Day 20 - Twenty years ago

Do you also get all those gleeful Facebook posts that almost seem to be chuckling evilly when they say "These songs turn 20 this year"? I see them all the time on my timeline and I listen to/watch the video and all I can think of is "But that movie came out, like, just 4-5 years ago! How can it be 20 years? I remember this song and I wasn't even born 20 years ago!"

Well, the truth is that I was already an adult 20 years ago.

Besides, what makes these 20-year-old-songs more unbearable is that 20 years back is when I joined engineering college. So most of these songs are inextricably linked to memories of my college life (which, as you can by now guess, happened just 4-5 years ago ;))

For example, the songs from the movie Gupt remind me that I wasn't able to watch Gupt due to the king-size ego of a new computer science teacher.

It was a Saturday and our classmates had made plans to take the college bus right up to Cauvery theatre in Sadashivanagar to watch the afternoon show of Gupt. As we finished class, and were packing up, someone told me that this lecturer (whose name I can't recall) wanted to see me immediately. I couldn't think why, but rushed to his room. He was one of those new recruits, fresh out of college, in a lecturer's job before he had the confidence for it.

As soon as I went in, he started lambasting me about my arrogance in computer science lab. I had no idea what he was talking about, and kept asking him repeatedly what it was. He said something garbled, and what I could understand from his words was that during lab, I had asked the lab assistant a query, and had not asked him, the lecturer. How could I ask the assistant for help when a lecturer was present? Did I think he didn't know anything? I tried to tell him that not only did I not have a query, and hadn't asked anybody anything, but that he wasn't even the assigned teacher for my lab class (he just took regular theory classes for us). But he went on and on, and I could feel the seconds ticking away.

He demanded that I apologize, and I refused on the grounds that I hadn't done anything. "I won't let you go until you apologize!" he said. But I didn't, though I knew that the college buses would be leaving any moment now. He cursed me for my arrogance again, but he didn't dare follow up on his threat to not let me go, because his own staff bus would leave 5 minutes after the students' buses left. So he left, still saying, "You're going to regret this."

I ran to the bus stop, but the buses had already left. And taking a city bus would mean changing three buses and no way would I get to the movie on time. So I just took another bus (the staff bus) and went home.

That afternoon, I got a call from a girl called Shruthi from another class. I don't know how she had found out what happened, and I don't know how she got my number, but she called to tell me that it was her this man was after, and he had got the wrong Shruthi to go to the staff room. She apologized profusely, but well, it wasn't her fault!

The next Monday, it seemed like everybody had gotten to know about it (by the way, I still don't know why it was such a big deal for it to buzz around the classroom at such speed.) And when this man came into our classroom to take his regular class, he looked around, spotted me, came close to me, not meeting my stare, and mumbled an apology.

I said, "Sir, I won't let you go until you apologize loud enough for the whole class to hear."

And guess what, he did! :D

I've heard that Gupt is not worth watching, and I haven't watched it since, but I'll never forget it as the movie I couldn't go out to watch with my friends, because of a silly man's ego.

And see? I remember such tiny details of this incident. It can't have happened 20 years ago.

Day 12 - We, the Judgmental

For centuries, we've stood at our doorsteps and passed judgment on the goings-on in our streets. Now the whole world is our street, and there is no dearth of subjects for us to pass judgment upon.

Take for instance, the BBC dad video that everybody is talking about. I am pretty sure you would have watched it already, but here it is anyway.



Every bit of this short video is hilarious. The seriousness of the topic. The carefree toddler skipping into the room. The clueless child rolling in. The supermom sliding in. Even if you tried and planned, you couldn't make such a funny video. Truth is definitely stranger (and funnier) than fiction.

Although the video was largely received with laughter and delight (and commiseration for work-from-home-problems) judgment is being passed on the family. That the dad ignored the child, that the mom looked terrified, that the children were mishandled, that this is patriarchy at work, and what have you. [It is also worth noting that many assumed she was the nanny, and not the mom. Care to analyse why?]

Seriously, all of us, sitting at our desks on the other side of the world, what can we possibly glean from this tiny slice of life? How can we possibly know the workings of their family? Even if we did know, why do we think we have the right to pass judgment on them?

I think that we comment and judge other people so as to feel better about our own selves. We are all after all, struggling with our own lives and decisions and the rights and wrongs, and self-doubt, and any bit of looking down upon others probably make us feel temporarily superior and righteous.

