At The Happy School

At the beginning of my sabbatical in June of last year, I was very listless - I wanted to do a bunch of things, and amongst them was some form of Volunteer work. The problem I've had with this sort of thing is actually the fact that I've never been able to sustain it before - but thankfully, the one little thing that I have managed to consistently do is work with the kids at a place called the Happy School - for almost a year.

The Happy School is a school in DLF Phase 1, Gurgaon for underprivileged kids - it's run by a wonderful lady called Mrs. Kamal Capoor. She's been doing this for a number of years and it's a really fabulous effort to give these kids an education - and more than that, a warm and happy environment for development and play.

I've been helping a bunch of the smaller kids in Class 1- and now that they've moved, to Class 2 - with spoken English on Saturdays. Now, the fact is that this is just about forty five minutes a week. I often wondered how much it was really helping.

It's not been easy going, either. I'm not really a teacher, after all. Still, I'd done so many nursery rhymes, stories, songs and so on with my children that the content wasn't really a problem. But getting twenty-thirty kids to actually stop bouncing off the walls on a Saturday has never been easy. Plus, they figured a long time back that I'm not one of the tough regular teachers - so since I'm a soft touch ( and no other set of people in the world would probably describe me like that), they kind of take advantage of it all the time.

Often I'd find myself chickening out - I'd wake up on a Saturday and every bone in my body would resist the thought of getting up, getting ready and leave the house to go to a bunch of screaming kids, when I didn't even know if it was really any use to them. After all, school was off on second saturdays, so it was really at best 3 times a month, not even 4.

But then something changed - I started taking my 5 year old Peanut with me to Happy School. She loved getting ready and going out with me, clutching her books and would chat with me about 'what can we teach them today?' - and indeed, I realized over a period of time that this was my Teaching Assistant and a very good one - not only was she providing all sorts of new, lovely rhymes that she learnt at her own school -but with her uncanny memory, she was able to help me recall all the material we had covered in the previous week or two so that we were able to plan our class more systematically - reinforcing the old stuff and introducing new stuff at a reasonable pace.

I was invited to the Annual Day a few months ago, but I didn't end up going. I figured, if I wasn't going to teach, what was the point of going. Big mistake, as I found out later from Mrs. Capoor. It turned out the students of Class 1 performed 3 items for Annual Day - and they were all the songs and poems that I had taught them! So much for thinking that it wasn't really registering.

So now, even though I'm back at work, I go with renewed confidence to the school every Saturday. I had a chat with Mrs.Capoor who told me that she hears the class from her own room and they sound like they're having so much fun. This is true. I've begun to know the kids much better - tall, quiet Chandini who has a flair for drawing and and tiny little bucktoothed Prince who's the naughtiest and most lovable of the lot. I'm even planning to teach them some sort of dance or maybe get them to act in a play for the next Annual Day.

In fact, over the last couple of Saturdays, Pickle and Papad have also been accompanying us. Much mystified in the beginning about what was going on, they soon adjusted to the fact that their mother appears to be a Ma'am. They hang around the classroom with me and watch, participating occasionally in the nursery rhymes or generally adding to the considerable chaos that is there.

Today, as I walked towards the class, someone shouted 'Ma'am Aa gayi! Yayyyy!' and a chorus of Yays went up. I walked in with the kids and they said 'Hi...ma'aaam'. I said to them 'How are you?' and the deafening 'Just Fine!' with each kid giving me two thumbs up had me laughing as usual.

I've become braver - earlier I used to teach only one section in class 1, but now I get two sections to pile into one so that all the kids in Class 2 learn something new. I'm smarter too - I figured that the songs and the poems engage them the most because they love it - the stories I tell have to be carefully planned with lots of animation and playacting and emotion from me, for it to hold everyone's attention. And I have to cut back on the little gifts because they distract the kids and make them act up. ( Although I don't regret carrying a packet of Mango churan golis into the class today and distributing them to the children who were 'behaving well'. Yes, in the end I had to pretty much drop the packet and flee for my life, but it looked like it was working until everyone started to step on each other in their attempt to prove how well-behaved they were.)

