A Questionable Exchange

Vijay: 'So Peanut also has to have a vaccination today, apart from the twins?'

Y: 'Didn't I tell you that already last night?'

Vijay: 'Which one does she have to have?'

Y: 'Arrey, Chickenpox only. It's at four years and one year. What else?'

Vijay: 'What time is the appointment?'

Y: 'Ten forty five. How many times do I have to tell you the same thing?'

Vijay: 'You think she'll actually get the vaccination?'

Y: 'Do we have a choice in the matter?'

Vijay: 'Have you noticed you're being a little snappy?'

Y: 'Have you noticed this entire conversation is in questions?'

Vijay ( tuneless singing) 'Mama is a cheap-o...cheap-o...cheap-o...'

Y (annoyed even more than before) 'What are you doing, Vijay?'

Vijay: 'I'm just breaking out of the questioning mode. (Continues to sing) Mama is a cheap-o...cheap-o...cheap-o....'

And yes, we had quite a day. Chickenpox vaccinations for three small children, and plus the treatment of 2 cavities for young Peanut.

I'm amazed I can spend a Saturday like this and feel so happy about it.

Truly.

Dancing...

Yeah, we like music.

The Circus They Call My Life

This evening, one decides to go to the park with the kids. So Vijay, I and our help Rinki valiantly make our way with the three kids.

When we get there, Pickle and Papad decide that the best way to enjoy the park will be in Mama's arms. This is a bit of an issue given that they both now weigh well over 10 kgs each, and I can only hold the two of them up for a couple of minutes before my arms feel like they are going to fall off.

After much persuasion, they decide to grace the grass and potter about happily for a bit. I lie back sprawled on the grass as Vijay looks on, commenting that about half the kids in the park seem to be ours. I decide not to be lazy and get up for a jog. Papad spots me trying to sneak off and runs after me, screaming, worried that I am abandoning him. Pickle joins the fray.

Peanut, who is also looking like a little boy thanks to the haircut she gave herself - yes, my four year old cut her own hair today - is running around me excitedly. It looks impossible that I will be able to get in a jog, but some kids are now trying to fly a kite in the colors of the Indian flag in honor of independence day. The kids are distracted by this, and I whisper to Vijay that I'm just going to be back in exactly five minutes. He is not listening to me because he is most excited about the kite himself. I poke him a bit and get his attention and then make off for a jog of about seven and a half minutes some distance away from the park.

When I come back, the children are splashing about in a puddle. Which is okay except for the fact that they are completely wet from head to toe. It is when they start trying to drink the water that we decide we must draw the line. Vijay sees that Pickle's shirt is wet and so he removes that. When he sees his vest underneath is also wet, he removes that too. My child is therefore running around the park half-naked and other parents are casting disapproving looks at us. We don't care until we see that he appears to be shivering and not just in excitement, and so I ask for Rinki's chunni, wrap him up in it and we all head back home. Sufficient time has passed anyway with little shirtless Pickle and the wet-but-clothed Papad acting like little bullies, together ganging up on other kids older than them in order to steal their toys and generally trying to pick fights.

All three kids are brought back home and we think wet must bathe them. It is clear that it will save time to bung them into a tub together, and so their clothes are quickly removed and all the children are therefore splashing in the water. Vijay and me are responsible for managing them in the bath while Rinki brings out their clothes and towels. By now, my own clothes are completely wet, but it's fun. It would be even more fun if there wasn't the fear of one of them getting water into their lungs, since they seem to feel that they are supposed to drink this water instead of merely bathing in it. Soap is somehow applied and removed, with minimal screaming, and mostly on Peanut's part - Papad and Pickle are reasonably low hassle about these things. Except when it comes time to get out of the tub.

Papad goes first, and makes his protests heard in a deafening manner, wailing constantly while a determined Rinki dresses him. I volunteer Vijay for Pickle - Pickle is the next to start screaming as his father grabs him and gets him out of the tub for some drying. Peanut is the easiest. When she refuses to get out, I simply switch off the light and say 'Hey, the light's gone, you better get out'. She comes out right speedily and it's not going to be too hard to dress her.

