What's a Wombat, She Asks?

Here you go, Parul...

http://www.wombania.com/wombats/

It is one of my prime regrets in life that I went to Australia and returned without having spotted a Wombat.

And Sue...I really want to hear that poem you mentioned...

'Wombat Stew! Wombat Stew!
Crunchy Munchiee! For my Lunchee!
Wombat Stew!
Wee Hoo!'

Is just so cute. The versions I've seen online suggest that the book by Marcia Vaughn has the rhyme as

'Wombat Stew! Wombat Stew!
Gooey, Chewy,
Yummy, Brewy,
Wombat Stew!'

I like the Crunchy Munchie one better.

And thus ends the most arbit post I've ever written.

Heck, Y On Earth Not!?

Words That Are Fun To Say - 1

There are some words that are nice for no reason other than the way they roll off your tongue. And for no particular reason, I have decided to compile a list of these. The first few are:

1. Repartee
2. Wombat
3. Machete (Courtesy: Ganju*)
4. And my current personal favourite: Boutros Boutros-Ghali

Try them! And do you have any favourite words?

Note: Peanut likes to say 'Huhhhh...huhhhh....huhhhhhhhhhhh'. Very versatile as this can be said in a wondering tone one minute, and with biting sarcasm the next.

*Ganju, has the word courtesy ever been used with your name before? Ha, ha. Just kidding, ole buddy.

In The Still Of The Night

Somebody kindly gave Peanut a doll some time back. Now, I'm all for dolls for little girls and with my usual creativity decided to place this one, called Candy, on a blue lamp above Peanut's bassinet so that she could see her whenever she woke up. This is the view of Candy that Peanut gets.



It works very well - except that since blue lamp is also directly above my own bed, and the doll indeed fascinates Peanut, she keeps performing gymnastic feats and craning her neck while I'm feeding her, in order to maintain eye contact with Candy, instead of with me.


At night, I take Peanut out of her bassinet to let her sleep next to me. I find that this really reduces the hassles of getting out of bed to feed her during the night. And just when it was really working for us, with her sleeping 4-5 hour stretches after her last night feed, she has started waking up every hour on the hour to feed - no doubt due to her proximity with me.


And last night, when I lay there bleary eyed, I realised that the damn 8 glasses of water during the day were taking a toll on my bladder. Fighting my instinct to stay in bed in my half-asleep state and gazing enviously at Peanut, who I imagined to be mockingly peeing in her diaper at that very moment, I finally decided that I would get up to go to the bathroom. And that's when the most frightening sight caught my eye, causing my heart to jump to my throat and nearly obviating my need to go to the bathroom. For that moment, I was convinced that this was finally the big IT - the very end.


Yes - I had forgotten about Candy dangling over the blue lamp. In the dimly lit room, her pale, long-legged body dangled seemingly suspended in mid-air, bent over in a ghastly manner, with her glinting golden hair cascading menacingly from under her blue hat - overall, a wholly macabre sight, not recommended for the faint-hearted.


And faint-hearted I am, but I managed somehow to stifle a scream - the thought of waking Peanut from a peaceful slumber proved about as scary as being confronted by this ghostly figure. Reasonably quick on the uptake at times, I realized that this was only the lovable and harmless (by day) Candy. I laughed, slightly nervously, at my jittery reaction.


But imagine being unprepared for this sight - imagine seeing this suddenly in the still of a shadowy night. Come on, it is scary and you know it.



In any case, it got me thinking - I've really seen too many scary movies. Till a while back, I had this thing for watching scary movies - and I would really, really get scared to the extent that I would have trouble sleeping.


Why do we like being creeped out? I avoid scary movies nowadays (case in point - Himmesh's Aap ka Suroor - the Moviee - but then, that's a different brand of scary) but I haven't avoided them enough in my past.


It started with that movie, the Poltergeist. Where the heck were my parents when I was watching that as a kid? It's such a gross movie and not at all suitable for a seven year old.


Then there was Omen. I think I saw only one of the parts and I thought it was really badly made but still scary. And I'm fairly sure I saw only parts of Psycho, but those parts were enough since they consisted of the Shower scene and the Ending. And that horrible, horrible Child's Play series.


I didn't even watch the Evil Dead, but my loving cousin Mini told me the whole story and that creeped me out enough.


There was this movie called The Witches, which was also really eerie in parts. Come on, I was under ten when I first saw it. It was coming again on TV the other day and I deftly changed the channel.


More recently, I have been scared by the Ring - what a dumbass story, but the effects, oh the effects! Brrrr...


And I thought the Sixth Sense was quite brilliant but there really were a few heart-thumping moments in there. Of course, Shyamalan's quality of film-making has drastically dropped with every subsequent film. Unbreakable was passable, Signs was barely watchable and The Village was unforgivable. And yet, each of these managed to give me at least a few shivers. I didn't watch his latest, was it 'Lady in the Water'? The name was enough to scare me. Did any of you see it? Well?


I also thought 'The Others' was really frightening, and about on par with the Sixth Sense. But before this turns into a scary movie review post, let me meander back to the point - which is, WHY have I done this to myself? Having an overactive imagination is fine when you are using it to dream up unspeakable wrongs done to you by your harassed, mildly protesting husband - but it is not so fine in the dark night when poor, innocent Candy becomes a horrific ghost-figure out to kill me dead.