On Christmas, I played Santa with them - getting them to write a letter about what they wanted from Santa. Their written English really isn't very good but they painstakingly stated their wishes on scraps of paper which I collected - and then Peanut and me went shopping with our list. About 40 items were purchased, including 'Cakes' and 'Doll' and 'Car' and 'Toffee' ( I was touched at how many kids just wanted a Toffee for Christmas - so they got full toffee packets). On the day of the distribution, Vijay and the kids came along to help me hand them out - it was nice although there was a minor scuffle when Papad decided the little white car belonged to him and not to young Prince.

So today, I looked around at one point towards the end of the class. The kids were singing 'The Wheels on the Bus' with full gusto, angling for an extra Mango Churan. Some of the bigger boys had lost interest and were trying to get my maid Rinki to take a picture on her phone of them along with Pickle. Pickle was protesting and scratching their faces, and Papad went over to scold the boys for troubling his brother. Peanut was sitting at the teacher's desk peering at the story 'A Friend for Flash' that I had just acted out for the class. The regular class teacher was yelling at a little boy, telling him to stop stamping on the foot of the little girl next to him while singing.

It was actually complete madness.

The kind that makes a person ludicrously happy.

Papad rescues Pickle. The boys don't mind his scolding, or the 'Katti' he gave them repeatedly afterwards

These two girls insisted on performing Wheels on the Bus themselves to prove how well they knew. They were pretty good.



P.S - Mrs. Capoor is looking for volunteers to teach a new bunch of kids - they are of a wide age range but haven't had access to even the most basic of education. Ideally, Mondays-Fridays. There are various other ways to help the school, and you can decide how you want to get involved. Do write to her at kamalcapoor at yahoo dot com if you want to help out, or get in touch with me at yashodhara dot lal at gmail dot com.  And yes check out the rather outdated website - she needs someone to help with that as well - at TheHappySchool.in

Mom-in-the-city: That Famous Delhi Attitude

This was my article in a feature called 'Moms and the City' in the Hindustan Times, Saturday, May 11th. The feature also had articles by three other lovely ladies that I know!

Below is the unedited version of my bit on 'That Famous Delhi Attitude', which I personally liked better in its longer avatar ;)

''I lived for twenty years in Delhi, before moving to mild-mannered Bangalore, and then to no-nonsense Mumbai. And now, I find myself back here as a mom, and attempting to raise three kids, to boot. Of course, it’s tough enough being a mom by itself, and some things about Delhi don’t help. Including the issue of kids’ safety and what reports ominously declare about the pollution levels. But I also worry about a different kind of pollution – bringing up my kids exposed full blast to that famous Dlliwala Attitude.

I notice the subtle variants of the D.A. (let’s call it the D.A., shall we? Abbreviations are almost always cool.). There’s ‘The-Customer-is-always-Fight.’ I was waiting with my kids at a rather understaffed Blackberry store. Suddenly, a balding middle-aged man started screaming about his phone –full of self-righteous agitation, he made his dissatisfaction amply clear, using the choicest of the expressions involving mothers and sisters of the hapless store staff. I would have intervened, but I was busy trying to cover three small pairs of ears with only two hands, and frankly – yeh Dilli hai, meri jaan - so I was mildly afraid and half-expecting a spontaneous shootout.

Then there’s ‘Haan-Yeh-Mere-Baap-ki-Sadak-hai’, more boringly called Road Rage. I found myself standing on the highway, attempting to reason with an enraged man, whose sole goal in life seemed to be the removal of the innards of my taxi-driver, with a wrench that he had rather resourcefully produced during their heated argument. Eventually, we were able to leave, innards shaken but not removed. I was particularly glad that I was travelling minus the kids that day, shuddering to think about their witnessing this.

The ever-ready-for-a-fight attitude is not limited to uncouth men who spout mother-sister gaalis, but sometimes the mother-sisters themselves, in the variant ‘Well-Manicured-but-not-Well-Mannered’. At the lovely Bookaroo fair, I was in the line for snacks with my daughter and my sister, listening with mild amusement to the ranting of two ladies behind us. They complained about the Delhi heat (this was November), the overall terrible management of the fair, and lamented the fact that the Chow-mein would finish by the time they reached the front. As we finally made it for our turn to order, the ladies (who I’ll fondly refer to as The Aunties) tried to elbow us aside. My sister and I, not ones to take things lying down, raised an objection, and this caused the Aunties to get even more aggressive, taking out all their Chow-mein-related frustration on us. Eventually, we had to swallow our anger and let it go, largely because my 5-year old daughter was watching the exchange, wide-eyed and confused.

