Letting go

Being a good parent is all about letting go.

It can be heart-wrenching. But some part of you becomes stronger when you do it successfully.

Only after I became a mother did I understand my mother's apprehensions when allowing us to do something for the first time. Sending me alone to Mysore by bus for the first time. Seeing my sister off at the airport, when she was flying to the US, alone. Sending us to a friend's house, or on a picnic, or on a date, or to a party. Trusting the values they have given us, and trusting a third person to care for us. Each event is a bit of letting go - letting the child take an independent step ahead, to become the unique person s/he is.

With little kids, the instances are very tiny, but significant all the same. The first time I left a sleeping baby Puttachi at home, and went to the doctor for a post-natal checkup. The first time Puttachi stayed overnight away from me - even though I was leaving her at the hands of her loving grandparents, it was a kind of letting go. To relax and know that someone else is looking after her.

Putting her into the hands of someone totally unconnected, like leaving her at a playschool - that was a totally different ball game. But it had to be done, and it was, successfully.

And today, her school took her for a Nature Walk to Lalbagh. I was initially worried. Will they look after her? What if she runs away like toddlers so love to do? But I had seen first hand how the staff in her school look after the children. I knew I could trust them. So when I left her at the gate, and I saw her small figure walking through the gate with her teachers, tears welled up in my eyes. But I was so proud of my little girl, and so happy for her. Her eyes shining, her round face glowing with excitement, she waved at me as she went inside. And I knew that both of us had just taken a very big step.

And I know that this is just one of many, many of them.

Two and a Half

For all of you who complained that I don't give you enough Puttachi updates:

At 2.5 years, Puttachi is great fun. For one, living with her is like being in a musical. She sings all day long - mostly twisting songs, substituting words to suit the current situation. In effect, she sings parodies all day and laughs at her own jokes. She is constantly clowning around, and jumping around

She has learned this annoying habit of whining when things don't go her way. The only way I can get her to stop it is to pretend that I cannot make out anything she is saying when she is whining. Then, she puts on this artificial smile and asks me "nicely".

Another worrisome habit is that she is sticking to me a lot, protesting hotly when I am not around. I think it is just habit more than real unease.

She loves doing jigsaw puzzles. She did 4-6 pieces with ease, and I thought she was ready to move to bigger puzzles. But they didn't seem to interest her. Just then, S~'s nephew's Disney 24-piece jigsaw puzzle came down to her - and this one has giant pieces. And Puttachi could do it, with a little help at first. She can sit with it all day, making it, breaking it. So I realized that at this age, giant pieces are better.

Puttachi also loves alphabets. More than a year ago, S~ bought refrigerator alphabet magnets - when each alphabet is fitted into a slot on the main piece, it sings out the name of the alphabet, and the sound it makes. Since that was always on the refrigerator, she played with it often. Without our even realizing it, Puttachi started recognizing a few alphabets, and nearly six months ago, made me fall off her chair by recognizing A, B, O and V in the newspaper. She then discovered that my laptop has alphabet keys, and I let her carefully tap the keys and see the results on the monitor. I made her type her name a few times, and voila, she started recognizing all those letters. Now, any printed material she gets, she tries and picks out the letters of her name from it. It is great fun to watch her - and a pleasant surprise too, because it came about by itself.

She loves to play with clay, and she loves books. Oh, and yes, I hadn't been speaking to her much in English before this, but after she started going to the Montessori and picking up English, I have started telling her stories in both English and Kannada, one after the other. I read a sentence in my mind, tell it to her in Kannada, and then read it in English, stopping to explain one word or the other. She is now picking up English so quickly that it surprises me. She supplies the English words for Kannada words without my asking her, and any thing she hears, or any English rhyme that she learns, she comes to me and asks me to explain it to her.

A mandatory visit to the park every evening helps in satisfying her urge to run around, (and my urge to be around people) - and both of us come back happy.

This age, I have realized, is one where they are tremendously curious, and eager to learn. And the more we stimulate them, the happier they are!

At the montessori house

I never thought it would happen - but it did. I drop Puttachi at her Montessori school and she stays there happily, and I pick her up at the end of the day!

