90

My grandfather turns 90 today. To commemorate it, we had a gathering of his friends and family in Mysore on Jan 1st (My grandmother's birthday - she turned 84.)

We also launched a website. It still needs work - but do have a look.

90 years. Or 84 for that matter - can you imagine the kind of changes that they've seen in the course of their lives?

Further reading.

The other life

Being an avid reader is not such a good thing, as I've written before. I wrote that post more than four years ago, but things are still the same, more or less.

I went on a reading frenzy for a while (book reviews coming up) - it lasted three months or so - and I read as if there was no tomorrow.

Then, suddenly, I stopped reading. Not a conscious decision, though. For ten days or more, I didn't read anything. Well, that's not technically correct - I did read one book, but very little of it. And then I discovered a whole new me.

I crocheted part of a sweater for Puttachi. I worked on her costume for her school day. I finished five 500-piece jigsaw puzzles and realized how much I LOVE doing them. Puttachi and I got together and churned out loads of art and craft things - initially deriving inspiration from blogs, and later discovering our own store of ideas. I made delicious naan, perfected baking whole-wheat bread (with dollops of help from S), and tried a whole lot of new recipes. I started walking in the park every morning after dropping Puttachi to school. I called old friends and got back in touch with them. I took refreshing and restoring naps in the afternoon. I caught a movie or two on television - alone - and this is something totally unlike me (or so I thought.)

I lived in the present - I was totally there, in each moment. And that was a whole new sensation.

And I liked this part of me. This part of my life that lay dormant.

Is it really worth it, this passion for reading? The pleasure reading gives me is immeasurable. But all these things that also give me so much joy - and satisfaction - is it worth giving up all that?

And once again I make the resolution to strike that balance between reading and the other interests in my life.

P.S. This was written about a month ago. Now I'm back to my regular reading habits - though not with that much intensity - and I'm lovin' it.

Hopefully the end of another silence

There's a reason for my blog silence. A while ago, I browsed through my blog archives. While some of my posts are quite a pleasure to read (Did I write that? Wow!), most of them make me cringe. If not the language, it's my ideas and opinions. They've changed. Or they've undergone a slight shift. At times, I don't recognize myself. Sometimes I sound all lofty and holier-than-thou, sometimes I sound absolutely stupid.

But I'm not beating myself too much over it. This blog has been around for nearly six years now, and I've moved from the silly twenties to (what I think is) the serene thirties. I've moved from being newly-married, to a mother of a three-year-old. I've moved from being in a job I hated, to being at peace with what I'm doing. I've changed in so many ways, and it is but natural that my blog reflects it.

Yet, that doesn't take away the cringing. And as a result, I'm hesitant to put up anything that'll make me blush in six years' time.

For me, writing this is like starting to blog all over again. I remember when I put up my first post - the first time I ever put up my words for any random person to read. It is kind of like baring yourself - putting yourself out there for the world to judge. How difficult it was back then - and how easy it became with each new post!

Perhaps as a result of all this, I found that when I forced myself to write something, I was judging my own words - and they came out stilted and flat. And that is so not what I wanted. I didn't want to write for the sake of keeping my blog alive. So I held off - but today I felt like writing this down, and so here I am.

My story in an anthology

First time in a book! One of my stories is in an anthology, "Two is Company," to be released this Saturday. Invitation below.

Kids' Furniture

There's been a lot happening, and I have a dozen drafts sitting on my desktop, but I don't feel like posting anything on my blog - various reasons. Anyway.

We're looking for a table-chair for Puttachi, who is totally into colouring and drawing now. We looked at various showrooms in Bangalore - the usual furniture places, kiddie places like Childspace and Kids Kouch - but we haven't found anything suitable. The last option we have is getting it made to order, but before that, we want to see if there's anything suitable available in the market.

So if you know of any place that offers no-nonsense, no-frills, reasonably priced, sensible, sturdy and safe furniture for children, please let me know. You could also mail me, but if you write in the comments section, it might benefit others too. Thank you, omniscient reader!

Have a lovely time - and I guess I'll see you in the new year. Love and best wishes to you all!

Online at Joyful!

My story is up on Joyful! -- If you scroll down, it is the second story on the page.

The UK Files - Oxford

The day after S joined us, we woke up in the morning with no particular plan of action. My aunt suggested that if we liked, we could hop around to see Oxford. The decision made, we got ready in a trice, and S, Puttachi and I set out. My aunt dropped us at the railway station, and we took the train to Oxford.

Green fields, striking yellow rapeseed fields, pretty houses, untidy backyards of pretty houses, flowering trees, and haphazard allotments flew past the windows, and the Thames followed us a good part of the way. Oxfordshire is supposed to be one of the prettier parts of the country.

On the way:
S: My cousin P studies in Oxford.
Me: What? The one working in the US?
S: Not anymore. She studies here.
Me: Why didn't you tell me?
S: I told you!
Me: No, you didn't - do you have her number?
S: No.
Me: Do you remember her father's number?
S: No.

