ALL GROWED UP

A very strange thought crossed my mind the other day,' when does one actually grow up'?

Recently, my ten year old had to be dropped at the railway station for a class trip. I taxied it with her in the wee hours of the morning and upon reaching found a few children had already reached with their entire families -- mummy, daddy, brother, sister, et al. The more the merrier.

She met a few of her friends and moved up to say hello while she kept me at the corner of her eye.
As the group slowly assembled the train finally entered the station, we waited for the harassed teacher's signal to move, but finally decided we had to do the honours.

After bags were stowed and the seats identified, one teacher suddenly finding her voice bellowed,"parents please get off the train".

Since there was more than half an hour left for departure I decided to hang around the platform 'just in case'. The windows were tinted black so we couldn't see through the glass. I had counted the rows so I had an idea as to which window my child was sitting beside.
What happened the next half hour was a sight to watch, parents cupping their faces and peering through the glass making strange faces at their little ones, oblivious to the rest of the world, taking turns with other family members. It was like a ritual and a done thing. I took my turn too, but it suddenly struck me that our little 'grown ups' going on the solo trip(minus family) may be embarrassed with our emotional demonstrations.

Every child goes through this embarrassing phase in life, but when is it time to let go? and who decides it's the right time?Do we wait for 'THAT' one fine day when your child tells you how embarrassing you are? but the most important thought that crossed my mind was when did we parents become so carefree and child like again.

AMUSING GRACE

My little girl always amuses me. Maybe all little girls amuse their mothers or rather maybe all mothers are amused by their little girls.

When she was a tiny tot, her school used to provide her lunch, so every day I used to ask her what she ate in class. Not knowing the names of the various dishes she used to describe them to me. Today we had a green coloured soup and some pieces of bread with some butter on it...today we had rice with a yellow coloured soup with a ball floating in it. Of course I had an Idea about the menu but I just loved to listen to her fantastic descriptions. The cutest one she came up with was: today we ate rice with this dal (lentil) which had lips like these and she puckered her lips.

Then she reached that stage when she wanted to know everything. So from morning to evening, it was quiz time. I always gave her an answer to all her questions, no matter what. One day she led the neighbours daughter (who is older than her) to me and said, "Amma (mom) she has a problem, can you help her, she cannot find some answers for her homework, and I've told her my mother knows everything."

Then there was this other time when she was having a conversation with a close friend of mine and she proudly announced: "My mother is a very good cooker." That was long ago, but my friend never let me forget that. Till date she calls me 'cooker'.

Just the other day she was lying beside me while I read a book, she fingered my face and said Amma, there is this strange design on your face. What does it look like honey, I asked? She said, "It looks like cream that forms on top of my glass of milk before I drink it." I smiled and told her that these designs were called wrinkles and they were for keeps.

LAUGHING POINT

My father loves a good laugh.


He does not like us to beat around the bush when we want to ask him for anything. A good one liner and a good laugh thats it.


One holiday when we came home for our summer break we found that dad had painted one wing of our house in bright yellow. Not having the heart to tell him how garish it was looking, I said, "Thanks dad, now we don't have to keep standing on our seats in the bus to spot our house when we come home as it is already staring at us." He laughed, and by the next holiday break it was no more yellow.

Another time he wanted to build a third flight of stairs on one of our wooden structures which my other siblings did not like, the moment he broached the topic with me, I said, "Good, henceforth you will also be called lord of the staircases." He laughed and dumped the idea.

In the earlier days bathrooms were never attached to or near the living quarters. Much to the frustration of the younger generation dad thought we should stick to this practice. After much deliberation I told dad that the younger generation spends most of its waking hours in the bathroom unlike his generation. He got his laugh, and we got our attached bathroom.

LITTLE MAMA PIGEON

A pigeon made a nest on the shelf of my wash area. Anticipating the mess it would make, I decided I should clean up the place as soon as I found some spare time.

The next time I got on to a stool to survey the mess, I saw a lone egg sitting pretty. Since I could not relocate the egg, I decided to wait it out.

After days of peeping into the nest, one fine day I saw that it had finally hatched. The baby pigeon grew rapidly, right before my eyes.

When I consulted my mother about it, she told me that pigeons lay eggs every fifteen days. So I decided it was time to clean up the mess. I moved the little bird aside as it was still too young to fly, cleared up the area, put a fresh newspaper on the shelf and put the baby back.

The next morning I got on to the stool and what do I see? Two more eggs staring at me and the baby pigeon sitting on them.

Thoroughly confused I once again called up my mother and she explained these may be eggs laid by another pigeon. However, she couldn't explain why the little one was sitting on them.

Fascinated by the sight, I kept a close watch on every movement around the shelf at different parts of the day.

I saw the mother come and feed the little one, while it sat on the eggs. I decided it had to be a female bird to have these motherly instincts at such a tender age. I even saw two pigeons sitting around the little one at night. Must be her parents.

The little pigeon hardly ever moved away from the eggs. The moment there was any movement near the shelf it immediately back up into the corner and sat on the eggs. A sweet sight to watch, she behaved like a possessive mother for two whole weeks.

A few days later, I heard a lot of loud flapping noises... so I ran to the shelf and saw the little pigeon being held in a tussle by another pigeon who finally managed to push her off the shelf.