This video is one of the funniest things that have come along in a while, and I for one am going to watch it till I squeeze out every bit of laughter from it.

A visit to the beauty parlour

Left to myself, I am not much of a beauty parlour person, going only for the necessary haircuts. I indulge in their other services only when:

1) There is a major event in the family, and going to the parlour before that is the done thing.
2) When I have too much time to spare - I don't remember the last time when this was the case.
3) When I have too much money to spare - This was just when I started earning.

A visit to a parlour is hardly something to look forward to. You need guts, nerves of steel, and you have to leave your sense of pain at home.

Facial: The best way that parlours get to fleece you. They offer you a range of facials with fancy names containing the keywords "Shehnaz, Herbal, Fruit, Pearl, Gold, Bridal" and so on - the more exotic the name, the more ludicrous the price.

S~ and I have various arguments on facials, and cosmetics in general. Sample this.
Me: I am going to get a facial done today along with my haircut.
S~: Hmph. Chemicals on your face. It will burn your skin. Sodium monoethyl Krypto laureate, ethanococcal stearate... (rattles off some more alarming-sounding names). Not good, avoid it.
Me: Easy for you to say... blessed with flawless skin...
S~: Eat healthy, drink lots of water, keep your face clean and exercise a bit each day, and then you will see who has the flawless skin.
Me: I hope Puttachi has inherited your skin.
S~: @#$%&

Never ending argument. Well, I get a facial done like, once a year, so my argument is that it will hardly affect me.

Anyway, this is what a facial entails:
1) A variety of sweet-smelling lotions are applied successively on your face, and expert hands massage and knead your face like dough. Sometimes the massage includes the neck and the back - and the whole thing is really soothing.
2) Your face is thrust into a steam-pot, where seemingly superheated steam burns your skin down - I think that what a facial does is just rips off your outer skin, so that the young inner layer shows through. Ouch.
3) Blackheads are removed by poking a needle into your skin repeatedly. This terrifies me. God knows whether they sterilize those needles. I always ask to skip this part.
4) A vibrating massager is run around your face which makes it seem like a roadroller is dancing the tango on your face.
5) A soothing, cool face pack is applied on to your face, your eyes covered with cotton, and you are left to lie down and dream, or think up this blog post. This is the part where you start shivering with cold, and you remember that your aunt visited a certain parlour just because teh beautician thought to cover you with a blanket when she left you lying with a face pack.
6) The pack is wiped off, and ice is rubbed over your face.
7) Some more stuff is applied on to your face, and you are released.

Waxing: The idea must have been picked up from a medieval torture technique. What else do you call pouring burning wax over your skin and ripping off the hair from the roots? The less said about it, the better.

Pedicure: My personal favourite. You get to soak your feet in hot water, and then the beautician cleans your feet, gives them a nice foot rub, and then you get to put your feet in a nice foot massage vibrating thingy, and at the end of it all, your feet actually come out looking soft and beautiful. After every pedicure, for a few days I behave like someone told me "Aapke pair bahut khubsurat hai, inhe zameen pe mat utaariyega." (Your feet are beautiful, don't place them on the ground - a classic dialogue from the movie Pakeezah)

There are other minor thingies like shaping your eyebrows, and other major things like bleaching and hair colouring and such areas where I have never ventured into.

Anyway, after a couple of hours at the parlour, and after coughing up an insane amount of money, I go home, hoping to elicit some compliments from S~. I ring the doorbell.

He opens the door, takes a look at me, and asks, "What happened? Was the parlour closed?"

A visit to the Doc.

So it was time for another round of shots for Puttachi, and I called the doctor to fix an appointment. The receptionist said she would call me back. A couple of hours later, she called, and I answered. But there was some confusion at her end, with probably another call coming in at just that moment, and my call was left unattended for a while. But I didn't know all this yet. This was what happened from my point of view.