Now, I do personally see plenty of perks of living in Delhi. We have family here, and good help for the kids; the newer schools are great, and our children love going there, which is more than I can say for myself as a kid.  There are definite pockets of decency, such as the nice people who intervened to stop the wrench-fight, including a bulky Sardarji whom I never got to thank properly in all the hullaballoo. For me, for all that Delhi is and as exasperating as it can be – it is home.

So I’ve decided that if I have to figure out a way to counter the influence on my kids of that D.A –the endearing, uniquely-Delhi combination of aggression and pompous self-entitlement –by George, I’ll do it. 

Because after all -  I too am a Daughter of Delhi -and therefore, ever-ready for fight.''

Pickle

The thing with being a parent of twins is that you really don't think about them as separate individuals as much as you should.

Well, young Pickle is making sure he gets his share of mind-space.

He is ( and of course, his brother is) almost three now, and developing into a very sturdy, yet sharp young fellow with a real mind of his own. He is rather worldly wise and yet very sensitive. It's becoming a real issue, because that kid can really hold a grudge, and what's more, he's really got used to pushing me and Vijay until we crack. So it's a bit of a vicious cycle right now.

He'll do something fascinatingly thoughtful -for example, when he spots Papaji sinking into our sofa, he quickly scampers into his own room and fetches him a pillow so that Papaji can rest his head easy.

Little Pickle glows with pleasure at the praise he receives for this act from me. And then suddenly, his face turns belligerent and he tells me, as I bend over him to give him a kiss 'Aap bahut naughty baby ho.'

I reel a bit, not sure what brought this on and sit staring at him, confused and hurt. Peanut doesn't help matters with her interjection 'She's not a baby, Pickle! She's an old woman.'

The fact is that Pickle seems to have that thing which I had myself - a middle child complex. So much for my gloating that by virtue of giving birth to twins,  I had neatly avoided at least that pitfall. Pickle is a mere minute older than Papad, and yet, he does behave like the older brother. This results in young Papad often getting his own way - because he cries louder, while Pickle eventually shrugs his shoulder philosophically - but apparently continues to carry a chip on it, choosing to blame his parents for the perceived favouritism.

His relationship with his own twin is fascinating, of course. They have about ten times more fun than any non-twin could, based on my observation of Peanut growing up. So even though they battle it out as much as they play together, they are connected in a way that it is difficult for the rest of us to understand. So there's no question of blaming Papad for getting more - Pickle just blames me for everything.

He was really pushing my buttons about something the other day and I declared that I wouldn't be putting him to bed that night. His response came pat 'Koi baat nahin. Main pehle papad ko sulaaoonga, aur phir Papad mujhe sulayega.' ( I will make Papad sleep first, and then he will make me sleep). He seemed very satisfied with this simple solution and spotted no logical flaw in the same.

I do my best to be understanding and affectionate with him, but at the end of each round of cuddling which he really does seem to enjoy, he'll stalk away with an inexplicable 'Katti, Mama.' At times I'll hear a soft sound from near my door and find young Pickle glowering at me.

'What, Pickle?'
'Stop it, Mama' he says in a low voice. Pickle is under the impression that 'Stop it' is a very rude thing to say, and I indulge that impression because it's better than his picking up other ruder phrases. But given that I know what he thinks, it does kind of hurt when he throws at me for no reason that I can understand at all.

I know the one thing that I should start doing is figuring out some one-on-one time with him, and that too on a regular basis. A couple of times, I took him out for noodles and to the park and so on, but after a while, he got fidgety and starting asking me 'Where's Papad?' and wasn't at ease until his younger brother was brought out ( a very angry younger brother, who couldn't fathom why he was being left out of the fun so far).

Papad is unabashedly affectionate with me. As he announces proudly 'Main toh Mama ka Chipku hoon.' His kisses and cuddles and wide toothy grins come with no strings attached, and even if he's scolded by me, it is me whom he will always run to for comfort.

Pickle on the other hand, if scolded even a little bit, feels so slighted that he runs away from the perpetrator of the crime straight into the arms of Kajal Didi, the one person in the house who would never dream of raising her voice at him. This drives Vijay nuts, but I'm glad that at least there's someone who Pickle trusts completely.

So that's it. There's always a new parenting challenge at every stage, isn't it? But I shall rise to it. Despite the various insults that young Pickle throws my way, including yesterday.