Then followed a series of phone calls and messages trying to get hold of P's number.

Meanwhile, we reached Oxford, got off the train and exited the station.

We were equipped with a printout of Oxford City centre, courtesy my aunt who thinks of everything :O, and we stepped onto the roads , in the mostly beautiful buildings of Oxford.

Puttachi looked up and down, and made a very worldy-wise observation in an ostentatiously patient grandma tone: "Ondondu ooru ondondu thara iratte." (loose translation: every city is different)

We saw Oxford Castle, first, and the very distinctive and unusual mound outside it. Oxford Castle has a very gory history, but we didn't have the time nor the inclination to go in.

We decided to walk down High Street and walk back up Broad Street. (Did I tell you that city names are boringly same everywhere? Every town has a High Street, a Broad Street, a Queen's street, and a Church Street. Highly unimaginative. Some towns like Oxford's redeem themselves with a Boar's street, but that's about it, and I won't be surprised at all if a dozen towns in England have streets with the same name!)

We reached the most recognizable building of Oxford - the Radcliffe camera. We went into All Souls College, that looks like a medieval castle, had a look inside. We walked down High Street, and confirmed that Oxford is indeed one big college. Everywhere is a college,and most of it familiar. Christ church, St Mary's, Exeter, Magdalene - and brought to mind the numerous authors and scientists who've been associated with this place. I later heard that Richard Dawkins lives here, and also found out that Lewis Carroll's Alice's setting was Oxford-inspired. Then of course, Potter fans know that the Great hall of Hogwarts was filmed at Christ Church College's dining hall....

We chanced upon the Oxford museum on Blue Boar Street and popped in to have a look. It was a good thing to do, since I hadn't done my mandatory reading up about the place before I came here. Apparently, Oxford has been a university town since the 11th century! The museum also talked of Oxford's eminent citizens through the ages. There were some museum exhibits, and some nuggets of history too - an interesting place.

About this time, we got hungry, asked and found out that most of the restaurants are on Broad Street. So we deviated slightly from our plan, went straight to Broad Street, and chose a restaurant to have a sandwich. On most of our travels after this, lunch consisted of a sandwich/soup/bread/dessert/coffee, and usually I chose a cold egg and cress sandwich - it was inexplicably comfortable on my palate and stomach.

By this time, we had gotten hold of S's uncle's number, who gave us his daughter's number - we tried calling, but couldn't connect. Later, he called up again to tell us that he'd given us a wrong number - finally we got through - but to her voicemail.

By this time, we'd reached Magdalen college, but it had started drizzling. And it was very cold indeed. We wrapped ourselves up well, draped a sheet over Puttachi's stroller. Taking advantage of a slight lull in the rain, thought of going to the Botanical Gardens - just so that Puttachi could run around - the poor thing had been strapped in her stroller all day long while her parents looked at buildings. But just at that moment, Puttachi fell asleep, and the drizzle started again, so back we went, up Broad Street.

The famous Bridge of Sighs, or the Hertford bridge had to be seen, of course, after which we just ambled around, checking out narrow little lanes that (nearly) opened out into classrooms.

By that time, we'd found out which college S' cousin went to, and decided to try our luck there. By the biggest of coincidences, just as S went in and was asking at the reception, she came down the stairs to see S standing there - she who hadn't the slightest idea that we were even in the country. She had to rush to a class in five minutes, and so that is exactly the amount of time we could spend with her. It was 4 pm by then, and we went back to the station to catch a train back home.

Oxford is lovely. I've got to visit Cambridge next time. (Next time! :D)

The UK Files - The First Sight of London, and the Zoo

Years of reading about England and the English bequeathed, in my head, a kind of glow to London. The centre of a culture. A place that has to be visited. A place that I knew I'd definitely visit some day.

This isn't the first city to have attained that kind of halo in my books. Bombay was the first. You know how it is, all those movies, - I knew it would have to be visited. Again, the centre of one kind of culture. When I visited it, and even stayed there for 18 months, I felt like something that'd been pending was finally complete.

If I had lived in any place in Karnataka other than Bangalore, I'm pretty sure Bangalore would've been "that" place for me. New York, in fact, still stands that way. I've never been there, but I know I will. It's got to be visited. To complete an image. To give a body to all the ephemeral visions floating around in my head.

So. I was looking forward to visit London. Since I planned to see most of London after S joined us, we wanted to finish those things that S wouldn't be particularly interested in. And so, my aunt planned a visit to the London Zoo.

We drove to the nearest station and took the train to London. It was lovely, entering London. The roads, the streets, the buildings - the sight of Thames - the distant sights of London Eye, Christie's right by the tracks - and to crown it all, Waterloo station.