Well, I'm a mother now, after all. I can't let these silly things bother me anymore. After all, I need to convince myself there are no monsters under the bed before Peanut starts asking me about them.


But one thing is for sure. I'm going to keep a sharp eye on what my baby watches as she grows up. In fact, I really do look forward to watching those things with her. Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Hello Dolly, My Fair Lady, Mary Poppins, Oliver...what wonderful, happy, musical movies. Exactly how life should be - and exactly how it's not, but never mind that. What are your favourite children's movies?


In the meantime, it is now getting dark again - so excuse me while I go and put Candy in a more...uh, comfortable place.

The Vocabulary Expansion

Less than 3 months old, and yet, a vocabulary of over 3 whole words

First word: Aye (as in Aye, aye, captain)

Second word: Hi (as in Hi, Mom!)

Third word, with two syllables, said for the first time today and the real reason for this post: Aga*

Babies today are clearly geniuses! Especially mine! No sir, no 'ah-goo' for her! Ah-goo is such a standard meaningless overused term. She went straight for a word with meaning.

(Oh, shut up, all of you... let a girl have her fun, hey?)

*Note: Pronunciation - Aa-gaaaaaaaaaa, with pitch progressively increasing, oft culminating in a strange hacking cough from the effort.

Take my advice...

...and never give anyone any advice.

Advice, after Himmesh, is doubtlessly the worst thing on this planet. Have you noticed that the word 'vice' resides in the word advice? And you, my innocent friends, thought it was just a coincidence.

Hah!

As a new mother, I get to hear loads of advice. Look, some of it is pretty useful - when it is asked for. It is the unsolicited advice that is the truly vile stuff.

But in the spirit of trying to take it all lightly, I recount some of the true gems that I have received:

a. When I told my mother that Peanut has been consistently cranky during her bath these days, and almost always bursts into tears, especially when we wet her hair to try and shampoo it - her immediate and serious advice was:

'Why don't you use Johnson's 'No More Tears' shampoo?'

Right, Momma. Thanks. That will solve it, for sure. Considering that the problem is that she cries because of her hair being wet even before any shampoo touches it. Talk about taking branding seriously.

b. When I remarked later to Vijay that the water temperature for Peanut's bath seems to make a big difference as to how happy or unhappy she is about bathing, he said:

'Yes, yes, I've noticed that. You need to make the water temperature as close to the temperature of her pee as possible...haven't you seen how happy she is when she pees all over herself?'

Wow. Another pearl of pissdom from my darling husband. He should write a book on child-raising. Just so that I have the pleasure of burning it and then stomping out the flames.

c. One of the maids at our grandparent's house, Asha, lectured me when we went visiting
' You should give the baby your own milk. Do you give the baby your own milk? Your own milk is best for the baby. There's nothing like your own milk...' ad nauseum.

I assured her, somewhat tartly, that I knew that and I was indeed breastfeeding Peanut. This, I thought, was a bit much. Now simply everybody is bunging silly advice in my general direction.

This was also the day that we had taken along bottles of pumped milk so that Vijay could have the pleasure of feeding Peanut. He was doing so with great enjoyment when I caught sight of Asha, watching this from the doorway, with a horrified expression on her face. This self-appointed advocate of breastfeeding clearly thought I had been lying to her all along.

I was rather irritated but couldn't be bothered to explain the concept of breast pumps and expressed milk to her - and anyway, she disappeared soon after, when she saw me looking at her - but not without a last lingering, reproachful stare at me.

I wanted to run after her and smack her silly, but restrained myself with my usual patience.

d. I've already mentioned Vani's wonderful advice during pregnancy 3D ultrasounds 'Tell them to look at the baby from all angles...'. When she came over to see Peanut recently, she kept telling me 'I'm sure it must be so boring for her to be mostly inside the house...seeing the same things over and over again...'.

Now I'm not denying that there may be some truth in this statement, and it's always nice to take Peanut outside, onto the roof or generally visiting. But considering she is fascinated by her farts and spellbound by her own toes nowadays, and gapes at the blue lamp behind my head in awe as I burp her, I hardly think she is getting too bored -yet.

And anyway, you know you're in trouble when you start getting any advice from Vani.

e. Oh wait. It gets worse. Because even worse than getting advice from Vani is getting advice from Abhimanyu. Firstly, he is always scoffing at my pictures of Peanut, advising me to buy a Canon instead of our lowly Kodak.This would be okay, but then he brings his brother's Canon over and then takes terrible pictures of her, triumphantly showing them to me while I lie 'Hmm. Very nice.'

And even he doesn't limit his advice to the pictures. He tells me I don't know how to cut her nails. 'You should always trim them round for the fingernails, and straight for the toenails.' I asked him how the hell he would know something like that, but he refused to divulge where he had picked up this singularly girly piece of information.

f. Finally, our beloved maid, the K, is full of advice and information about the baby. Firstly, there are the usual half-hourly reports on the baby's activities, spanning 'has raha hai...' to 'sho raha hai' to 'khel raha hai' to 'potty kar raha hai'...looping all the way round to 'potty karte hue has raha hai'.

And now, she has taken it a step further. Having brought up my baby sister, she is still totally obsessed with her although the latter is now 24 and going to work. So now, everytime the baby cries, I have to struggle to comfort her, while hearing the most annoyingly mournful information 'Masi nahin hai na, isliye ro raha hai...' , repeated over and over until I send her away on some random errand merely to make it stop.