'Aap Anarkali ho...' to Peanut
'Aur aap Phooljadi ho...' to Papad.

Before I can remark upon the fact that from now on there's going to be no more sitting in the car for long periods of time with the radio on at full blast, he looks at me sideways and concludes 'Aur aap bahut bada Chipkali ho.'

Thanks, son. Love you too.

And note: I always win. So you're going to love me right back, or my name isn't Chipkali, I mean, Yashodhara Lal. 

This should be interesting

So the little maid who looks after my twins has gone off for a whole month.

I couldn't really begrudge her this holiday - last year around this time, she was to go back to her village for some Puja and ended up cancelling - so it's really the first long holiday she's taking in two years.

Today was reasonable - I managed to get out of work at 3 p.m. because my part-timer leaves around then. Thankfully, the good ol' K is very much around.

I had to get Peanut to her Piano class at 6 p.m. so Vijay came home early and hung around with the kids. When I came home with Peanut, I heard a lot of screaming taking place from the kids' bathroom. Ah. Vijay was giving the babies a bath.

When the door finally opened, Pickle and Papad strutted out dripping wet and proudly naked. They were followed by a dripping wet and fully clothed Vjiay, who was glowering at me.

Papad explained the situation succintly, lisping 'Daddy ne mujhe nehlaya, to maine uss pe paani daal diya!'

The highlight of the day for me, though was Peanut's Piano class. Have I told you about her piano classes? Briefly, maybe although I should probably elaborate.

Peanut's a mere five year old, but her piano teacher - despite being a very sweet man, really - doesn't seem to remember that. He's a dreamy sort of fellow, but clearly quite a brilliant teacher who really has a way with kids. But he doesn't seem to be used to five year olds, because he keeps asking her things like 'So you do know about Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and his life, right?' and 'We use Gravity here. Your mother has surely told you the story about the Apple falling on Newton's head, right?'

Peanut's classes are going rather well, it's been a couple of months now and she is really demonstrating a flair for the instrument and is a quick learner, under my rather over-watchful eye. Her interactions with her teacher are a secret amusement for me, though, and sometimes mortification. Last week, he was waxing eloquent, waving his arms and saying something along the lines of 'And so therefore...and hereinafter...and nonetheless....' etc etc, and explaining something in great detail to her. She was fidgety and irritable but he didn't notice. He finally ended his long speech by asking in his lilting, soft voice ' Do you understand?'

Peanut, usually a serious and subdued little pupil, suddenly snarled at him with a loud, almost mocking  'Yaaaaaaaaaaa', which caused the teacher to sway a little and almost fall off his stool. I turned red and resisted the impulse to duck behind the piano, out of sight, and snapped 'Peanut. Don't be rude.'

The piano teacher, having recovered, just held up a hand at me and smiled in a benign, amused manner at Peanut, who had subsided again. I had a little talk with her on the way back, giving her an earful, and instructed her to henceforth and hereinafter only address her teacher with a 'Yes, Sir', 'No sir', and if she felt like a variation, perhaps a 'Three Bags Full Sir.' - but that was to be it.

Anyway, today was amusing in a different way, although I couldn't help feeling sorry for Piano Sir again. He asked her during the class if she knew about the Hammering action in a piano. She said no, and looked mighty uninterested in the mechanics, but he, being the dedicated sort of teacher, determined that at the end of the class, they would go across to the next room and actually open up the Acoustic Piano there so that she  could see what he was talking about.

'It's as if there's a hammer ...and it hits a string... every time that you strike a key, and ...' he enthused. 'You'll see.'

Sure enough, we found ourselves dutifully trotting behind him after the class, as he led us to the other room. He asked another man to assist him in the opening up of the piano. It was a bit of a struggle, and one side of it got stuck. Peanut was shifting her weight from foot to foot and I hoped she wouldn't be rude, considering all the effort that was being put in to show her the workings of the piano.

After about five minutes of the struggling with various parts of the piano, I began to say 'It's really okay, don't go to so much trouble...' but a final, determined yank by Piano Sir dislodged the stubborn wooden piece and viola! There it was - the thoroughly impressive and intricate inside of the piano lay exposed, in all its glory.

Piano Sir was sweaty, but triumphant. He looked at Peanut, and seemed pleased to see that her eyes were shining with interest. 'And now...let me explain...'