We got off and took the tube to Camden Town. We'd noted directions, and there was even a map to the zoo at the station, but for some reason, we took a wrong turn, and got lost. The road we took was what seemed to be a major punk destination - tattoo shops alternating with body-piercing shops. Girls in black with spiked hairstyles and heavy eye makeup sauntered past huge men with popeye arms and elaborate tattoos.

I've imagined London in a thousand ways. Narrow streets, imperial buildings, wet streets, the Thames, the parks, the banks - every which way except what I was seeing as my first sight of London. I couldn't stop giggling at the incongruousness of the whole thing.

We stopped at a shop to ask for directions, and a friendly tattooed man came right out and with generous servings of "Yes, Love," "Turn right, Love," directed us to the zoo. He also added a "Don't worry, love, you'll get there, just keep walking," and we understood his "don't worry" only after we started walking.

The road went right next to Regent's canal, under a bridge. It was dingy, gloomy and lonely. Walls climbed up on either side of us, with little niches in which small groups of men sat - doing what, no idea. I almost thought Oliver Twist or Fagin would pop out from the nearest corner. This was the kind of place in the movies that unpleasant things happened. I felt an urge to photograph all this, because I was sure I wouldn't believe myself if I thought about this place later. But I was afraid to even take out my camera!

But walk we did, my aunt, my 14-year old cousin, 3 year old daughter and me, and finally saw the green bridge the "Love" man had told us about. We climbed the steps near it, and lo, back in civilization - and the zoo was across the road. And man, was this the London of my mind!

The zoo is good. Lots of posters with information if you have the time to read. Saw many animals that I hadn't seen - the sea-creatures- anemones, jellyfish. And meerkats, especially, of which I've been a fan ever since Meerkat Manor.


The Gorillas were amazingly human, the way the male gorilla picked up a bottle of some kind of fruit juice and took a swig - I could've sworn it was a man in a costume.


The bugs section was good, probably Puttachi's favourite, coz she sat cross-legged outside the cricket enclosure and wouldn't leave. It was extremely cold (which explains the dearth of photographs - stiff fingers) and my aunt's fabulous sandwiches, and some hot chocolate from the coffee bar revived us a bit. The tropical section was excellent - probably my favourite part of the zoo. Saw a sloth (not) move - and the warmth helped Puttachi fall asleep in the stroller.


I saw much of London later, but this was fun! And now, I wish I'd risked taking those photographs!

The UK Files - Windsor

Another amiable spring day took us to Windsor. The castle stood fine and regal, but we'd already decided we didn't want to go in to see how the royals live.



We walked through the town and to the Long Walk. People were out in great numbers, and I did a fair amount of people watching. Families intent on having a good time. Couples walking hand in hand. People lolling upon the grass. Teenaged girls dressed like 25-year-olds. A couple sunning a baby so small that it seemed like she'd been born that morning.


The trees that line the entire length of the Walk are horse chestnuts - and when in full bloom, they apparently look white and beautiful.
But now they were just deciding to go green. They were lovely anyway.




We played frisbee on the lawns, and then walked quite a bit.


I would've liked to walk up to the Copper Horse on Snow Hill, right at the end of the path, but we didn't have the time for that. Some day....

A realization, and a concern

Ever since Puttachi started school, she's been talking about one classmate, let's call her Kutti. I met her mother once, and she told me that Kutti also keeps talking about Puttachi. I gathered they were "best" friends, in whatever sense it is used for three-year-olds.

About three months ago, we met another classmate in the park that Puttachi frequents. Let's call her Kat. Something about meeting a friend outside school probably gives these children kicks, and after that, Kat entered many of Puttachi's conversations.

Last week, Puttachi's class saw a new girl - I'll call her Angel - and it turns out that Angel has moved to live very close to us, and has started coming to the park. Perhaps it is because they are older now, or perhaps this friendship is a kind of active one, but Puttachi and Angel have hit it off very well.

On Friday, Puttachi came home and told me:
Amma, Kutti is very troublesome.
Really? What does she do?
She doesn't do anything to me, but she troubles Kat and Angel a lot.
How?
When I say, "Kat is my friend, Angel is my friend" and hug them, Kutti pushes Kat and Angel, drags them away, makes them sit on other chairs, and then comes and sits next to me. If they try to come near me, Kutti pushes them away.

My heart went out to Kutti. I can see her now, the tiny little thing, her heart bursting with emotion. At the same time, I was extremely surprised. I don't think there is any one of us who's not been a part of this age-old situation at some point in our lives - but I had no idea this kind of possessiveness, jealousy even, would manifest itself in children of such a young age.

I said,
Puttachi, I think I know why Kutti does that.
Why?
Kutti and you are friends, right? You were friends right from the beginning.
Yes.
Do you still talk to her a lot, and sit next to her like you used to?
Not much, Amma. Kat and Angel sit next to me nowadays.
Kutti probably feels bad that you are not talking to her much. Perhaps she misses you.
Why?
Perhaps she likes you.
Oh.
Do you like her?
Yes Amma. Amma, I will talk to Kutti also. When I go to school next, I will hug Kutti also.
That's a wonderful idea, Puttachi.