Thus, the K has masterfully combined her obsession with my sister and my baby - driving me nuts in the process.

Let me assure you, all this is the mere tip of the adviceberg. But nowadays, I just try and remind myself that all this advice is coming out of concern for the baby's wellbeing. So it's all good and to be handled with grace and maturity.

After all, when my husband helpfully says, with great authority and conviction, as Peanut cries particularly loudly, crankily and miserably ...'I think something is bothering her'...

...I am forced to wonder: Where would I be without penetrating insights like that?

Thank goodness for my family and friends.

BOO!

Don't you just hate it when you go on over to read someone's blog to find they haven't posted anything new?

Isn't it just bloody? I think it's just bloody.

And you find yourself thinking, well, they could have had the courtesy to post SOMEthing - ANYthing - even if they didn't have much to say or much time to say what they had to say.

Or then again, you may end up wishing they wouldn't post anything at all, if what they were going to post was such unmitigated rubbish.

(Sigh. Just feeling lazy. Going to take a nap and may post later. Better luck to you, elsewhere...)

Abhi's unique gift

My pal Abhimanyu called a couple of days back and said 'Oye! How's Sundari? I'm coming over to see her' - Correctly interpreting this to mean that he was keen to visit my baby, I told him to come on over in the afternoon.

That morning I had decided to try out, again, the baby gym that Vijay had bought for Peanut. She tends to be fascinated by the flashing lights and the music for a few minutes before breaking into panicked wails - and it was the same that day as well. Grumbling to myself about Vijay's excesses, I rescued her, but left her gym set up on the bed.

Later, Abhimanyu burst into the house and into our room, with his usual 'Oye!'. He then gave Peanut a silly, adoring grin, remarking how she's getting prettier every time he sees her.

I noticed he was carrying a huge, artistically wrapped package under his arm - and at about the same time, he caught sight of the baby gym on the bed. The grin dropped off his face immediately, replaced by a look of disbelief and despair - 'You're kidding me, right?'

I started laughing ' You didn't! You bought her a baby gym, too? The same one?'

He continued to stare in a depressed manner at the gym on the bed and said in an uncharacteristically small voice 'Noo....I think that one is bigger and better...'

I felt sorry for him because he looked so disappointed -but also a bit irritated 'You mean you haven't been reading my blog for weeks? I wrote about Vijay buying that for her and that she's scared by it.'

He quickly changed the subject, asking accusingly 'When did he buy that?'

'A month back'

He said 'But I bought mine a month back... (implying that it was thus impossible that Vijay could have simultaneously done the same) ...I just kept forgetting to bring it over'

I told him, never mind and thanked him for the very generious gift, and assured him that it would probably be very useful - after all, one can never have too many baby gyms, I said.

Slightly cheered by this blatant lie, Abhi then insisted on setting up the gym on my bed. Now, considering that our room is so cluttered by toys and other baby stuff for Peanut that I worry about one day not being able to find her in it, I tried to dissuade him from this, saying we would most likely use it in Bombay instead - but he would not listen. Promising me that he would put it back in the box, he picked up the instruction manual and set it at all up. He then spent some time chatting with me -while gazing at his gift in satisfaction,and alternating this with the occasional malevolent stare at Vijay's purchase.

When it was time for Abhi to leave, I gently pointed out that with the two large baby gyms, and the baby's rocker, there was now no room left for me on the bed and reminded him of his promise to carefully repack the gym. He then unceremoniously stuffed it back into the box, with one giraffe's neck sticking out and half the pieces falling onto the floor. I ushered him out somewhat gladly - and he promised to be back again soon.

Anyway, upon closer examination, it turned out the baby gym that Abhi has bought is a longer lasting one because it's for three stages ( lying on the back, tummy play and sitting up) - and though it lacks the flashing lights and sounds of the other one, considering that Peanut seems overwhelmed by them, this may be a good thing. So all in all, very useful indeed.

And even if it weren't, this was a very thoughtful gesture from one of my oldest and best friends, my sarcastic and offbeat designer pal, the most unlikely to ever be so fascinated by a baby - my Peter Pan, the boy who never seems to grow up - the one who still resents the thought that he is now to be called 'Uncle' by anybody, even if it is Peanut.

There's only one thing I can say to you at this point, Abhi.

'Thank you, Unkil'

And, oh - read my blog more often.

Tag! Yag!

Again, a Tag, this time from NM. And being the sporty one that I am, can never resist or desist, so here goes:

The Names that Our Baby is called at Home:

1. Peanut (surprise!)
2. Cheeku ( because of the big cheeks)
3. Gulab Jamun, Rasagulla, Puchka, Golgappa (also because of the big cheeks)
4. Bachhda (By me alone - was surprised NM also does this!)
5. Sachin (Because she looks like Tendulkar after her bath -you'll understand after the next post, I have a photo of it)
6. Shoneee (By our maid Kajal)
7. Shona (by my mother, I think it's her Bengali half speaking)
8. 'Bandariya, Meri Bandi Bititya' (sung to her by her father when putting her to sleep)
9. Parul, Charul, Guchu-puchu, Choti Yashu (by her Buas, don't ask me why)
10. Raja-Betu (by her parents, for no particular reason at all)
11. Baby (by me, very imaginatively)
12. And of course, my personal favourite- Potty Queen (by her father, when he is changing her diaper)

Yes, at this rate, I'm pretty sure she's not going to know her own name until she's around 12.