At least, it wouldn't be too hard if Pickle and Papad both decide that this is the exact moment in time that they both need me to feed them. They start squirming and struggling and crying even louder and poor hapless Rinki and Vijay can no longer hold them back. I take Pickle with me and try to feed him. He's okay for about two seconds and then he starts to bite me something fierce. I squeal in pain. There is just always so much biting involved when it comes to these two. Every day I come home and lie down on the drawing room floor so that both of them get access to me, and the way they make their affection known is to bite me in all possible places until I'm bruised and begging for them to stop - they leave their sharp little tooth marks all over me, and there's no real way to stop them. And no real reason to, actually, given that I actually love it although it makes me cry sometimes.

Anyway, Pickle is least interested in actually feeding now that he's got me all to himself and he clambers off the bed to go and play with the dustbin. Papad suddenly appears at the door and they fight over the dustbin, pulling at each other's shirts and hair and squealing 'Baiiya-baiiya-baiiya'. That's the only word they really know apart from 'Mama', and the 'Mama' is used to refer to absolutely everything. I watch them, fascinated, thinking for the nth time that I must have done something right sometime to be so lucky as to have twins.

Earlier in the day, I've gone for my guitar class and pretty much taught myself some new songs because the teacher was busy with some band practice. I've also had a nap - such a rare occurrence- and also gone to the parlor. I had to take Peanut there anyway given her disastrous attempt at cutting hair, and also myself enjoyed that form of Chinese torture otherwise known as 'Full Waxing''. With that, the whole day seems to have gone by. It's amazing. Even days when you do so little just absolutely whiz by - I've been sleeping a lot this weekend and could sleep some more. I am clearly convinced that I am not sleeping enough on most weekdays, therefore. This is even when I've rationalized various other ambitious attempts to pack more in - I don't try to write every day, but I plot a little daily and write on weekends. I don't bother practicing my guitar but just go in for the weekly class - mostly it's still fun, except when I'm sulking about how my fingers never seem to move as fast as my teacher's. I don't do a whole lot else apart from focus as much as possible on my work as I can when I'm in the office, and as much as possible on my family when I'm at home. But I do need those intense little breaks of about fifteen minutes that keep me sane.

Like that little stolen moment of guitar-ing that ends with the promise that by next year, I'll actually be playing the most complicated songs and producing the sounds with my fingers that my ear and heart aches for.
Like that few moments of jotting down some ideas for a book that I hope someone will publish sometime despite my being 80,000 words down and only half of the meandering fictional story through.
Like this post that in it's own rambling manner captures what I've been meaning to put down for weeks.

In the meantime. I leave you with a picture of what I leave behind every single morning at about 8.15 a.m. after we've all gone and dropped Peanut to the bus-stop ( someone remarked once 'ek bachhe ke liye itne saare log aate hai, because it's usually Vijay, me, Pickle and Papad who come to drop her. But then that's our circus.)

Anyway, here are my two little monkeys bidding me an unwilling goodbye.



It's not easy to walk away from this, I promise you.

My Boys

Pickle and Papad at Peanut's little birthday party today. Pickle is wearing the Tinkerbell wings my sister got for Peanut. Yeah right. Some horns and a tail would have been more appropriate.

Err...and please appreciate the brilliant haircuts in the picture above, as opposed to their sloppy hairdos in the pictures below. It may help Vijay forgive me.

Papad is very modest about his hero-like good looks.
Pickle on the other hand thinks when you've got it, flaunt it.

Chocolate time. Ferrero Rocher, anyone?

Some random updates

* I love being a woman.

...because it means being able to spend a rare Saturday afternoon getting a facial and a pedicure while being able to read snatches of 'Eat Pray Love'.

Did I mention I love being a woman?

* Vijay and Y's Mini-break.