***

We had a lovely 10th standard reunion last Saturday. After lunch, we decided to have ice cream at Corner House.

Puttachi overheard this, and was excited.

Amma, I want pink ice-cream.
Okay.
Amma, will there be pink ice-cream?
I don't know, let's go and see.
If there is pink ice-cream, I will feel happy and eat it up, but if there is no pink ice-cream, then I will see which ice-cream they have, and I will like it (ishTa maDkotini), and eat it up.

Should I rejoice that this child knows the secret of happiness? Or should I worry that she is going to become too accommodating and compliant?

The UK Files: Henley-on-Thames

The first couple of weeks in the UK were cold. We didn't go out much, except for a few drives, and some trips to the town, and Sainsbury's.

It was on April 8th, that I had my first taste of the English sun. We - my aunt, cousin, Puttachi and I - planned a trip to Henley-on-Thames, of course, after a lot of consultation of weather forecasts. True to the prediction, it was a lovely day. The sun was out, the sky was blue and cloudless, with aeroplane contrails streaking it white.



The riverside was magnificent. Bare trees were fuzzy, with a suggestion of the lovely green that would become obvious in the coming weeks. Weeping willows drooped gracefully. The river was blue, and the grass was green and inviting.





We walked on one bank of the river, and on the other bank stood pretty little cottages, with boat garages. Big boats sailing down the river were moored on the side of the bank on which we walked, and I peered shamelessly through the little windows, into the dim interiors, trying to imagine what it would be like - a life in a houseboat, sailing the length of the river.



We played football on the greens, that are such a luxury for us, and we had some really lovely, sparkling moments. It was still much too cold, and we shivered when the wind blew, but smiled when the sun did.



On the way back, we visited The Maharajah's Well at Stoke Row, and got back home.


There's something about rivers and its banks that appeal to me, and walking is one of my passions - so the combination is, well, deadly.

We had many more lovely times in England and Scotland, but this day will stand out as one of the most beautiful, brilliant days I've experienced.

The UK Files: Walsall and Stratford-upon-Avon

My father's cousin N Kaka lives in Walsall with his family. He and his wife are a wonderful doctor couple, and they have three very nice, and I mean really very nice sons. The hospitality in their home is that excellent blend that makes you feel welcome and wanted, yet doesn't suffocate you with it. We visited them twice, once with my aunt and her family, and the second time, after S~ joined us, on our way to Scotland.

Music and conversation with a liberal dose of laughter and comfort - that is what I remember from both the visits, along with a hilarious encounter with the police. N Kaka shares both his name and some distinct personality traits with my father, and Puttachi, who dotes upon my father, took to N Kaka as if she'd known him all her life.

We visited Stratford-upon-Avon from there. It is a beautiful, but ordinary town, by English standards. The Avon river is lovely, and the town is all about Shakespeare. But of course.





My cousin V and I went into Shakespeare's house. It is like stepping into a book. The house has been furnished just like it was in Shakespeare's time, with some original furniture, and some replicas. A man dressed as Shakespeare's father talked to the visitors, giving us trivia and laughter. When we stood in the room in which Shakespeare was born, this man told us that people are very often overwhelmed there. Some weep, some hug, and many of them drop down on their knees and kiss the floor. Wow.

Another interesting thing in the house is a glass window where distinguished visitors have signed their names. There is a guide next to it, pointing to the interesting ones.

Excavations are happening at New Place, where Shakespeare lived later. They hope to find something nice - a lock of his hair or a handwritten manuscript.

A walk through the town, a small picnic on the banks of Avon, and we were ready to get back home.

Imagination

I've heard lots about a child's power of imagination, but it is wonderful to witness it first hand in Puttachi. It amuses me. It turns me momentarily into a child myself as I suspend all reality, and journey with her and her fancy. It stuns me with its potential. It worries me that adulthood will suck it out of her.

I've learned that a child's imagination has just one characteristic - it has no limits. And I'm talking about any child - its just that I get to observe it closely with my child.

Puttachi is deeply into drawing and colouring. It borders on an obsession. I bought her colouring books, but she doesn't like them. She wants me to draw what she sees is in her head, so that she can colour it. The latest was a Rakshasa with a skin-sleeve on his arm which held his horned baby's waterbottle.

When she colours, nothing holds her back. She colours the sky green, the river yellow, and the tree black. I don't try to correct her. Besides, she also explains her choices to me. "Amma," she says. "Apples are red, yes, but this apple is blue, because it is a magic apple. Amma, I know that rivers are blue, but this river is yellow because a big box of turmeric fell into it."

Whenever she eats something crunchy, she tells me that the treat is singing a song.. "Do you know, Amma, that these groundnuts are singing "Wheels on the bus?""
or
"Amma, I can make this puffed rice sing any song. I bite on it and think of a song, and the puffed rice sings it with me. Do you know how? It looks into my mind, and learns it immediately."