Up-side: I get a lot of work done in the morning, I can put my feet up, drink a 10 30 cup of tea...
Down-side: I haven't read a word of any book since Monday!

How the transition happened:

Groundwork: As I had told you before, I had been sitting outside at the school for quite a long time, and I knew for sure that Puttachi was entirely comfortable. I had a talk with the head of the school last Friday, and she agreed with me that it was time to try and leave Puttachi alone at school. She told me that they would try and distract and engage Puttachi if she cried, but warned me that if she became uncontrollable, they would call me back.

After we got back home, last Friday, I casually dropped the idea to Puttachi that I would leave her at school and come home, starting Monday. I used the words "When I leave you at school...." I used it often when speaking to S~ too, in a matter-of-fact tone, until I was certain that Puttachi had understood what was to come. I also told her that I would come back home and make Kesaribhath for her. (She doesn't even like Kesaribhath, she just has a fancy for it.)

Yet, inspite of all this, I had nightmares about Puttachi bawling and me walking away. I wondered if I could go through with it - and I nearly backed out at the last moment.

What happened on Monday: I set out the ingredients of Kesaribhath on the kitchen counter and showed it to Puttachi, telling her htat I would make it after I left her at school, and she accepted it calmly.

While I was locking the door while leaving for school, she said, "Amma, don't leave me!"
I looked at her questioningly, she clarified, "I meant, don't leave me at home and go, but you can leave me at the montessori and come back."

I took it as a good sign. when we got to the school, I opened the gate and started walking in, when she said, "Oh, are you coming inside? I thought you would leave me at the gate." My jaw dropped.

When we went in and I found the teachers, I said, "Ok, Puttachi, bye," as she started going inside. She suddenly stopped and turned. "Wait, Amma!"
"Yes?" I said, thinking, "Uh oh!"
But she said, "I want to hug you!"
She hugged me, kissed me on each cheek, and said, "Ok, bye, thank you, go home, come back later, ok?" And she bounded in without a backward glance.

I could have screamed for joy. We had actually done it without making her cry!

I am hoping that now that she is used to the idea of going to a school, leaving her at the big school will also be easy. If that can also be accomplished without too many tears, nothing like it.

Still to go: Puttachi is not very comfortable with the last activity of the day - sitting in a group and learning songs. Though she loves songs, something about that setup bothers her - she would cry even during the time I was sitting there. And she continues that even now. So I have to go half an hour early, just at the moment that she starts getting jittery.

Let's see how we overcome this little hurdle! :)

Shruthi's law of parenting - 2

Just like in life, nothing is constant in the world of parenting.

Though Puttachi started staying at school by herself from Monday, I resisted telling you about it, wanting to give it some time, making sure that it was indeed working. So I waited until today to put up a post about it.

Two minutes after I clicked on "Publish" on the previous post, I got a call from her school telling me that she was crying uncontrollably, and asking me to pick her up.

It could be because she was sleepy (she woke up very early), but whatever the reason, she did cry.

So there goes my brain again - how will Monday be?

Big School

And along with the lookout for a suitable playhome, the hunt for the perfect Big School was happening too. I had done a bit of research and shortlisted two schols X and Y as being suitable. (Teaching, teaching methods, values, distance, etc being the criteria.) I made the necessary enquiries and applied to both the schools. I also applied to school Z because it is a traditionally sought after school ;)

Puttachi gained admission in school Z first, but since that wasn't our preference, we waited.

Schools X and Y balanced out kind of evenly, and I would probably have been in a fix if we had heard from both of them at the same time. But as it happened, school X contacted us first, took a 1-minute interview in which Puttachi was in her element, and got back to us the next day to tell us that Puttachi was through.

So I made some more inquiries, talked to parents with children studying in the school, and came to the conclusion that this school is probably best suited to what we want for Puttachi, and so today we paid the fees, and she is in.

So there you go! My little baby will go to a Big School starting this June.

School Time!

And so, that was the longest break that I have ever taken from blogging. Wasn't intentional, no.

So what's been happening? A lot, actually. For one, Puttachi's been going to a Montessori centre. I wasn't really very keen on sending her to school before she turned three. But there was only so much I could do for her - I felt she needed more stimulation than I could provide. Empty, directionless mornings made her very restless and we decided that she ought to go to school. She has just turned 2 and a half, by the way.