He raised his hand to strike a key, but Peanut exclaimed 'I know how this works. I will play this note and that thing will hit that thing. See?' The stunned Piano Sir watched as Peanut hit a few notes and demonstrated a perfect understanding and familiarity with the secret inner workings of this grand instrument. She sat back after a couple of minutes, her face flushed with happiness, and announced to him 'I saw it on Tom and Jerry.' She turned to me 'Hai na, Mama? Jerry was hiding in the piano and pushing those things and Tom was wondering what was happening...'

I knew which episode she was referring to, having seen all the Tom and Jerry episodes six times over in my own childhood, but I wasn't really listening to her. I was still watching Piano Sir's stunned face. I thanked him profusely, and hurriedly ushered Peanut out of the room, keen to put some distance between teacher and pupil.

                                                                                   ******

About 7.30 p.m. Vijay fed Pickle, I fed Papad and Peanut fed herself. I had just given Papad a mouthful and he was chewing on it as he played. Vijay, having had his offering recently rejected by Pickle, tried to stuff another mouthful into Papad's face as he wandered past. I snapped 'Honey, we're doing man-to-man and not zone.' Vijay grumbled a bit, but agreed.

So anyway, this first day has gone rather well with the kids falling asleep rather early - hopefully we'll somehow manage the next month without my brilliant young Rinki. She called four times today already saying that she didn't like being away from the kids, but I hope she has a nice trip and I hope even harder that she comes back next month as promised.

In the meantime, wish us luck! We're dangerously close to being outnumbered - a lot depends on which side K decides to play on, but for the time being, I'm still hopeful it will be ours. Time will tell. 

Book Samachar MBA Special

By the folks on Storizen. Fairly amusing presentation. Check out the recent books by us boring MBA-types.

Those Pricey Thakur Girls!

I usually don't do book reviews, which is a shame because as an author, I really value each and every review for my own book. I think I've written only about books like the Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, bypassing even writing about the wonderful Room and several others that I've really liked. I thought I should try and correct this, especially for a book that I picked up at the World Book Fair in February  - Anuja Chauhan's Those Pricey Thakur Girls. 

Disclosure - Anuja was nice enough to launch 'Just Married Please Excuse' last year and therefore I may have a rather positive predisposition towards her. Often as I was reading the book, I found myself smiling and thinking 'Hey, I KNOW this person.'

But the fact is Those Pricey Thakur Girls really stood out for me because I could so relate to the characters. The lead character, Debjani Thakur isn't one of those princessy-perfect types - the ''most beautiful of the five sisters'' - in fact, she's often compared unfavorably to the far more beautiful, Anjini. But there's something very endearing and human about Dabbu - and the fact that the book is set in the 1980s really took me back to the good old days. I could so relate to things like 'He wants to know what Shampoo I'm using? We only have one in this country - Halo!' Yeah, baby. That was the 80s all right! 

Apart from relatability and an interesting storyline, I liked the amount of detail and research that Anuja's clearly put into creating this rather convincing world. It looks like it took a lot of work to figure out what being with Doordarshan was really like back in the day. 

The hero Dylan is also the kind of stuff every one of us enjoys reading about - it's nice that unlike other picture perfect heroes, he has his human moments too, particularly when a dog attacks him and then a cat pees on him in quick succession. 

What I enjoyed most is the humour in the book. I was truly surprised at the dry, matter of fact way it was woven into various parts of the story. My favourite character was Gulgul Bhaisahib, whose 'bouffant goes a little phuss' when his uncle asks him about his law exam preparations. I would have liked to see more of him in the second half of the book, although the fact is that he was a side character, so I suppose it couldn't be helped.  I found the chapters rather long, especially to read at one go - but given that I read it every night for a few days before bedtime until I finished ( despite various other things to do) so overall, it worked very well for me - it's easy to read, relaxing, simple and of course, very well-written to say the least.

It's not as if the story is totally unpredictable, but there're enough twists and turns to prevent you from figuring it all out.  In any case, it's well put together and more importantly an enjoyable read even if you do think you know what's coming next. 

In short - this is one book I really would recommend. And this is me, recommending it. 

Anuja - hats off! And so looking forward to the sequel to this one - was very happy to read about the upcoming 'The House that BJ Built' 

The Last Day

I have now started work, and it's been a grand total of two days. But this is about how I spent the last day of my sabbatical, so let's just focus on that.