Today she listened to the strains of a Shehnai and said, "Amma, this song is crying." Where does she get such ideas?

We'd been to somebody's house to see the Dasara Dolls, and there was one baby doll with two big parent dolls. When the hostess insisted that Puttachi could take the baby doll home, she went up to the parent dolls and told them, "Don't worry, don't be sad, I'll bring your baby up very well."

Personification is a strong passion in her. She sees two cushions leaning against each other and decides that they are friends and are hugging, or telling each other a secret. She sees me cutting a vegetable and sometimes nearly tears up, asking me if the carrot is getting hurt.

She never tires of stories and makes me narrate some all day long. Sometimes, she takes over the storyteller mantle, and if I take the trouble to concentrate, I encounter fanciful, highly imaginative stories that have no beginning, no end, but are connected with a fine thread that somehow makes sense. If I react suitably with a "a tailed ant who is a firefighter? well, I never!" she promptly says, "Oh it's just a story Amma, listen further."

Anyway, half the stories I tell her are products of my imagination, but they are all rooted in logic and sense. This weekend, I decided to try and tell her a story in her style. I freed my mind, abandoned all logic, and started. It was alright in the beginning, but soon, logic crept in. I desperately tried to drive it away, but it settled down and made itself nice and comfortable. I finished the story, neatly, all tied-up. Boring.

If I could store all her imagination in a pot and give it back to her if adulthood drains it out......

Dinosaur FAQ

Last evening, Puttachi and I made a model of a Dinosaur skeleton, using a kit with little wooden pieces shaped like a dinosaur's bones.

After we were done admiring it, Puttachi's questions began.

Amma, are dinosaurs still there?
No, they all died a long time ago.

But there was a dinosaur in London.
In the (Natural History) museum? That was a big toy. Batteries inside it made it roar and move and made it look like a real T-rex.

Did they make that toy to look like a real dinosaur?
Yes.

Why did dinosaurs die?
A huge rock came from the sky and fell on the earth, killing all of them.

Why was there a huge rock in the sky?
There are many rocks in the sky, they are called asteroids, they move around. Sometimes, one comes in the way of a planet and hits it.

What happened to all the people?
There were no people then. It was very long ago. People weren't even born then.

Then how do they know that a big stone hit the earth?
They do not know for sure. People who have studied about the earth and who know about dinosaurs, have thought about it, and they've said that we don't know what killed the dinosaurs, but it looks like it was a big rock from the sky.

Did you also think about it?
No Puttachi, I did not. I am just telling you what I have heard and read.

Are there dinosaurs in India?
They've found dinosaur bones or fossils in India, but there are no living dinosaurs even in India.

Why, did a big stone hit India also?
No, no, there was just one rock that hit the earth. But it was very huge. It raised so much cloud and dust and disturbed the waters of the ocean, that the dust and water spread all over the earth and killed all the dinosaurs everywhere.

Where did the rock fall?
I don't know, Puttachi. I'll find out and let you know - if the experts know.

Will dinosaurs be born again?
No, it's unlikely. But then you never know. Oh there was even a movie about it - that dinosaurs were brought back to life.

Did these dinosaurs come near people in the movie?
Yes they did.

Did they eat the people?
Umm yes, I think they did, some of them. But then that's just a story - a movie.

Amma, will you show me the movie?
Sure, in a few years from now. I don't think it is meant for children your age.

Why?
It is scary at times. Even I got scared when I watched the movie.

But you are a big girl.
Even big girls can get scared.

The Lion King is not a scary movie.
That's right.

It is for kids. Even kids can watch it.
Correct.

I like The Lion King.
I know.

Amma, do you remember what Simba said when.....

... and she moves on to more mundane matters!

The UK Files - The Elderly

Everywhere we went in the UK, I saw old and elderly people. Many of them. Lots more than I've seen walking on the roads in India.

They were invariably elegant in dress and manner, most of them had smiles and a kind word for Puttachi, and they carried themselves with grace and dignity.

Some of them were so old that they were stooped, wrinkled, barely able to walk, and yet they came shopping alone. One old lady took one minute to walk one metre, holding on to a walker. No exaggeration. Yet, she came shopping alone. Another lady, with crutches - so old, so old that I've never seen anybody older, got off a bus and on to the footpath, and went about her shopping. Alone.

Yes, it is because they live alone. Yes, it is because they want to do their own work themselves. But there is a far bigger reason why I saw so many old people out walking on the streets in the UK, and why none here in India.

Because the cities are friendly to them. In every way. The footpaths are even, with little ramps from every footpath down to every road. Cars STOP at pedestrian crossings when someone is waiting to cross. Even if there is no signal. They stop not only for the old and infirm, not only for young mothers with prams. They stop for everybody.

Buses are convenient. Easy to get in and out. And the drivers wait until people finish getting in and out. They help.