So I scouted around a bit for good playhomes in our area, and zeroed in on this one for many reasons. (You can write to me if you need to know what to look for while selecting a playhome/playschool. I will tell you what little I know.) One of the many nice things about this place is that you can go and sit there for as long as you want, as many days as you want, until the child is comfortable. That appealed to me.

The first week was great - she went, was absorbed in play, and it looked like it would just need another week until the time Puttachi would walk in, wave goodbye to me and disappear inside without a backward glance. But just then, both Puttachi and I fell sick with this really strong viral flu that had us out of circulation for two weeks. So when I took her back to school after two weeks, she clung to me, and refused to even go inside. At home, she would say that she wanted to go, but once there, she stuck to me. The teachers told me that this behaviour was quite normal after a break, especially when it was due to illness. I persisted, and I go and sit there for all the three hours.

It has paid off. She is now comfortable, is interacting with the other kids and is doing much of her work herself. The only problem is that she still wants me around. She even comes out from time to time to check if I am sitting outside. The teacher has assured me that a day will come very soon when she herself will tell me to go home. I am waiting. But meanwhile, I finish my cooking in a rush in the morning and I go and sit at that montessori centre and read for three glorious, uninterrupted hours.

You can expect many book reviews shortly!

Heaven is...

- Snuggling under a blanket with a sleepy, soft, warm and fragrant toddler on a cold, wet afternoon.
- Falling into a long, deep and unplanned sleep, holding the toddler, and the toddler holding you.
- Waking up suddenly, and realizing that the unexpected nap has refreshed and rejuvenated you, rather than making you grouchy and cranky as such naps tend to.
- Realizing, lying there, that a pair of bright, shining, smiling eyes is watching you, two inches from your face, and a small, soft hand is patting your cheek and stroking your hair.

My heart is full.

Puttachi at 2 years and 4 months.

New kind of questions that I cannot answer:

She: *pointing to a picture* Amma, is this tiger crying?
Me: No, it is not.
She: Why is it not crying?

She: Amma, are your spectacles broken?
Me: No, they are not.
She: Why are they not broken?

I wonder if there is something deeper behind those questions!

*****

She wants to know who everybody's mother is. Including animals, ants, plants, even stars. But to test her, if I ask her who is the chair's mother, for instance, she answers haughtily that chairs don't have mothers.

*****

She: Amma, I want the moon.
Me: Huh?
She: The moon. Please get the moon for me.
Me: How shall I get it?
She: Go to the sky, and bring it down.
Me: What will you do with it?
She: *makes a gesture of rocking a ball* I will play with it.

Kids these days, I tell you - they ask for the moon!

*****

She loves dressing up. Her favourite past-time is putting on clothes. One on top of another. Drop in on a surprise visit, and you can see her dressed in various articles of clothing from socks to gloves to mufflers and bibs and scarves and pyjamas and sweaters and caps and necklaces and bracelets and ribbons and clips - ALL AT THE SAME TIME. She has a particular fascination for articles of clothing that she can no longer fit into. If you need her to wear something, tell her that she used to wear it as a child!

*****

She has discovered a sense of humour. She gets a huge kick out of inserting her own words in familiar rhymes or stories. For example, she says, "Twinkle Twinkle Little Amma!" Then pauses for effect, before bursting into helpless laughter. She can and does do this all day. Or twists a word, or puts in a nonsense word, or puts in an extra word into songs, and enjoys the joke immensely. She loves it even more if I join in and add my own nonsense words.

*****

I had read so much about kids being afraid of monsters under the bed or in the closet, and I had never paid too much attention to it, because of a vague observation that no kid I knew seemed to have such fears. But yesterday, while I was putting Puttachi to bed, she got up abruptly from her crib, and crept towards my bed (which is attached to her crib).

Me: What happened, Puttachi?
She: *pointing towards the other side of the crib* Shoorpanakha (a demoness) is sitting there.