...has consisted of exactly two days away from the three kids for the first time in over a whole year. We went to Jaipur to attend Vijay's old pal's wedding, and I had an interesting time making small talk with the ladies before escaping to drink beer with the men outside!

We then woke up early the next day and went all the way to my favourite Sariska only to find that it was closed except for Tuesdays and Saturdays.

Vijay asked the reserve man in frustration 'Yaha baaki din kya karte hai log-bhaag?'. He meant to ask how the staff earned their keep. But the man just replied coolly 'Waapis chale jaate hai' indicating that we should do the same.

So went to Siliserh and had a fantastic breakfast to drown our sorrows, telling ourselves we would go boating in the lake right after.

'Two teas, Two omletes...and two...no, make it three...okay, just make it four alu paranthas' said Vijay while ordering.

The sleepy looking manager and his sidekick laughed, gently mocking us and saying we would not be able to eat so much and shouldn't order that much at one go. Vijay and I suggested he give us a try. We promised we would pack up the leftovers and take them with us for lunch. They saw no flaw in this logic and agreed.

About fifteen minutes later, the food arrived and Vijay asked for some butter for the paranthas.

'50 grams, sir?' said the waiter and Vijay thought this sounded about right.

About ten minutes later, Vijay ordered another omlete. We hadn't accounted for the fact that each omlete came with two slices of white bread. And still, strangely, when the waiter came to clear the plates, all the food was mysteriously gone.

Vijay and I decided to give the boating a skip. We told each other it was too hot, but really, I think we were afraid the boat might sink with us in it.

Subsequently, we went to Neemrana and worked it all off climbing up and down the very pretty fort. It was terribly hot and muggy weater, but still fun.

And that's it. By about 4.30 p.m., we were home and our three bawling children were deposited upon us by a very glad grandmother, who left in something of a hurry, as she had to pack and go off to England.

*****
Fine! My father in law has gone to the U.S and now my mother to England.

Sigh. I suppose our parents will never know how we feel about them abandoning us to go to the West for the better things in life. Still, we do what we can. We do what we can.


*****

Pickle and Papad are amazing fun. They have started to communicate with each other, saying something that sounds a lot like 'baiya', and of course, they beat each other up and everyone else around them too, with great gusto. They run in opposite directions when we take them to the park and are all over the place all the time. They also kiss each other and we have to separate them because it ends with one of them biting the other. One of these days, I will get around to posting some pictures, she promised.

*****

And...Peanut's birthday is just around the corner. July is that kind of month. First Pickle and Papad's birthday, then their cousin Pikki, then their cousin Adi, then Vijay's sister S. Didi, today My cousin Mini and Vijay's sister R. Didi and in the next few days, Peanut. Whew! Party time!!

*****

I am about 65,000 words into writing something new which looks like it's not even halfway there, but am keeping the effort up in snatches of spare time which are increasingly rare, given how busy work and life in general is. Still, we try. And of course, I have taken these guitar lessons which are possibly quite useless given that I have zero time to practice between classes, but I have great fun jamming with the instructor for that one hour which is supposed to be each week but really ends up being once in two weeks.

****

I was going to tell you a lot more but I see Pickle is up and trying to escape headfirst from crib, therefore...

Two become One!

...that is to say, some people's twin sons have turned a year old!

And the blog has not been updated with that momentous happening for a whole week. Sacrilege! Oh well, I'll get over it somehow.

Pickle and Papad, the most amazing little men in my life turned a year old last weekend. As is the firm belief that Vijay and I hold, one-year-old's birthday bashes do not make any sense whatsoever since the babies themselves don't know what the heck is happening, and so we said we would do something small, just for the family.

Of course, considering that the family consists of:

*my mother
*Vijay's father
* My sister
* Vijay's two sisters
* The two sister's two husbands
* One of Vijay's nephews in Delhi
* One of my cousins and her husband and two kids
* My Bua and Phoophaji
* Vani, who is honorary family member and her son who by extension is my nephew

...plus the 5 of us and the several maids that keep floating about, it was a full house ( it's twenty three people, in case you're wondering about the grand total) . To say the least.