Here, pedestrians are at the bottom of the pyramid. Even an alert, energetic youngster finds it difficult to cross some roads nowadays. People tell me that I'm very fortunate to live a stone's throw away from an excellent shopping area. But there is one huge obstacle. I've to cross a road to get to that area. And that one road is enough to put you off crossing roads for ever.

How can anybody except the elderly to cross such roads? To walk on footpaths with crooked stone slabs? Travel on buses? No chance. No wonder we don't see old people up and about here.

Of course, they do have other advantages there. Little buses go around, pick up the old who live alone, take them to shopping centres and then drop them back to their homes. It arises out of necessity, of course, with so many people living alone.

It made me sad. Outdoor life after one point, perhaps eighty, is totally out of bounds to us here in India. Is there no alternative?

Trick or Treatment?

With the Flipkart voucher I won here, I bought "Trick or Treatment?: Alternative medicine on Trial" by Simon Singh and Edzard Ernst.

It is a must-read for everybody interested in health - and especially for those who rely on alternative forms of medicine. It is interesting, impartial, well-researched, and full of information.

Chapter 1 - Speaks about why such an impartial study is important - millions of people around the world spend billions of money on alternative therapies - are they effective, and safe? This chapter also examines the kind of clinical trials that are necessary to evaluate the effectiveness of any remedy. It speaks about how clinical trials evolved, why blind and double-blind studies are important, and examines the placebo effect and its importance. A very interesting and informative chapter.

Chapter 2 - Deals with acupuncture. Acupuncture is based on an ancient Chinese belief that Ch'i energy flows through a body, and ailments occur when some important nodes are blocked. Sticking needles into the body at such points releases the blockages and sets the energy flow right again. Acupuncture claims to treat all kinds of remedies. The presence of Ch'i itself hasn't been proven over all these centuries, and so the basic presumption of this therapy might itself be wrong. But anyway, many studies have been conducted, including some very clever techniques to test the placebo effects of acupressure. The overall conclusion is that there are indications for its efficacy for some types of pain and nausea, but the evidence of relief for any other ailment is not enough. It is a relatively safe kind of treatment if you are so inclined to take it, but there have been cases of death due to negligent needling.

Chapter 3 - Homeopathy. Now this has been causing me trouble for a long time now. On one hand, there is this remedy that offers patients medicines that are so dilute that there is not even ONE SINGLE molecule of the original substance in the resulting medicine. It defies logic. On the other hand, there are millions of people who swear by it, some of them very smart and informed people. So there are only two alternatives - either the basic principles of science as we know it are utterly meaningless, or those millions of people are wasting time, energy and money on a placebo.

I did a lot of research prior to reading this book, and none of the homeopathy jargon made any sense to me. On the contrary, all the critics of homeopathy had me nodding with them in agreement.

This book is unique in that it approaches homeopathy in a very impartial way. It is not important that we understand it in the beginning, they say. Thousands of remedies weren't understood in the beginning, but were applied nevertheless. Only later did researchers understand the science behind it. The same approach has been taken throughout the book.

First the chapter talks about the origin of Homeopathy (based on hunches, assumptions), its rise in popularity (conventional medicine at that time actually killed people - using techniques such as bloodletting. So people who took homeopathy were better off. So it was assumed that homeopathy was effective), and its spread across the world (different reasons for their spread - mostly politics - nothing to do with efficacy).

To cut a very long chapter short, 200 years and 200 clinical trials later (which has taken into account all the basic tenets of homeopathy - including individualized treatment, etc), it has been proven beyond doubt that homeopathic treatment is no better than a placebo.

One of the authors, Edzard Ernst, is a trained homeopath, who has even practiced for sometime, before stepping back and opening his eyes. He says that nobody would have been happier than him if it had been proven that homeopathy is effective, as it would have opened up an entirely new world of research.

But why does homeopathy "seem to work"? All is explained in the book - and I guide you there for any more questions you might have.

Chapter 4 - Chiropractic therapy - Chiropractors claim that the spine is the key to the body's health, and adjustments to the spine can cure all diseases. Often it involves very rough manipulation of the spine and neck, and there are severe side effects, and several cases of death. Over the centuries, one section of chiropractors have broken away from the traditional beliefs and follow a more moderate form of this therapy, claiming to treat mostly back pain. But studies have shown that spinal manipulation might help, but it is in no way better than regular physiotherapy, which is safer and cost-effective.
If you remember, Simon Singh was unsuccessfully sued for libel by the British Chiropractic association for an article in The Guardian, criticizing Chiropractic therapy.