In the articles that spoke about this fear, I had understood that the response to this should not be something like, "Where? There is nothing there, dear, see? Go to sleep." Apparently, it not only trivializes the child's fears, but also does nothing to remove the fear. Kids at this age have such an active imagination that they truly believe that a demon or monster or a scary being is sitting there. So I employed this approach.

Me: Oh, Shoorpanakha? *looking at where Puttachi was pointing* Hey Shoorpanakha, what is wrong with you? Why do you want to disturb Puttachi when she is trying to sleep? Do you know how strong she is? Go, go, go away, don't come back! *Looking back at Puttachi* See, Shoorpanakha got scared! She is flying out of the window!
And that was enough for her. Puttachi smiled triumphantly and went back to bed.

*****

Speaking about imagination, Puttachi's is in overdrive. She gets so immersed in play-acting that there is nothing one can do when she is involved in it. Nothing can break her concentration, and she forgets hunger, sleep, and sometimes, she can't even hear nature's call! She burst into horrified tears when I accidentally sat on a "baby" that she had placed on the sofa, and she looked on with pride when I picked and ate "fruits" from a "tree" that she had watered and grown.

Even her dreams seem to be pretty graphic. Yesterday she woke up in the middle of her nap, told me something in garbled diction, and then laboriously dusted her pillow for two minutes before she fell asleep again. She wakes up sometimes, telling me something seriously about someone or something, and then handing over "something" to me before going back to sleep.

I find it utterly fascinating to wonder what goes on in that head of hers!

*****

She is a fun child, and a funny child. And backbreaking as it might be caring for her, there never is a dull moment.

To travel without an itinerary - and Books

When I was younger, and was at that age and stage where I was convinced that I would one day hold the world in the palm of my hand, I dreamed of just setting out with a backpack and going around the world as my fancy took me. I would visit one place, and then go to the bus/railway station/airport, look at all the destinations, and take off to whichever destination caught my eye. And I would stay there as long as I wanted to before taking off yet again.

This dream hasn't died yet - it has just been put on the back burner, the die hard optimist that I am. I am now reading a travel book, by Bill Bryson, called "Neither here nor there" about his travels in Europe, in which this is exactly what he does. Goes where his impulse takes him. He starts off with going to the northernmost part of Norway to see the Northern Lights - one of my greatest ambitions too. And oh, I have been travelling with Bryson in a way that I hadn't employed before. When he talks about a city, or a building or a museum, I immediately look it up on Google, and view the pics and read more about it, and there you go - I am travelling too!

By the way, before reading this book, I read one more book of his, "Mother Tongue", where Bryson traces the development of the English language, what influenced it, and how it came to be as we know it now. And with that, I understand most of the idiosyncrasies of the language. The illogical spellings, the weird pronunciations, etc. Inspired, I asked my grandfather in Mysore for a similar book in Kannada, and he gave me one to read, a part of "Kannada Kaipidi" series by Kuvempu. That was fascinating too, but I had to stop in the middle. I am looking forward to continuing on my next visit to Mysore.

While on the subject of books, I was recently introduced to the works of L.M.Montgomery by my friend M, who also fed and fanned my urge to read more and more of them. I absolutely love discovering new (to me!) writers.

Another fascinating book I read was "Survival of the Sickest" by Sharon Moalem. I recommend it.

Ah, books and travelling - if only I had a million dollars......

A wedding on the cards?

I am telling Puttachi the story of little Shruthi and little S~, and their exploits, and how they grew up and got married and got a little baby. I have reached the point where Shruthi and S~ have got married.

Puttachi: Papa and you got married?
Me: Yes, Puttachi.
She: Like X and Y?
Me: Yes, dear.
She stares off into space, and I allow her to digest the information or try and visualize the scene or however it is that two-year-olds process shocking information.
After a while.
She: Amma, but I did not attend!
Me: Yes, mari, you were not born yet.
She: (getting teary-eyed) But Amma, I want to attend!
Me: But the wedding is over, baby, wait, I will show you the snaps.
She: I don't want to see the snaps, I want to go to your wedding! (She stands up and pulls my hand) Amma, take me to yours and Papa's wedding!

What say, S~, time to renew our vows? A good reason to go on a second honeymoon, at least! :D

Storytime

I cannot believe that there was a time when Puttachi did not understand stories. The days now are so filled with stories for every occasion that it makes my head go round. She demands stories during mealtime, bedtime.. and err.. even pottytime.