I tag...nobody! If you want to do it, do it and let me know so I can come and laugh at you.

Edited to add: As my darling sister has pointed out, there are also : Babooshka, Bablans, Chubby and Bright Eyes. And I also remembered Ladoo, in fact, she is also called Mishtaan Bhandaar. Ok, that's it!

SMS from Grandma

My grandparents are pretty kicked about Peanut - this has been especially a big deal on the maternal side as they are great-grandparents for the first time.

As my maternal Grandfather Dadu, who wasn't too well at the time, sleepily and gruffly informed Vijay on the phone - when he was supposed to be congratulating him on her birth- 'I am a Great-grandfather. YOU, are only a father'.

Anyway, I thought my maternal Grandmother, Didu, would be the most likely out of my four grandparents, to get a possible kick out of reading my blog. Around half of Vijay's height, she is very fond of him and loves to hear about his antics.

So I took a printout of the last few posts about him and Peanut and had it sent across to her, complete with pictures and all.

Indeed, she was delighted. And she sent me a series of SMS's to convey her delight.

Now, she has had a mobile for some time, but it's taken her a while to learn how to use SMS - and you have to give credit to an 80-something year old to be able to learn it at all.

But the fact is that she does find it a bit difficult and each SMS takes about as long for her to type out, as writing a letter would - and sometimes it still turns out obscure and needing some deciphering. By the way, she has been a teacher of English, and therefore, the following SMS's stand as testament to the effort, in fact, struggle behind each painstakingly typed word.

Her first SMS, and I quote word for word:

'Welcome to Peanut woderful Y love V so much one cant say baming light focussed on Pnut or PAPA One grand news PROUD GGP wanted toannounceto whole world misng'

Fair enough. She likes it, loves Vijay more than she can say, something about whether Vijay or Peanut is the star, its the first time they are great-grandparents and want to announce it to the world.

And then this follow up message two days later:

'Fir$t reading rapid what coming next n next Second relaxing tasteing each word with immense joy V vijayed inner core of the readers' hearts Ys simple btiful natural flow of language depictin the true story must have left something for the young hearts to emulate Pnut is the centre God save her'

Clear. She read it quickly first, breathless with anticipation and is now re-reading it and savouring it. Vijay is winning over the reader's heart and she likes my writing. Something about young readers being encouraged to emulate (us?...Heaven forbid! only a grandmother would be so blinded by love)...and Peanut is the center of it all. God Save Her.

Hang on! God SAVE her? I'm sure she meant God BLESS her. Must clarify on this point.

Hah. Be like that. Et tu, Didu?

(Note to self - leave out this post when printing next instalment of blog for Didu - or risk being denied the pleasure of future cryptic SMS's)

My adorable, adorable grandmother.

The Disappearing Diary of an Incurable Amateur

It is a true mystery. Where did it go?

I made the silly mistake of taking my diary to my friend Abhi's place, three weeks back. Left it there. Called and told him to find it and keep it carefully. And he looked for it - and it wasn't there anymore. My precious diary is gone. Sob.

I half jokingly told Abhi that we should cut open his big dog, Dash, to retrieve it. He promises he has been carefully checking his poop (Dash's poop, that is) for the last three weeks, but no sign of my diary anywhere. I think I will finally have to let go of any hope of ever seeing it again. And it's not exactly very easy to do.

The thing is, it's not just one of those diaries in which you scribble a few notes - it is a few year's worth of reminders that I have tried (and failed, in various degrees, at) different things apart from working, eating and sleeping.

Four years ago, when Vijay and I were just married, I got all enthused about Dance Classes. So we joined up Mridula Martis's dance classes. These weekend classes - Salsa and Jive- were real fun - but I wasn't real big on 'fun' those days. It was all about perfecting the steps so that Vijay and I would move in complete unision, and with unparalelled grace. Now, I kept my end of the bargain - but Vijay would insist on forgetting the steps and 'improvising' (shocking!) - further, he kept accusing me of 'constantly trying to lead'. Every class would inevitably lead to an argument between us, and a massive sulk. Mridula was rather partial to Vijay, claiming he was the best of the male dancers (which wasn't saying much, let me assure you), and very quick to pick up the steps (Even quicker to forget them, I mumbled to myself). Once she came to break us up and use him for a demonstration, simultaneously asking him 'Is she bullying you again?'. Hah.

Anyway, the classes ended - we forgot all the steps subsequently but I had them all carefully written down for one fine day when we decide we want to try it again. But till now, we've been happier doing arbit dances to any kind of music, especially what Vijay calls the 'Macchar dance', an uncontrolled flailing of limbs in all directions. My mom watched a video I have taken of him dancing recently, and between laughs, she gasped in alarm 'His head is going to fall off'. I will not post the video here because I still value my marriage.

Then there were my Drum classes. Three years ago, in an another fit of enthusiasm, I bought myself a set of drums. I didn't have the foggiest notion of how to play, but they looked fairly impressive - a real drumset! I decided it was time to take lessons, and I found myself the great Ryan Colaco as an instructor. Ryan (full name Ryan Crispin Mario Colaco - isn't that beautiful? I hope I spelt it right) is the drummer of the Bangalore band Kryptos and a really funny, offbeat (ha ha..offbeat..drummer...get it?..never mind!) character in real life. (If you see the picture in the link, he's the shadowy dude whom you can barely see, right in the middle - now, while he is not exactly tall, he's not that short - must be sitting at his drums or something...) At the time I met him, he had some kind of a regular job in accounts or finance or something, which he quit soon after. A good thing, considering he seems to have no idea how to make money. He quoted me a really ridiculously low monthly fee for the drum lessons, which I thought was the weekly charge, and tried to pay accordingly. His eyes bulged when I tried to hand him the money and he blurted 'No, Da! Why you paying me for so many months together?'. He good-naturedly kicked himself later for this -and I hope he has since heeded my advice of raising his fee.