Phone Rings
Me: Hello?
A faint female voice: .....Dr.X's clinic.
Me: Yes?
She: What did you say the problem was?
Me: Problem? No problem. My daughter is due for some shots, that's all.
She: Oh, does she have any loose motions?
Me: What? Loose motions? No, no, nothing is wrong with her - she just needs to be vaccinated.
She: Oh, how long has she had fever?
Me: Fever? Are you not able to hear me? NO FEVER! VACCINATION! INOCULATION! MMR! VARICELLA!!
She: Have you given her anything for the fever?
Me: Ohhhh.... look, I'll call you back, okay?
She: I'll call you back. Please give me your number.
Me: But you just called me.... oh well, my number is so-and-so.
She: Ok, thank you, ma'am.
Just as I was about to hang up, the line crackled, and the same voice spoke in my ear, loud and clear.
She: Hello?
Me: Hello?
She: Sorry to keep you waiting, ma'am. Are you Puttachi's mother?
Enlightenment dawns on me, at last.
Me: Ahh!.. Heh heh.. (sheepish).. yes, yes..
She: Can you come at 5 30 today ma'am?
Me: Heh heh... heh heh.... heh heh... oh, yes, yes.
She: Thank you ma'am.
Me: Heh heh...
I collapse on the floor, laughing helplessly, delighting Puttachi who promptly collapses on top of me.

Next scene: Evening. We are on the way to the clinic. Puttachi, despite being so friendly and cheerful with everybody all the time, is known to scream horrendously at the very sight of the doctor. So I am trying to prepare her.
Me: Puttachi, we are going to the doctor!
Puttachi catches sight of a dog.
Puttachi: Bow bow!
Me: Ah yes, bow bow, nice black dog. Now listen, we are going to the doc..
Puttachi: Bow bow bow bow!
Me: Yes yes bow bow... the doc is a very nice man..
Puttachi: Bow bow bow bow...
Me: He will examine you..... like this.. like this....
Puttachi: Bow bow!!
Me: Ok, ok, bow bow, bow bow tata... now listen.. he will give you two tiny shots...
Puttachi: Auto! Car! Light!
Me: Here, on your thigh... like this... tiny shots....
Puttachi: (Starts singing and dancing) 'Appy know! ("If you're happy and you know it")
Sigh. So much for trying to prepare her!

When we arrived at the clinic, she was her usual cheerful self, smiling at everybody, playing on the slide in the waiting room, looking at the fish, playing with the wind chimes, calling kids twice her size "paapa" (baby). Then we entered the ante-room where the doc's assistant spoke to her and took some notes. We then told her..
Me: Puttachi, we will go inside to see the doc now.
S~: Will you smile and say "Hi" to him?
Puttachi, already fidgety and uneasy, waves and says a small "Hi".
Me: Not to us, to the doc!
Just then, we are asked to enter. Puttachi walks in with a smile, and a wave, and a cheery "Hi!"
Doc: Ah, what a pleasure to see Puttachi smiling for a change!
But Puttachi is already clinging to my clothes.
Her length and weight are measured, and she starts her bawling. I pick her up, comfort her, showing her the toys in the room, while the doctor surreptitiously examines her. Meanwhile the assistant prepares the shots. Her bawling continues unabated.
"Aache! Aache!" (Outside), she says, pointing to the door.
Me: Yes, yes, just after two tiny shots....
The shots are ready, and are administered to her. But she is already bawling so much, that I don't think she even feels the pain.
I pick her up again, hold her close, rub her back, and carry her out of the doc's chamber into the waiting room - she points to the door, saying "Aache". I take her out into the compound, she points to the gate saying "Aache"... I take her out of the gate into the road, where, fortunately, a blessed dog saunters by, resulting in a complete mood change.

And that's the story of the visit to the doc.

Shruthi's Law of Parenting

Just when you think that parenting cannot possibly get any harder, it does.

The flip side!

I see that many of you are getting influenced by my baby posts, and you want to have babies too. Ok. But a warning. Not everything is roses in baby-world. It is just that I choose to write only about the positives. BUT. Since I realize that you innocent beings are getting influenced by this hunky-dory picture, I thought it was time to present the right picture before you. So here goes.

How is it, to have a baby? What does it entail? Here is a picture - of the first six months at least.