There is no dearth of stories in the world. But there is a major problem. She cannot bear songs and rhymes and stories in which something unpleasant happens to the characters. Humpty Dumpty, for example, makes her cry. Now tell me, what choice do I have? All our mythological tales and Panchatantra and Jataka and even fairy tales have stories of beings eating each other up or hurting or killing or mauling or lying or cheating - I had never realized how much violence there is in children's tales.

So I usually give her a sanitized version of everything. For example, the story of Three Little Pigs doesn't have the Big Bad Wolf falling into the boiling cauldron at the end. In my story, the wolf just gives up and runs away.

But how long can I shield her from harsh realities? I plunged into the story of the Ramayana - and there is enough killing and mutilating there for starters! After the first time I told her the entire story, the only thing she remembered in the end was, "Shoorpanakha is a bad Rakshasi and her nose and ears got cut off!"

But she doesn't care too much about the Ramayana. All she wants are "Pooh" stories. Which means that I have to make up stories with Pooh as the central character. This works for both of us. I can insert little suggestions into the stories like "Pooh ate his food without any fuss, and that is why he is so strong" or "Pooh went to the dentist with toothache and the dentist told Pooh to brush twice a day like Puttachi - see how strong and clean her teeth are!"

So Pooh stories suit me, and that is the only way to get her undivided attention during mealtimes. But of course the problem with made up stories is that when you repeat the story, you unconsciously change some details, and the child catches you immediately, berating you for not remembering the story. And oh, it is lovely to hear her tell the story in her own words. She narrates it with expressions in her face and voice, employing a sad face and voice for "Ayyooo my ball fell into the lake" and a happy face and voice for "Yay! Thank you, crocodile, for getting my ball back from the lake!"

The other category of stories she likes are "Stories of Puttachi when she was a baby." My baby has grown so much that I am already telling her stories of her babyhood!

This time of my own....

It has been more than two years since Puttachi was born, and she has never stayed away from me overnight. A few hours, yes, eight hours being the longest time she has been away from me. But yesterday, my parents took her home with them.

I am getting glowing reports. She is no trouble at all, everything is hunky-dory. She is enjoying herself thoroughly - and not once has she even mentioned me! I tried to get her to talk to me on the phone - but she was too busy listening to stories that my mother was telling her about Peevee and me.

As for me, I am feeling very weird. In the night, it seemed strange to not feel the steady, heavy breathing on the crib next to my bed. I missed the little hand, soft and warm, creeping up towards mine to hold the ring on my finger. But I welcomed the rare undisturbed sleep.

For about twenty minutes this morning, I couldn't think of what to do at all and felt uneasy and restless. Then I slapped my forehead, exclaimed, "Carpe diem!" and am relishing this time of my own.

Until tomorrow, then...

Update at 1:25 PM: So much for seizing the day. I am bored stiff, and am feeling so lazy that I don't feel like moving a limb to do all those things I had planned.

Update at 3 PM: I was so bored that I had a nap. I have stopped having naps after Puttachi was born (unless I am tired) because I think them a waste of precious time.

How ironic! When Puttachi is around, I feel like snatching a little time for myself all the time, and now that she is nice and safe and happy in mom's hands, I have all the time to do everything, but I absolutely cannot get myself to move.

I simply must stop these twitter-like updates and do something. Ta.

P.S. Aaaaargh!!

Questions, questions, and questions...

I had heard and read about the phase of questioning. Why, how, what, who, where... but I had no idea it would be this irksome.

Puttachi is full of questions and that gets unbearable at times. The chain of questions can go and on and on, and neverending.

She: What is that?
Me: Shirt
She: Whose shirt?
Me: Papa's shirt
She: Who bought it?
Me: I did.
She: From which shop?
Me: XYZ shop
She: Where is XYZ shop?
Me: Jayanagar
She: Which Jayanagar?
Me: Jayanagar where so-and-so lives.
She: Who so-and-so?

And on and on on.

Nowadays, after one question, I do the questioning and answering myself.