It was a Monday - deliberately chosen because I just didn't want to start work on a Monday, and had decided to finally do something that I had successfully put off for ten whole months.

You see, early on in the sabbatical when I had been leafing through some papers, I had found two cheques issued in favour of Vijay by an organization called Arogranite Industries or some such thing. During his ''investment'' phase, Vijay had bought shares and they had issued dividends through these cheques - which were valid for only 3 months from the date of issue.

Being quick and observant, I had noticed that they were from 2008 and 2009. Therefore, thousands of moneys would be losts if I didn't get them revalidated at an address that I noted with interest, happened to be one based in Delhi. What better time to undertake such an errand than a sabbatical, I thought - and promptly hid them under some other boring papers for several months.

So I had decided that there was no way I was ending my sabbatical without at least making an attempt to correct and reverse the effects of the carelessness on my husband's part. After all, I thought, someone had to be responsible - so what if he's been bringing in the bread and butter for so many months while I've been on a long break - I could definitely get his cheques revalidated.

On Monday, therefore, I woke up bright and early. I was a Man on a Mission. Okay, so I was a woman on a mission, but a Man on a Mission just sounds better in a certain alliterative sense and I've always wanted to say that so bear with me. Anyway, so I used my trusty driver Kamal and trustier Google Maps to get to Green Park Extension, which must be differentiated from Green Park, please. Both Kamal and Google Maps, however, gave up as soon as we reached Green Park Extension. It was beyond their capabilities to find S block.

I have always depended on the kindness of strangers, which is probably one reason my life has been so messed up. In any case, after being misdirected by several auto-wallahs and rickshaw-wallahs and meandering around that particular congested part of Delhi for about an hour, we accidentally stumbled upon the correct area - miraculously, I found that I was a mere six buildings away from dear old Arogranite Industries registered office. I got out of the car and practically danced on air all the way to the second floor of the building - the sleepy guard on the ground floor informed me that there was no such office on the floors above, but I took one look at his face and knew him to be the liar that he was. Sure enough, on the second floor, there was a sleepy little office with some sleepy little people, who accepted my cheques readily enough.

I had been all prepared with my spiel about how it was all Vijay's fault, but no one really seemed to care. Apparently this kind of thing happens a lot and they accepted my cheques without batting an eyelid. It all seemed ridiculously simple - they just asked me to write down the new address and I did. The entire procedure took about five minutes and that was it. I felt a little foolish. This was something even young Kamal could have managed, assuming after about seven or eight hours of searching, that he would have located the office by himself.

Nevertheless, I left their office with a feeling of having truly accomplished something. I was thrilled, in fact.

I sent Vijay, who happened to be in Jaipur that day, a message that read

''I'm responsible, you suck! I'm responsible, you suck!''

After allowing him to puzzle over this for a while, I called and explained to him what I had done and ensured that he was duly impressed. This simple yet vaguely heroic act of mine had saved us several thousand rupees! Yayy!

I had a beatific smile on my face almost all the way home. I then noticed the time. It was lunchtime. The first half of the day had gone. And then it hit me. On the last day of my sabbatical, I had spent over three hours visiting Arogranite Industries Registered Office in Green Park Extension to get a Cheque Revalidated. The sheer unadulterated boring-ness of that hit me like a ton of bricks. This is how I had chosen to spend the last day? Seriously? What was wrong with me? I quickly entered a state of depression, which lasted until I ate a Twix, which thankfully was soon after.

I then got a call from Vijay who drily informed me that he had received a call from Arogranite Industries Registered Office and they had said that while some crazy lady had breezed in triumphantly waving a couple of cheques, they needed something known as Address Proof and a couple of other boring documents whose unworthy names I have forgotten.

He said ''I wanted to tell them...it's my wife...call her instead...she's responsible...I suck!''

So that was that, I thought, demoralized all over again. It appears that we have to make another trip to Arogranite Industries Registered Office with the documents that they have requested in order to have our revalidated cheques sent to our new address.I felt like weeping but philosophically reached for another Twix, instead.

And decided - I would ensure that we went back to Arogranite someday to get this over and done with. We had waited since 2008. We could wait a little longer, assuming Arogranite Industries is the robust company that Vijay believes it to be, and will not shut down in the next couple of years.

So the next time I take a sabbatical, I'm totally doing this. And early on, not at the fag end.
By the second last day, at least.