He was a great teacher and clearly incredibly talented - and banging on the drums was the most amazing release for me, especially combined with his constant clowning and 'No, daa...'s. Sadly, I was not a disciplined student and my enthusiam predictably fizzled out after a while - so my drum set is currently used to hang and dry my washed clothes. But my precious diary also had Ryan's scrawled instructions in it and I had resolved 'one day' to pick up playing again...

More recently, in Bombay, I decided I would rise above 'strumming amateur status' and took guitar lessons at home, from a young man named Pradeep. Pradeep is a very nice person, but takes a while to figure out. He, like Ryan, had the necessary rock-band long hair, ponytail and ready grin, but that is where the similarity ended. Pradeep spent a lot of time in my first class telling me about how he loves soft music, and is a big fan of Abba, and really not into the heavy metal scene. I was quite encouraged by this confession because I'm really not into heavy music myself - here I thought, is a guy with whom I can musically relate. When I asked him the name of his band, he replied poker-faced 'Demonic Resurrection'. I had a hard time keeping a straight face and suggested we jump straight into my first lesson. I looked it up later, and as you can see, this band is described as a 'Death Metal Band, a big name in the country's underground music scene today'.

Pradeep was also a nice, patient teacher, but at times he would really puzzle me. One time, I think it was around the World Cup, he asked me if I was interested in cricket. Now, I am one of the roughly ten people in India who really doesn't care about this game and I told him so, in no uncertain terms. He gazed right through me as if he hadn't heard me, and proceeded to deliver a long lecture on the sad state of affairs with the Indian team, going over each player's performance in detail. When he said 'Sachin' and 'Dhoni', my glazed eyes lit up briefly as these names were familiar, but he clearly took this as a sign of my unqualified enthusiasm - and went on and on for the entire hour that I was supposed to be learning the guitar.

Yes, he's a pretty absent minded guy. In my last class, as he was leaving my house, we were comparing our ages and I was a bit offended when he said 'Of course, you're older than I am'. I said 27 isn't that old, and he said it is older than 26. I had to agree there except when he revealed that he was born in 1979. I politely told him, in that case, he is older than me, considering I was born in 1980. He looked really puzzled for a long time and tried to work out the mathematics of the problem. Eventually, I had to gently shut the door in his puzzled face because it was taking too long. I like him - he's silly. But my guitar status stays at 'strumming amateur, now with the ignominy of having taken classes with no improvement'. And yes, the diary held Pradeep's careful instructions, too.

My last venture was into the art world, with Vani's classes, as described in a previous post. Now, the end result of these classes, my 'Mural' is something that I looked at with great pride - for a week. After that, I have decided it is the ghastliest eyesore that I have ever seen and I am planning to use it to scare unwanted guests when we have a house big enough for a guestroom. While people have been appreciative about it, I can see through comments like 'Oh, it's...Outstanding', and 'Wow, that's colourful', and 'Hmmm..very Space-Age, huh?'. The final straw has been my maid Zareena telling me that its latest admirer has been the Kabadiwala , who spotted it while buying our old newspapers. She bawled at me 'Woh Kabadi waala ne aapka Peenting ko Dekha....Bola Bahut accha hai...Bola wo pachaas rupaiye mein khareedega...Madam se pooncho...'. Now, considering I had paid Rs.300 for just the stupid wooden board base, I was understandably hurt by this - and moved the painting a bit further down the hall to keep him from eyeing it again. Anyway, this last one, the mural classes, had no instructions in the diary, I just went with the flow and threw it in for good measure.

Coming back to the original point - that diary was very dear to me -largely, because it held the promise of a brighter, more accomplished future for me, with myriad activities to occupy me, especially in my sunset, retirement years. I know I'm kidding myself - I would have continued to make notes in it on my bizarre attempts at learning stuff, and never have looked at the previous notes again, but it was nice to believe otherwise.

Anyway, I guess nothing stops me from eventually becoming an eccentric, dancing, drumming, guitar-playing artistic old lady - I will just have to be an amateur at everything till the very end - and that's fine by me.

So, here's to a lifetime of unadulterated, unabashed Amateurism. (Amateurity? Amateurness? What??). Dear Diary - I now officially let you go.

...At least it won't be a boring retirement. Hopefully, I will be a real embarassment to my future grand-children. That should be amusing.

Rock On, Begum!

Yesterday, I went to a Farida Khanum performance at Kamani Auditorium. According to me, this is one of the signs that you are finally growing up - when you realise you now like the same kind of music that your mother does.

This doesn’t mean that I’m suddenly into Ghazals overnight – it’s just that this particular woman has, according to me, the most beautiful voice in the whole world. And I’m not ashamed to admit that I knew and judged this through the one song I’ve heard of hers over and over again – the ubiquitous ‘Aaj Jaane Ki Zid Na Karo’.