She: What is that?
Me: Shampoo whose shampoo Papa's shampoo which shampoo XYZ shampoo who bought it Papa bought it which shop ABC shop ....
And then she looks at me and laughs, the imp.

She likes asking questions for which she knows the answer.
She: (pointing to a picture of Obama) Who is that?
Me: Tell me yourself.
She: Obama.
This happens all the time.

Some questions have no answer.

Me: Come on, let's have lunch.
She: What lunch?
Me: Rice and huLi
She: Which huLi
Me: pumpkin huLi
She: How?
Me: Now how what?

or

She: Who had called you?
Me: Papa
She: Which Papa?

I think that she feels compelled to ask questions - she doesn't even know what she is asking sometimes.

And then she wants entire conversations repeated.

Me: Let's take off your frock.
She: I don't want to.
Me: But it's dirty. Let's wear another frock.
She: Ok.
After two seconds.
She: What did Amma say?
Me: Amma said, "Take off your frock".
She: Then what did Puttachi say?
Me: Puttachi said, "I don't want to."
She: Then what did Amma say?

And so on. I used to answer patiently in the beginning, repeating the whole conversation, but now I ask her to repeat it herself, and she does.

Oh and one more thing. She thinks I am omniscient. She doesn't understand that I might not know the answers to some things.

Check out this example.

She: *Eating a bun* Who made this?
Me: It is from the bakery.
She: But who made it?
Me: I don't know, mari.
She: Who made it?
Me: I don't know.
She: Who made it?
Me: I really don't know, Puttachi.
She: Amma, amma, tell me amma, who made it, amma?
Me: An uncle made it.
She: Which uncle?
Me: I don't know.
She: Which uncle?
Me: I don't know, dear.
She: What is his name, Amma?
Me: I have no idea, baby.
She: Amma, amma, what is the name of the uncle who made this bun?
Me: Ramesh Uncle (blurt out the first name that comes to mind.)
She: Where is he?
Me: He finished making the bun, went to his house in Malleshwaram, placed his head on his pillow and fell fast asleep.
(Triumphantly giving myself a five, thinking that that should do the trick.)
She: (After a moment) How?

You get the picture.

The journey of learning

The thing with kids growing up is that it happens so gradually that you don't realize it usually, unless you happen to see an old photo and say, "Oh hey, look at that!" It is even more difficult to notice the growth in their intelligence and reasoning and knowledge of things.
But when you have a toy or a book that has been with you throughout, you have a kind of yardstick to note how your child has grown.

Let me explain.



The two toys in the picture, for example, have been with us ever since Puttachi has been a few months old. We had kept the Channapatna stacking toy away until she stopped putting things into her mouth, but the other toy, the one with shaped blocks, she has chomped through her teething.

So first, it was only good for biting. As she grew slightly older, she liked to look at and feel the blocks, and place them one over the other. After a while, I tried to teach her the concept of dropping the blocks into the box through the shaped holes. I still remember, when I said, "Put this in the box", Puttachi had looked at me quizzically, removed the yellow lid, and dropped the block into the box. Yeah, yeah, smart alec.;)

But one day, suddenly, she realized what it was all about. She took each block, tested it against each shape and dropped it. Then came the time she would look at the block, look at each shape and then drop it correctly.

And now? Now she even mouths "This is a green triangle, this is a blue circle" and drops it in. So the whole journey from biting the blocks to naming their shapes and colours has been one big journey which I have been able to actually notice.

Similarly, the stacking toy. She now can stack it from biggest to smallest and vice versa all along telling me all the colours.

There are some books too which tell the story of the learning journey. Previously, she would just look at the pictures and gurgle, then she would point out objects if I named them. Then came the time she named the objects herself, and soon she was old enough to listen to and understand the story herself, and now she tells me the story herself.

I have said it before, but I never cease to marvel at this journey. It is a miracle.

When you're helpless...

I had spoken, if you remember, of a friend D, who went into a coma during a surgery following a rupture of her fallopian tubes due to an ectopic pregnancy. It has been five months now. She has been taken off the support systems, and all her body functions are normal. But her brain is not working. She opens her eyes and looks around, but does not recognize anybody. She is being fed from a tube.