• Being available 24/7. No breaks. No slacking.
• Baby becomes primary, the centre of the universe. Everything and everybody revolves around it.
• Sleep? What's that?
• Having a bath in 5 minutes, with one ear on the door for the sound of the wail.
• Excellent control on bladder and bowels.
• There is no time that you don't think of baby. Even if you are away. If I leave the baby and go away for a while - to the parlour, to the shop around the corner, to the doc, to the neighbour's house or even on a small walk, I call every five minutes. "What is she doing?"
• When husband calls from office and asks, "What's my sweetheart up to?", he doesn't mean you.
• All that you seem to talk about with husband is about the baby. So, you decide, let's set aside an hour where we'll talk about something else. The hour starts now. And baby wails from the next room. Sigh.
• TV? Theatre? Movies? Concerts? What's that?
• Days seem to be a continuous haze of feeds and nappy changes.
• Endless hours of walking the baby to put her to sleep.
• Innumerable attempts at transfering baby from arms to crib without waking her up.
• And then kiss her and wake her up. Sigh.
• Excruciating back-aches from carrying the baby around.
• Before the baby, when you had to go out, all you had to do was - pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, run a comb through your hair, and you are set. Now. Try to pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Find that they don't fit any more. Don trousers and a loose kurti instead. Dress the baby. Diaper. Frock. Light jacket. Booties. Check baby for signs of hunger. If hungry, feed. If not, proceed to packing the baby's bag. Diapers, wipes, cotton, water, extra set of clothes, mat, napkins to wipe drool, plastic bags to put soiled diaper in. Extra diapers. Extra pieces of cloth (just in case). Sweater (what if it becomes cold?). Wrap. Extra wrap. Check, recheck, re-re-check. All set, get ready to go. Open the door. Baby soils diaper/shows signs of hunger. Back to changing/feeding. Repeat process until successful. Unless it is too late to go.
• Make an attempt to look good, then go out with your baby - everybody looks only at baby. Nobody even glances at you. You could have as well gone in pyjamas.
• Visit someone's house with baby. You ring the bell, husband is trailing, carrying baby. Door is opened, and the host says, "Hi.. what.. where is the baby?" Looks beyond me, sees the bundle in husband's arms, then says, "Oh ok, come on in, then".
• Grin and bear all the advice and comments on how you look after baby. Nothing you do can be right. Case in point - pick up a crying baby, and you are spoiling it. Don't pick up a crying baby, and you are heartless. It is a lose-lose situation.
• Make major changes in career, family life, relationships, friendships.

I can't remember the other points I had made in my head - coz I am sleepy and tired after a long day - and this is the only time I get online... there you go.. one more point!

So, here you have it. This is what it means to have a baby. Lots of work. No rest. Ok? Now, all of you who have been influenced by my rosy baby posts - you can stop reading now.

For the others - All these hardships are real, yes, and yet, at the end of it, you look at the innocent, trusting, delightful creature in front of you, and all that you can say is, "It's all worth it."

Horsing Around

One Sunday morning, many many years ago, my father drew my attention to that section of the paper which reported news of the Bangalore Derby. He pointed out to me the names of the racing horses and said that I might enjoy them. I went through one column, and he was right, I was immediately hooked.

The names were delightful, a treat to my crazy imagination. No boring Chetaks and Ranjhas for you. The names ranged from pretty(Morning Dew, Soft Sunshine) to macho(Fierce Warrior, Daredevil) to exotic(Bravissimo, Chiquitita) to optimistic (Speed of Light, Assured Victory) to plain nonsensical (Daring Daschund, Adorable Aristotle).

I would pick a random favourite and follow its fortunes every morning, reporting delightedly to my father, "Papa, Crowning Glory won again!" or "Oh no, Ginger Garlic lost this time". My mother must have started suspecting that the father-daughter duo was placing bets on races behind her back.

Anyway, like all fads, this one passed too, until yesterday, when I chanced upon the results of the Kingfisher Bangalore Derby. Along with the results of the races, were the mugshots of all the winning horses.

Now, pardon my ignorance, but all horses look the same to me. It looked like they had taken a picture of one horse and printed it twelve times. On taking a closer look, I saw that they were slightly different shades of brown, much like the browns section of an Asian Paints colours catalogue.

I was thinking of the plight of the reporter and the photographer, if they are as ignorant about horses as I am. The photographer takes a pic, and the reporter laboriously writes down the name of the horse. And what if they mess up and put a different name on the pic of the horse? I can well imagine the irate owner ringing up the office and shouting at them, demanding a correction. What will the resulting apology look like?

"In yesterday's edition, we inadvertently mixed up the names of two horses. The one that is the colour of a roasted coffee bean is Sultry Seductress, and the one that is the colour of a lightly roasted coffee bean is Brave Bheem. The error is regretted. - Elegant Editor... err.. I mean, Editor."

This year's winner is Bourbon King. The name is not at all imaginative, as horses' names go. I was disappointed, but then, I saw that Quintessential Queen, Jumping Jackass, Shimmering Shennanigan and Rusty Rhombus weren't far behind, so I was satisfied. What about Assured Victory? He, I assure you, will gain a victory in the next derby.