Chapter 5 - Herbal Remedies - Now this chapter was something of a shock to me. I was one among those who tended to believe that herbal remedies can't go wrong. After all, mainstream medicine also sources much of its remedies from plants. But what I found was that, yes, drugs are certainly made from plants, but the particular effective substance is isolated, and then synthesized or extracted to make medicines.
Very often, eating the whole leaf or nut or bark as the case may be, results in unwanted side effects. There have been many cases of people taking a herbal remedy along with mainstream treatment, and some substance in the plant has reacted adversely with the mainstream medicine and caused severe ill-effects. Even some commonly used herbal products that we use as home remedies might cause undesired side-effects when taken in excess. A mix of herbs, especially, that is common in herbal medicine can be particularly dangerous. This book suggests that before going in for herbal remedies, do your research well. Besides, many regular drugs go through years of testing to certify that it is safe and effective, whereas herbal remedies appear on shelves overnight. And it is not fair to the consumer.
An eye-opener of a chapter.

Chapter 5 - Asks "Does the truth matter?" and explores the reasons why it does. It is, once again, a beautifully enlightening chapter.

After this, there is a section where most of the other alternative therapies are discussed, each in one page. These include magnetic therapy, reiki, feng shui, meditation, massage therapies, totally thirty such alternative therapies. In case you are wondering what is the verdict on Indian systems of healing... Yoga, they conclude is an excellent way of life to maintain good health, and meditation and relaxation is also proven to be beneficial, unless you have a mental illness. Ayurveda - the verdict is mixed. Some remedies are proven to be effective and safe, but others are not. Many ayurvedic medicines have very high levels of metal, as it is believed to be beneficial (I'd heard about this disturbing fact before). But no metal in high amounts is good for the body. Ayurveda is a very complex system, and needs much more study to test its effects. In the meantime, keep your eyes open.

Disclaimer: I'm not a promoter of regular medicine, I don't pop pills left right and centre. I am well aware of underhand activities by greedy pharma companies, pushing untested drugs into the market, etc. I am a believer in the natural healing ability of our body, and I let the body do its job. Only when I see it might get out of hand do I resort to mainstream medicine. After all, its the best we have.

I've just tried to condense the material in the book in a few paragraphs. But I highly recommend that you read the book.

The UK Files - Lambing

My aunt lives in what is called a village, and the surrounding areas are full of farms and open areas. One such neighbouring farm organized a Lambing weekend, where the farm was thrown open to the public for a fee. It was no less than a fair. There were stalls and organized parking, and volunteers took batches of visitors around the farm. We saw geese, ducks, horses, a Shetland pony and goats in enclosures just outside.

Inside, we were first taken to the hen enclosure. Six thousand hens live here, and in a good week, the yield of the farm is thirty-two thousand eggs. Now that is astonishing. They are free-range hens, and at night, they are housed in a huge hen building. We were shown how tonnes of feed are pumped into the enclosures. Whew, did that building stink!

The hens are brought in when they are a few weeks old - all of them the same age. They lay eggs until they are about 72 weeks old, after which, their egg-laying ability decreases, and they are sent away to enter the meat chain. The whole area is then cleaned and sanitized, and the next batch of hens are brought in.

"How do you know which eggs are chick-eggs?" asked a little girl.
"There are no chick-eggs here," said the volunteer. "We don't have any roosters - this is a ladies-only section - and you know that you need both a male and a female to make babies, don't you? You don't? Ask your mother after you get home!" And she winked at the rest of us and escaped quickly!

We saw pens of little pink pigs with curly tails - they were so cute. One had got some straw stuck to its snout - and it was doing a little dance to free itself - that was great fun. There were tiny little enclosures each containing one ewe and her lambs that had been born within that week. If ewe1 has given birth to three lambs and ewe2 to one, then the farmers cheat by putting one of ewe1's lambs with ewe2 - so that they all have a better chance of survival. These lambs were adorable, and some were available to hold and pet. Puttachi held a three-day-old lamb in her arms, and it was the sweetest sight. Soap and hand-sanitizers were installed everywhere, and we were told to use them liberally.


I don't know about you - but I felt it then and I feel it now - an intense urge to just run and jump into this pile of hay.

The high-point of our visit was watching a live birth. There was a huge enclosure in which all the sheep in labour were housed. These had tiny oval openings, through which we peeping-toms could crouch and look. I actually saw a lamb being born. The poor mother was baa-ing away pathetically, turning round and round in the straw. Just as she started straining, two (human) helpers came to assist her. Even as we looked, a baby lamb popped out of the mother, along with the messy afterbirth. The next moment, the helpers left, and the mother started licking the lamb for all she worth. In a little while, she started baa-ing again - it looked like there was another on its way. But we had to leave.





The just-born (Photo taken through a two-inch long oval opening)


We finished with a tractor-trailer ride around the farm, followed by two adorable lambs - white amidst green grass.

It was a fabulous experience.

Old dog, new tricks

I got my driver's license when I was 21. I drove very little, with my father sitting next to me. Since he took the car to work, and I wasn't really the jet-setting type, I didn't find any need for the car, and managed with autos and buses.

Then I went to study at Trichy, and then to work in Mumbai, where I didn't need to drive. After I got back to Bangalore, I was out of touch with driving, and anyway I took the office cab to work.