This is what I heard when I called her husband today, and no, I do not know any more details.

They had been trying to have a baby for a long time. When I had called to tell her that I was expecting Puttachi, I had started off with a "How are you" and she poured out her troubles to me - her ill-health, surgery to remove cysts in her uterus and a miscarriage, and how she is desperate for a baby. After listening to all this, I felt it was not the time to tell her the reason for my call, but I told her anyway. She erupted with genuine joy and chastized me for not telling her earlier. "I would have kept my mouth shut and not told you my tales of woe. A pregnant woman must listen to only nice things."

The last time I spoke to her was on her birthday in November. "What is happy about my birthday, all I want is a baby", was her refrain. And just two months later, I heard about this.

In the beginning, I was distraught, calling her husband every alternate day to find out how she was. Then you know how it is, life takes over and my calls dropped in frequency - once a week, then once a fortnight.... because each time, the poor man's answer was the same. "No change in her state."

But she has been in my thoughts all the time. In the beginning, I dreamt of her all the time, and the dream was always the same. She would call me and say, "I'm alright now! I have recovered! I called you because I knew you were worried!" There was one night when the dream was so real - in my dream, she had called me at 3 am, woken me up to tell me she was alright, and then told me to go back to sleep and that she would call me in the morning. When I woke up in the morning (in reality), I actually checked the Received Calls in my mobile, hoping against hope that it wasn't a dream.

There are so many things that remind me of her every other day. Fish, for example, "Feesh! I feel like eating feesh!" She would say with her eyes sparkling. Her loud voice (You don't need a telephone, we would tell her), and her tinkling, clear, rippling laughter keep coming back to me.

One part of me wants to catch the next flight to Mumbai and see her and hug her, another part, the selfish part is thankful that she is far away in Mumbai - because I don't think I would be able to see her in that state.

I wish there was something I could do, instead of sitting around twiddling my thumbs, feeling sorry for her and her husband and for myself.

Can Jeans Cry?

Every time I decide that I simply must do a non-Puttachi post next, it just happens that some new gem drops out of Puttachi's mouth, compelling me to share it with you.

So Puttachi and I were having a conversation about who can cry and who cannot. I will not waste my breath explaining how we landed up with this topic. Conversations with toddlers can take the weirdest paths. Anyway, Puttachi was asking questions like "Can Puttachi cry? Can Amma cry? Can Papa cry?" and so on, and I was supposed to answer yes or no. Soon, she ran out of people, and her attention turned to things. The first thing she spotted was a pair of jeans.

Puttachi: (pointing to the jeans) Can this cry?
Me: What, jeans? No, jeans cannot cry.
Puttachi: Why can't jeans cry?

I paused for a moment, wondering in what words to explain the concepts of life and emotions to a two-year-old. But Puttachi solved my problem.

Puttachi: I know why jeans can't cry.
Me: Why?
Puttachi: Because it doesn't have a face!

Get this!

Here are a few pieces of conversations.

X and Y have just finished breakfast and there are crumbs on the floor. X looks around, and sees that the room is dirty.

X: Y, please sweep the room.
Y: I will, X, just after I finish reading the newspaper.
X: No, clean it first, and then read the newspaper.
Y: No, I won't. Please don't bother me.
X: Now! Do it now!
Y: Don't force me! It's my life! (But gets up anyway to sweep the room.)

****

Y comes out dressed in a salwar-kurta.

X: Where is the dupatta?
Y: This dress doesn't have a dupatta.
X: Wear a dupatta.
Y: No, I won't. This dress doesn't need a dupatta, see?
X: Wear a dupatta! Wear a dupatta! Wear it!!!

****

Y goes out of the room without switching off the light.

X: Ohhooo, you haven't switched off the light, Y!

****

Y gets up to go out of the room, and leaves the cushion crooked.

X: Again you left your cushion crooked. It's alright. I will set it right for you.

****

Ok. Now get this. X is Puttachi, and I am Y. Honest.

I have my very own Moral Police and Mother Hen - rolled into one small, authoritative human.

The First Sketch?

Puttachi called out to me to show me what she had drawn, and said, "Nodu Amma, Chandamama!" [Look, Amma, Moon Uncle!]