However, I am a little ashamed, to admit that when my mother mentioned this upcoming performance, my first reaction was ‘Farida Khanum is still alive?’. I had already mentally written her off as one of the greats of a past era. However, I quickly got over her non-death and decided to accompany Mum for the concert.

Vijay was a bit sceptical. ‘You’ll probably just like that one song, if she sings it, and get bored during the rest’. I think he was just jealous that he couldn’t make it, being in Bombay and all.

So we got there yesterday evening at 6.15 p.m., and just in the nick of time. The authorities, in their infinite wisdom, had decided to issue approximately three times the number of passes than the number of available seats. Apparently, right after we entered, they shut the gates, and there was danger of a real riot taking place outside – the furious crowd was actually threatening to break the gates down. In fact, Farida Khanum was herself 20 minutes late because they weren’t opening the gates to let her and her accompanying musicians inside!

She came in eventually and took her seat. She was dressed in this pretty, shiny, pinkish sari and she gave me the impression of being a nice, big birthday cake with delicate pink frosting. I don’t actually know how old she is, but she didn’t look particularly decrepit or anywhere near being on her deathbed as I had imagined. She exuded a great deal of charm, and I could almost swear that from the minute she took her place on the stage, the aroma of beteljuice or supari, whether real or imagined, reached me in the 8th row, and for once, it was not altogether unpleasant at all. The real magic began when she started to speak - her voice was so low, pleasant and soothing, and her entire manner so humble and winning, that it didn’t matter to me that I couldn’t understand half the words she was using. Urdu is such a beautiful language to listen to, I must learn it sometime.

And then she sang! Wow. There is absolutely no way to describe her singing. I have decided that you have to be a real writer to be able to accurately describe her singing, or maybe it’s just not possible. For me, the only thing I can think of is that her listening to her singing is like the vocal equivalent of warm chocolate melting slowly in your mouth – and that the occasional break that you get from her smooth flowing voice, in the form of a sudden heady rasp, is like the finding of an unexpected, delicious piece of chocolate chip that needs to be separately savoured for a moment. Damn- I think I am obsessed with food. Don’t worry, I’ll work on it. One day, I will find that description.

Surprisingly, after two of her songs, somebody yelled out a request to her. I thought it was rather rude, I didn’t know this kind of thing was acceptable. But Farida just said ‘Acchha Ji, Acchi Baat’ and accommodated the request. After this, it was a mixture of her performing her prepared songs, and the audience getting louder and louder with their requests. Some people were rude enough to yell out while she was actually speaking and describing the history behind a particular song, but she still continued to be supremely polite and charming and accommodated almost every request, pulling out three or four different diaries to refresh her memory of the lyrics, in some cases. Of course, I was secretly pleased when some silly boor yelled ‘Aaj Jaane ki Zid Na Karon’ and the whole audience applauded in unanimous agreement– and then, she actually sang it and blew me away even further. The only sad thing about this was that everybody in the hall had apparently heard of this song, with the sole exception of her tabla player, who blatantly refused to get the taal right - despite her attempts to gracefully direct him with elegant waves of her chubby white arm. It says something that despite this impediment, she still managed to effortlessly squeeze out this beautiful song with great poise.

But unlike Vijay’s sour prediction, I actually enjoyed every single song that she sang though I fervently wished I could understand the inherent shayari within each song. As it was, I clapped along but couldn’t bring myself to actually say ‘Wah, wah’ like the rest of the audience, at lines which were apparently particularly poignant. I also wished Vijay was around to translate – and oh, he would have loved the entire thing, too.

As usual, there were also the typical cretins who were rude enough to talk on their phones during the performance – ‘Haan, bolo. Mein Farida Khanum ko sun raha hoon, Kamani mein. Nahin, nahin...Bolo, na!’. I wanted to swoop down on them like an eagle, snatch their phones and run away – but the great thing was that Farida’s voice was so all-powerful that I could actually tune these people out so it really didn’t matter, for once. In fact, at one point, the authorities had to let in the restless crowd waiting outside into the hall (something they should have done in the very beginning) and they all piled in sat around on the floor, or leaning against the wall, a noisy mixture of self righteous indignation and triumph at having finally entered– but Farida just continued to sing, without batting an eyelid.

The performance went on for around 2.5 hours without a break - and proof of how much I enjoyed it lies in the fact that I held my urge to pee for over 45 minutes, before eventually stepping on a lot of toes, (deliberately aiming for as many cell phone cretins as I could manage), to get out and relieve myself.

Overall, it was absolutely magical.

Yes, maybe I’m getting old now and I’m sure a lot of my friends will be a bit taken aback to read this post. All this from the girl who some years back would float around Delhi University in baggy jeans with a guitar slung over her shoulder, singing Alanis songs at the fests? But what the heck! That was then, this is now. I still like Alanis. I can like Farida Khanum too. And frankly, if growing up or growing old, whatever you call it, means being able to appreciate something so beautiful – well, it ain’t half bad!

One final thing – another bit of slightly strange behaviour I observed was that some people were recording her on their fancy cell phones. I don’t particularly mind this because it is quite non-intrusive. But I don’t understand the mentality. She is right there in front of you, singing for you - live! Enjoy it and be in the moment, for once!

It’s potentially almost spiritual.

(I was going to end this post with a couple of the video clips we took on my Mum’s fancy cell phone, but decided against it – the video quality wasn’t that great and didn’t do justice to the Begum's performance. So you will just have to imagine it!)