Even after I got married, I didn't ever feel the need to know driving. It is only now, when I have had to drop and pick up Puttachi from school, did I desperately feel the urge to drive, especially after dealing with faulty meters and rude drivers of autorickshaws. So I took a few driving lessons, and then drove around with S sitting next to me. After that, my father-in-law instructed me in the finer points of driving, and taught me driving in reverse and parking with great patience - and my confidence soared.

So today, I flew solo for the first time - I dropped and picked-up Puttachi from school myself - and I feel terrific.

Hand me a pair of ear-plugs.

One of the most difficult things that I have faced in bringing up Puttachi is that I've had to change a little of my basic personality to suit hers.

I am a relatively silent person, prefering to listen than to speak. But there is a limit even to how much I can listen to without going mad.

But Puttachi is the opposite of me. She loves to talk and she does talk all the time. When she is not talking, she expects me to talk. She hounds me to tell her story after story, and bugs me with continuous questions. So at any given time, there is always someone speaking in the house. And that is VERY tiring. I need silence and solitude, and sometimes, at the end of a tiring day, my ears feel like they'll develop holes, and my head feels like it'll burst. I have to literally beg Puttachi to stop talking and not ask me any questions. But of course, this request is followed by a "Why why why why why?"

Besides, Puttachi is always in high spirits and full of excitement. It is quite lovely to watch her, and my spirits are never too low for a long time because of this. But hey, sometimes I need to be normal. I need to not smile or laugh. I need to mope, sulk and frown to even out my facial muscles.

But I just do not have that chance. The poor thing comes to me with so much excitement and happiness that I cannot bear to pour cold water over that, so I end up joining in her excitement, and tiring myself out. And if I do give in to my primary instinct and sulk a little, she comes to me, full of concern, and asks, "Amma, are you angry, are you sick, are you tired, are you feeling bad, what happened Amma?" and she won't let go until she is convinced that I am not upset with her. And that involves smiling and assuring her that everything is fine.

I know that as she grows, the challenges will be greater. For instance, I might have to forgo my urge to loll around at home in my pyjamas on a lazy weekend, to cater to Puttachi's desire to go out and party (figuratively). There might be bigger clashes between our personalities, things I cannot even imagine - and I might have to change further in order not to limit Puttachi's growth.

I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing, exerting myself, extending myself - I am not sure if this will hurt me in the long run, but I see Puttachi happy and blossoming into a sweeter and more enthusiastic person each day, and it feels like it is worth it.

Hard to tell. Someday, I guess I'll know the answer. Meanwhile, if you have any words of wisdom, I'm all ears.

New Tricks up her sleeve

(not sure of the date of this one)

I go into the room to find that her brown dog has turned powdery and light brown. As I frown and ponder over it, she announces, "Dog asked me, "Puttachi, puttachi, please sprinkle some powder on me", and so I sprinkled powder on it."

When she knows something is going to get her in trouble, she employs this tactic. I have told her to eat her vegetables sitting in one place, but I come back to find it strewn all over the floor. "Oh, amma, the peas said to me, "Puttachi, please throw me on the ground", so I threw them on the ground.

New kind of questions I cannot answer.

She: Amma, say "plate".
Me: Plate.
She: Why did you say "plate"?
ME: Because you asked me to say "plate"
She: Why did I ask you to say "plate"?
Me: #$%$@

But I have found a way around it. I say, "tell me yourself", and I receive a very simple yourself. In the above case, she said, "because I like it." So simple, no?

Laughing at herself:

We see a picture of a snowman.

Me: Oh, Puttachi, do you know what you said for "snowman" when you were a kid? (she loves "when you were little" stories).
She: what?
Me: You used to say "Tone-man".
She: *Laughs her guts out - holds her stomach and rolls on the floor* Toneman! Toneman!
Me: *with a sudden doubt* Puttachi, say "Snowman" now?
She: Sone-man. *stops suddenly with shock. Then rolls on the floor again* I still can't say it!!


She: *waking up from a nap, still half-asleep* Brinjal... brinjal... where have you kept the brinjal?
Me: *Humouring her* Right, here, dear, you go back to sleep now.
She: *Sitting up, waking up* Ayyo, I said brinjal!!

Though S~ and I speak to each other a lot in her baby-language, we speak normally when she is around, one, to ensure that she knows the right way to say things, and two, to not make her conscious that for all her language abilities, her speech is not very clear yet. But once, I made a slip - I said a word like she would have said it. (I said, todine instead of kogile)
She immediately laughed and said, you said it like I do!

She sees a tube of ointment. She has forgotten the word "ointment"

She: Amma, what is that for?
ME: What, dear?
She: That oh-fen....oh-them....on-tem.... om-tem....
I listen patiently. Then she laughs loudly. I am not getting the word at all, amma! what is it called?
Me: Ointment
She: Ayyooooo ointment annakke yeneno andbitte! (I said all sorts of things instead of ointment!)