And for the first time, what she had drawn did look like what she said she had drawn ;)

Now what I am not sure of is - whether she did intend to draw a moon and succeeded, or whether she just did a squiggle and realized that it looked like the moon. I tried to get her to draw it again, but she was not interested. She had moved on to other important matters.

Two

This comes two days too late. Puttachi turned two on Saturday.

My sweet Puttachi,

Happy Birthday to you!

Even as I wistfully bid goodbye to the last traces of the baby in you, I welcome with open arms the little girl that you now are, bright, bubbly, energetic, enthusiastic, full of life, itching to share her joys with us.

On one hand, I wait everyday to be pleasantly surprised by the things you say, and on the other hand, I wish I could tape your little mouth shut so that I can have a moment of peace.

On one hand, I watch with amazement at your levels of energy, and on the other hand, I wish some of that energy would rub off on me, enough to tie your hands and legs up.

On one hand, I wake up every morning and miss your antics until you wake up, and on the other hand, I can't wait for you to go to bed at night so that I can catch a few quiet moments.

You are fascinating. You are exasperating.

You amaze me. You exhaust me.

I love the way you do everything with abandonment. Laugh. Dance. Love. Live.

Puttachi, my wish for you on this birthday is that you live the rest of your life with the same kind of joy and fullness with which you have lived these two years.

Puttachi, Thank you for you.

I love you.

Amma.

Evening Snacks in Mumbai

When I was working in Mumbai, I lived as a PG. PG Aunty gave us breakfast and dinner, and packed lunch for us to take to office. That accounted for three square meals a day.

But what about hungry evenings? I always get hungry in the evenings. Even now. Mumbai was no different.

If I spent the evening working in office, I would either order a sandwich from the coffee guy in the pantry, made to exact specifications (only one layer of butter, no onion, no toasting - only roasting, etc.), or if I had the time, I would go out to one of the two canteens in the SEZ in which my office was, and have a high-calorie snack. My favourite was the Sabudana Vada, which only used to be available on the usual fasting days of the typical Maharashtrian.

But when I left office early, I would come back to a near empty PG. Sometimes I would buy a packet of Maggi, cook it up and have it with tea. Or sometimes I would buy a 100 g pack of Amul Shrikhand and eat it all up at one go, unabashedly scooping it up with my hands and licking my fingers.

But most often, I had Dabeli. There was this little stall outside this awesome shop that sold the most head-whirringly fascinating foodstuff, called - Parry's (??) near where I lived. I would get down from the office bus, walk straight to the Dabeli man, and order a Dabeli. It was a small snack - peanuts and pomegranate seeds and masala sandwiched between two half-pieces of pav. It was just the right size - enough to quieten my hunger pangs, but not large enough to fill my stomach so much that I couldn't eat PG aunty's usually delicious dinner. I had Dabeli nearly every evening. I have never eaten Dabeli ever since I left Mumbai, though I have heard of it being sold around here. I once decided to make it myself, and even got Dabeli masala from my aunt in Pune, but I never got around to it.

I have a suspicion that I don't want to eat it again for fear that it will not reach the high standard that my brain remembers. But everytime I hear about Dabelis, my salivary glands start working overtime, I remember the smell, taste and look of the Dabeli, and the simple pleasure of my biting into the delicious snack, standing outside the shop overlooking the Gurudwara.

If my hunger was too large to be fed by a small Dabeli, I would have a Frankie further down the road. But Frankies dug too deep a hole in my pocket without giving me the requisite satisfaction in my stomach or my mind - so this was rare.

But what did provide immense Shanti to both stomach and mind was the peerless Lassi that was available in the Punjabi dairy shops on the same road. This Lassi came in a tall glass, and was thick, sweet and rich. The lassi man usually asked for your permission before he topped the lassi with a dollop of Malai. Thick cream. So thick that you could cut it with a knife. And so delicious that tears of joy would sting my eyes.

And this glass of heaven was available for just 12 rupees - or was it 15? Just one glass and it quenched my thirst, satisfied my hunger and energized me immediately. If you caught me at that point and asked me for anything, I would do it for you without hesitation.

Some things, I tell you - they make life more beautiful than it already is.