The Fascinating Mahabharata

The Mahabharata really is one of my favourite stories. It is absolutely fantastic in its complexity - the politics, the hypocrisy, the grey characters - everything about this story is just brilliant.

I never knew a thing about the Mahabharata in my childhood years, apart from the fact that it was a very annoying, boring show on television - wherein men wearing obviously fake gold-coloured cardboard crowns would fire an endless series of arrows at each other. These fabulously magical arrows would hurtle in slow motion ( rather unsteadily) towards each other for several minutes, accompanied with the sound effects of lightning and serious mood music -only to clash mid-way and cancel each other out, in a huge crescendo of sound and light. This spectacular scene would then be followed alternatingly, by close-up shots of the villian's face (heavy moustache and eyebrows quivering in shocked rage), and close-up shots of the hero's face (clean shaven or light moustache, one eyebrow arched triumphantly). It was fascinating for many, but very trying on my own patience.

Anyway, a couple of years back, I developed this fascination for the Mahabharata and have been trying to find a really good English version to read ever since. Sadly, there doesn't seem to be one: I have tried P.Lal and C.Rajagopalachari (both of which are very 'kunji' types) - I even read the Amar Chitra Katha version (all 3 volumes) - and am now reading Meera Uberoi's version, while waiting for Ashok Banker to release his 18 volume masterpiece. By the way, does anyone know a version that is really comprehensive, yet fun to read? Do let me know...

So while I am reading Meera Uberoi's version, I thought it would be fun to chronicle some of my favourite moments in the story so far - just to give you an idea of exactly why this story is so enjoyable.

a. When Vidura warns Yudhishthira about Duryodhana's plot to kill the Pandavas:

Vidura says cryptically 'The science of politics says that he who knows what the enemy is scheming takes suitable measures to protect his own interests. Be like the fox that has more than one exit in its burrow. Directions lie in the stars:let them guide you. One who is in control of the five senses cannot be defeated. Bear in mind there are weapons other than the obvious ones and they can destroy just as effectively. Creatures of the forest know that straw and wood burn'

Later, Yudhishthira is asked by his mother what Vidura told him. His reply 'He said that the palace being built for us will become an inferno and we should have our escape routes planned'

I love this because it reminds me how often, in corporate life, we often need to decode top management 'advice' - almost exactly like this.

b. When it is made imperative that Draupadi marries all the five Pandavas:

Arjuna wins the hand of the beautiful Draupadi after performing a fantastic feat at her swayamvara. But during this time, the Pandavas are disguised as Brahmanas as they are in hiding from the Kauravas. So when they get back to their humble abode, he tells his mother 'See what alms I have got today' and Kunti, without looking up, tells him to 'share it amongst yourselves and enjoy'!

She then looks up and sees Draupadi. She is dismayed and says 'Oh, what have I done? I didn't know he was talking about the king's daughter...but my words must not become an untruth'.

And thus starts the series of events which leads to Draupadi marrying all five brothers. Now, the point is - the royal Kunti had absolutely no issues lying in other parts of the story ( including the clever concealment of the fact that Karna was her son). So why this sudden urge to become Miss Honesty-Honestor? Why could her words not become an untruth? Was it because what she said was supposed to be a blessing of some sort? There is no further elaboration in the story on this point, I can't really be bothered to research it right now (probably will when I get vela enough in a couple of days).

Anyway, the point is that this one reminds me of one of my earlier bosses, who would often thoughtlessly make a commitment to his superiors like 'Sure, the presentation is all done- Y is just putting the finishing touches on it, and it will be with you in the morning' - and only then, come and casually inform me about it, for the first time, with no trace of 'dismay'. Then, I would have to work late evenings... 'so that my words do not become an untruth'. (The Cretin.)

c. When Arjuna needs to go into exile for a year:

So, Draupadi has the good fortune of being married to all the five Pandavas. But Narada (who else!) suggests that to prevent jealousy between the brothers, they must at all costs avoid 'catching each other in the act' with their common wife. They agree that if, for some reason this cannot be avoided, the brother who violates the privacy of the other, will go into voluntary exile for a year. Sounds like a good plan.

Now, Arjuna is approached by a brahamana about his cows being stolen, and is begged for protection - so he needs to go into a chamber to pick up his weapons. Except that he knows that Yudhisthira is with Draupadi in the chamber. But being the noble Kshatriya that he is, he decides that what must be done, must be done. So he walks in on the two of them, picks up his weapons, and 'greeting Yudhisthira lightly', informs him 'Thieves have stolen a brahmana's cows and I am going to retrieve them'.

He then leaves the chamber before Yudhisthira can say a word, and goes and does the needful about the cows - and then adamantly goes into exile for a year, as per the agreement.

Now, while this is all very significant and serious and moral, I love this not because it reminds me of any moment in corporate life - it is solely because I am imagining the look on Yudhisthira's face when Arjun walks in and out. See, while this particular version of the Mahabharata is not specific in what he and Draupadi are doing at this particular moment, it's not very difficult to hazard a guess. And the fact is, when you're in that moment, you probably don't want to be 'greeted lightly' by your younger brother and furthermore, be treated to a rather unnecessary explanation, consisting of a load of hogwash about some arbit brahmana's cows. Therefore, it is no wonder that Yudhisthira 'could not say a word' before Arjuna walked out. Ha ha ha ha ha ...sorry about this, can't help picturing it - it all seems very comic to me.