It was the warmest, brightest, nicest little Birthday party for the two little boys wearing new clothes and looking all grown up. Babies turning Toddlers. The previous day, I had gone shopping. I hadn't been in a nice mood when I went into the store, with lots of stuff going on, and with shopping not being my most favorite activity, but when I got into the swing of it, I enjoyed myself like crazy. I bought three sets of toys for them, skates and a board game and an umbrella for Peanut, little return gifts for the few little kids who were attending, and party paraphernalia like balloons, streamers, party hats, paper plates and Dora glasses for my little girl, who ended up enjoying the party most.

My sister did the honors with the cake - or rather, two cakes from Maxims - lovely chocolate stuff, and Pickle and Papad stood at the ready with little plastic knifes, each wearing identical T-shirts that said 'Mummy's little Man' and gazing with curious fascination at the colorful candle that proclaimed them One Years Old, with various little sisters and a highly pleased Mama to help them cut their cakes simultaneously. I can't imagine a more perfect birthday. Where are the pics, people? I didn't take any, but there were various flashes of light.

Vijay's sisters did a little Pooja for them, and S Didi had even got tiny garlands made up of roses for them, and my little babies looked so incredibly adorable wearing them. Yeah, yeah, I know I'm gushing, but what the heck.

All day, memories of that fateful Saturday exactly one year ago kept floating into my head. 8.30 in the morning, staring at the blood in the bathroom. Rushing to the hospital. Emergency C-section. And all the other stuff that followed. And now, the most important thing was that the two little men are fine, strapping young toddlers already.

Pickle and Papad are the most amazing phenomenon for me. I may have loosely mentioned that I had a little obsession with the concept of twins. Is this common? I loved the Twins at St. Clare's series, and the Sweet Valley Twins series. I once ended up reading a highly inappropriate and somewhat disturbing novel called Twins at too early an age ( do not read it, please). I remember arbitly doing research on it years ago, and have been particularly interested in the connection that twins have with each other, the differences between identical and fraternal twins, and so on and so forth. I always secretly wanted a twin myself, but never ever thought I would be lucky enough to conceive, carry, deliver and raise beautiful twin sons myself.

At work, I joked the other day that I love A/B testing so much that I had twins just to carry out A/B testing with them throughout my life. But it's true. When you have identical twin sons, it's easy to figure out certain things. Such as, when parents say they love their kids equally, it isn't really true. There's a bit of a bias always. Mine is for one of the twins, and I will not disclose it for fear that the other one will one day read this and make my life hell. Hint, though - his name begins with P.

But in short, we have successfully crossed yet another important milestone. Here's to many more Happy Birthdays to the glorious phenomena that we so inanely refer to as

... Mister Pickle and Mister Papad.

Restringing

I had been planning to restring
my guitar for a while.
But I had just let it lie.
And then when I tried to play it today,
The E string broke.
The most important string.
It had been over two years since I'd changed my strings.
Which just goes to show how much I'd been playing.
I didn't even know if I could do it myself anymore.
I thought of calling in the expert.
But then I thought I'd give it a go myself.
So I dug out some new strings.
Also pretty old now, but at least still in their wrappers.
And tried to replace the E-string.
First, I wound it the wrong way.
Replaced it, struggled. Nearly poked my own eye out.
Managed to get it in place.
And then tried to tune it.
It snapped. Suddenly.
Frustration.
I almost gave up.
And then I picked out another one.
And tried again.
More carefully this time.
And then when I tried to tune it.
It kept slipping.
Back into a lower octave.
There was still something wrong.
But then suddenly, it was in tune with the rest of the strings.
The most perfect sound emanated from it.
Relief. Happiness.
Even though I knew it could still slip.
For the time being, it worked.
One down. Five more to go.
It would need constant retuning.
But I could do this.


I was just restringing my guitar.
Hmmm.
If I was the poetic type, I might say
It felt like I was restringing my life.
But since I'm not.
I won't.