I did recall that their 'system' had consisted of a couple of hundred people sitting about the room and a security guard who would tell us to shift-up-shift-up as the people in the front seats went up to the counter. My bum had therefore sat on about 100 chairs in the process of shifting-up. There had been no bum-shifting here. It had all been very smooth. While I did think that the staff could have been more friendly especially to the kids, I was quite amazed at the speed of the whole thing. Very efficient.

I looked at my phone. There were three messages - your passport application has been received and the printing of the passports has been initiated. I showed it to Vijay wordlessly and he looked very impressed.

'Can we have ice-creams?' The kids started to plead. My first reaction was to say no, as always, but then I gave in and nodded.

This was indeed cause to celebrate. They were going to get their passports. We might even get to travel internationally as a family soon. Maybe even to Asia.

Saturday, March 26, 2016

The Little Reader

When Peanut was only 3 months old, I started reading to her.

I think it made all the difference.

She developed a real interest in stringing words together, and at the age of five was already reading pretty well. Now, at the age of eight, she takes us aback at the speed at which she goes through books. It's not an exaggeration to say that she can easily go through a book in a day.

Her twin brothers, who also like stories but are nowhere near her level of capability, often protest that 'Peanut-didi isn't listening' because she's got her nose buried deep in a book and isn't interested in playing with them. It's the Great Escape for her, given that she's able to tune out the boys who annoy her a lot of the time. But they come up often and complain to me in a conspiratorial whisper. 'Peanut is READING. Again!' The disgust is clear on their little faces. They don't get it.

I get it. I was like that as a kid. I would hide under my bed to read my brother's books. ( Yeah, we weren't big on sharing.) Those were wonderful afternoons, even among the dusty cobwebs. I devoured books just like my kid does today. Except that she doesn't have to hide anywhere. She has a shelf full of books. She has access to a library in the neighborhood. Kind neighbours have given us boxes of books outgrown by their daughters and Peanut has happily added them to her bookshelf which is now overflowing with books.

While I felt a sense of pride and wonder everytime she announced she finished a book ( coupled with suspicion that she wasn't really reading properly, and I was proved wrong here after a few attempts at quizzing her), I also felt a sense of dismay shared by Vijay -

'What do you mean?' He would cry. 'You finished all four of the books we bought you day before yesterday? What a waste of money!'

It was true. You'd think it would occupy her for at least a week, but no, she'd be done in a couple of days.

The solution - at least in part? Kindle Unlimited.

See, I quite like Kindle Unlimited. I think it may not always give you exactly what you wanted to read, but it certainly works to help you discover more. Still, it was with a sense of trepidation that I let her download a couple of books and read them on my device.

It's clear that kids already get too much screen time between TVs and Tablets. Peanut even has her own computer, the Micromax Lapbook, which was a gift from the company when I was leaving ( and incidentally, something I worked on as part of the category I was leading there for a year). So I wasn't feeling too good about giving her access to yet another device.

I made her promise she would only read the books that she had downloaded and leave MY books alone ( her teacher has asked us in the last PTM to be watchful of what she reads - apparently not all of the stuff in the boxes from the neighbours was completely age-appropriate). When I came back, she was bouncing around in excitement.

'The Kindle is GREAT.' She declared.

She'd read a book called '500 jokes for kids.' Peanut is a big fan of jokes and riddles and loves parroting them to anyone who'll lend her an ear, even if she doesn't quite get the joke herself. She laughs heartily as she finishes each joke and often if you ask her what's so funny, she admits that she doesn't know but giggles anyway. The other book she'd read was the Mardi Gras Chase or something. She called it Mardi Grass and I gently corrected her, recalling a quote I read recently about never making fun of someone who mispronounces a word because it means they learnt it from a book, and I thought that was exactly right for little Peanut who often gets pronunciations wrong because of this reason.

'What's so great about reading on the Kindle, though?' I challenged.

'Well,' she began immediately. 'I like to read books for FREE.' She knew I'd subscribed to Kindle Unlimited for her.

'Okay, what else?'

She described how nice it was to be able to hold a book with one hand. And how everytime she put it down and picked it up, it opened up to the exact page she was on. And how you could even change Font sizes, and if you didn't know the meaning of a word, you could look it up.

'It's like,' she finished. 'You know, it's like a TV and a book, but better.'

I asked her how on earth it was like a TV, but it turned out that she just meant it was another screen and it was entertaining. 'But informational too.' She added sagely.

I sighed. Okay then. It made sense. I don't know if I'll be able to figure out a way to hide my books from her on the Kindle - don't really want her reading them. But then, even my physical books lie around the house and there's no way to keep her from sneaking a peek at them. I did throw out one particular book after I heard her say 'Hey! How can there be FIFTY shades?' I batted her hand away real fast that time. But in general, it's hardly like I'm reading really raunchy books. Well, these days anyway.

I see real benefits in letting her read on the Kindle - with my new Paperwhite, I don't feel the kind of strain that I used to on the earlier version that I had. You've got to progress with the times, and all that jazz. Right? Right.

Still, this weekend, when she returned from her Grandma's house with an armful of my old Archies, each copy musty and yellow and frayed around the edges, and smelling suspiciously like my old spot under the bed, I must admit I was incoherently happy.

The old and the new. Mix it all up. As long as she's reading, it's a good thing.

I think it'll make all the difference. 

Saturday, March 12, 2016

When It All Gets Too Much

With a job that has its own challenges, apart from the highs.

With three kids, their school trips, illnesses, challenges, transition to the new classes, three PTMs on the same day, one after the other.

With a fourth book on the way and doubts about why I haven't given a character enough of a backstory or a scene enough description.

With the challenges that the husband faces on a regular basis and which seep into my consciousness as if by Osmosis.

With generally not enough time and feeling disconnected from real friends while getting increasingly annoyed with the strangers that clog my newsfeed with rants, food photos and other crap.

There's always F*R*I*E*N*D*S.

Best show ever. It's the one that Vijay and me used to cuddle up and watch years ago. And now, we've started doing it again with the re-runs. It's quite therapeutic.

And hey, I actually saw one today that I haven't ever seen - the one where Monica & Chandler actually do it in London!