Anyway, I will now read on and will probably continue to chronicle other glorious moments sporadically. I repeat my request: does anyone know a really good version of the Mahabharata?

(Note: I really did like reading the Ramayana by Ashok Banker but Hanuman's eyes kept welling up with tears of emotion too often and it got very irritating after the fifth or sixth time. I still do look forward to his Mahabharata, just don't know when it will be out...)

Ooh - I just love that pink!

Last week, my friend Vani sent out a characteristically strange and flourishy email announcing her decision to hold 'Mural making' art classes. She felt it was time to let loose her more creative side, as a weekend release from the corporate grind, and unleash it upon us lesser mortals. After threatening that she was very expensive and that there would be no discounts for so-called 'friends', she managed to get three confirmations for her first class. She had invited around 200 people but seemed happy at the 'positive response'.

I was one of the three and felt, rather enthusiastically, that this was my chance to rediscover my own creative side. I have always borne a grudge against my art teacher in school, with whom I had to part ways after I apparently 'indisciplined' with him. You wouldn't blame me, if you knew how irritating it was to have a bearded old crony pop up at your shoulder every time you were trying to paint a tree (the only form you could manage), to ask you in a quavering emotional voice 'So what do you want to be when you grow up?'. After changing my answer every class, three times, I lost it and finally told him 'A Woodcutter', which was the only thing that occured to me while painting a tree. After lecture that ensued from behind that quavering beard, I walked out in a huff, never to return or to paint again.

Until Vani, of course. Of course, I had very serious doubts about the whole affair when she sent a subsequent email announcing that the name of the classes would be 'Vani's Arty Tarties' ( I had loudly appealed to get her to change it, but without success), and these would begin at the unearthly hour of 9 a.m. on a Saturday. But my adventurous side prevailed and I went along to her place this morning.

I discovered that the only other student Vani had was Harman, as the third student had got cold feet and needed one more week to 'mentally prepare'. Little Harman had landed up on time, an hour before me, and was sitting on a cushion in the balcony, finishing a colorful painting consisting mostly of large blue stars. She was very proud of it and Vani was quite encouraging. She said 'Oh, I love the fact that there is absolutely no logic to your painting... It doesn't matter that it is daytime and that there are stars in the sky, on the ground....Very nice'. I personally felt that this was a disguised barb but Harman beamed and refused to do any more after that. Vani tried hard to get her to paint something else, but by this time, she had lost interest and preferred to talk on her phone and generally flip through a few art books. 'I am absorbing this', she explained, while listlessly turning the pages and throwing the books aside, one by one. She finally came across one she liked and said to me 'Look, Yash-this 'Nude in Sunlight'. See the way the sunlight is playing over her? Fantastic. She looks like...like...a ...nude ...in sunlight'. I agreed, because it was indeed a penetratingly accurate observation.

In the meantime, my own 'painting' was getting done. I had announced at the beginning that it would be a gift for my husband and there was a sigh of 'so sweet!' from both of them. When I told her that it would have a window as a main theme, Vani thought it was a great idea. But after talking about it for half an hour, I found I was still staring blankly at a blank sheet of paper. Some encouragement led me to make the first stroke and I began to draw a window. Vani panicked when she saw me draw two straight lines and said quickly opened one of her books to show me 'Look at this, Yash, look - some artists actually use abstraction to represent forms - see this bed here? No straight lines..and here, this one looks like an impression of the outside and inside, without there being a physical window'. I glanced at it and realised that this was her kind but vaguely pathetic attempt at hinting that I clearly sucked. I hesistantly began to start on a fresh sheet of paper, but she must have sensed my disappointment because she then asked me to continue with what I had started. So I happily painted away for the next hour.

Vani's husband, Pranay, who had been despatched to buy vegetables to stay out of her way, returned presently. He said hi from afar and then came up to observe what Harman and I were doing. He recoiled a bit when he saw our creations and then said the only sensible thing 'Wow! It's a real riot of colours out here!' and then retreated hastily, and stayed far away for the rest of the time.

Mostly, Vani pretty much let us do our own thing, saying we were both very creative, and she didn't really have to do anything, and these classes were easier than she thought. Then came the matter of remuneration. When she named her asking price, Harman and I scoffed loudly, reminded her of how creative we were and how she was not doing anything really, and unkindly added that we might as well buy fabulous professional paintings for that much. A bit crestfallen, she reduced her price and without much more bargaining, we agreed. I personally feel it is important to encourage these young folks when they are starting out on new ventures.

Towards the end, Harman announced 'I have decided I can only do abstract' and Vani assured her that it was more difficult to be abstract than to have forms to play with. She then gave us a long list of materials to buy for the 'Actual Murals' - I was a bit disappointed to learn that today's attempt was only a rough version and the actual would be much larger and using a variety of different materials (outside of crayon and poster colours that were so comfortable to use). But I hid my feelings well, and agreed that a 3*3 feet board would probably be more impactful than a crumpled, stained chart paper as a 'mural'. I was further reassured I was a creative genius by Vani exclaiming 'How did you get that wonderful shade of Pink over there, Yash?'. My doubtful response of 'I mixed the red and white together?' met with a serious, silent nod and then a round of uncontrollable giggles.

So the two of us left with promises of returning next week, and happy with the illusion that we can now paint. And Vani, simply by virtue of having created that illusion successfully, earned every bit of the ridiculous price she is charging us.

It's kind of nice when everybody's a winner.

And it really was a pretty shade of pink.