Since the little pigeon could not fly I hoisted it on to the shelf and helped her regain her seat of honour. I do not know whether I did the right thing, but my loyalties were to her, and her's to the eggs. After all, she was the surrogate mother who had guarded and sat so patiently on the eggs.

The next day there was another fight and again I helped her. The third time I found her off the shelf, I decided to help her fly as I didn't want blood on my hands.

Within ten minutes she was back. There was a major tussle of wings and this time I found a third pigeon had also joined the fray. The three of them pushed each other in turns while holding on to the the shelf at the same time. I do not know who won the bout, but sadly the unhatched eggs sure lost it.

The prized eggs were finally abandoned. Since they hadn't hatched all these days, the birds must have realised the futility of their fight for its ownership!

MILES TO GO

'Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening' has been my favourite poem since my school days, but I always recollected it as 'Passing by the Woods on a Snowy Evening'.

Every day is a new learning experience -- new words, new ideas, new ways, meeting new faces, NEWS.

This life is a non-stop cycle of the old giving way to the new. LIFE goes on.

'The woods are lovely dark and deep, but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go..."

TOY SOLDIERS

This Holi - the festival of colours that we celebrate in India - was as eye-catching as ever.

But sadly, many children took ill and were hospitalised, and some youngsters even damaged their eyesight due to spurious colours.

However, nothing could dampen the spirits of the young 'uns' in our housing society. They started drenching each other days ahead, practising their aim for the real show.

Early Holi morning saw these beautiful angels tip-toeing out of their flats all resplendent in white, yet armed to the teeth with everything under the sun.

You had to see it to believe me. Strangely this Holi celebration was like watching a mini battle unfolding through the morning hours.

The most popular feature this year was that almost every kid had a water gun attached to a plastic tank, strapped on like backpacks.

These toy soldiers went on a spraying rampage, attacking everything and everyone in sight.

Water balloons were lobbed from rooftops like grenades, faces were smeared with colours and everyone was drenched beyond recognition.

After hours of fun and hardwork they retreated. Tired, they hung up their arsenal for until next year and checked in for a GOOD scrub.
Perhaps the only festival where kids prepare on a war-footing to win the battle of colours! Holi Hai!

RESULT DAY

"I am waiting for my results"
"All the best" would have been the normal reaction one would expect.
I was pleasantly surprised by the various other queries that came my way.
"Are you alright?"As in are you loco,what results can you be expecting at this age? Cannot be any others beside medical ones.
A frantic "call me"from my sister confirmed my worst worries.
"Hope it's positive" was the most optimistic message I got which got me wondering.
After a whole month of slogging through my childs syllabus, result day is finally here once again. It's a vicious cycle. I am not complaining and I would be lying If I said no one wished me luck.
My child JUST did.

CHILDHOOD GAMES

As I sit in the verandah and watch children play in the evenings, peals of carefree laughter fill my ears, bringing back nostalgic memories of my childhood.

Watching children play games which do not ring a bell, I wonder....whatever happened to.....

Whatever happened to the marbles? Where are they? They were priceless possessions when I was a kid, do kids still play them? Do most kids now know what marbles are, have they ever seen one? Got to check the museum.

Children of the present generation I've noticed are different, even a toddler looks for a switch the moment you put a new toy in its hands.

Way back in college my roommate and I had once had this late night conversation about our childhood, how we used to play these strange games, singing nonsensical rhymes without any meaning...ignorance was indeed bliss.

"Oren jus n laymun so fora byalis allas gullas ah so maney, the grasis green and rozy ray, rember me till I am day, day, day" (orange juice and lemon sold for a penny, all the school girls are so many; the grass is green and the roses red, remember me till I am dead, dead, dead.) This was the most popular game, I must have played it at least a thousand times.

My roommate had an even better one, she comes from a very cold place in Sikkim, close to the China border. They did not have any shops or toys, yet they were happy just making strange buzzing sounds and tugging along a dead bulls horn tied to a string, from dawn to dusk, and again the next day, from dawn to dusk.

My husband's favourite pastime was riding on a buffalo's back and feeling like the king of all he surveyed. Unlucky me, I missed that pleasure. Gone are the innocent, carefree days.

Once I tried to teach my niece how to play 'Jackstones' (a game which is played with five pebbles, tossing up one and exchanging with another and so on...) It took me the whole afternoon but she could not get it right. Well, when there are so many new gizmos in the market which child would even want to try this inexpensive method of mastering hand-eye coordination.

Then again, I look back and realise, to each his own, times have changed and change is always for the better. OR IS IT? Give me back my childhood and I will live it just the way it was.

R.I.P. 'BLUE LOAF'

Blue is one of my favourite colours. It was't back then.
As kids, we (my siblings, cousins and schoolmates from back home) have these memories that time can never erase.

My earliest memory is of the blue state road transport bus that used to rumble down the dusty roads of Mangan, my home town, once a day. We were in awe of this huge vehicle, coming as we did from a place where there was hardly any traffic then. We used to often hang around the bus stop below my uncle's house and hail the arrival of the Mangan bus from capital Gangtok. "City bus aiyo, city bus aiyo" (The city bus has come, the city bus has come) we used to sing.

Then things changed, we grew up and had to leave our safe haven to get some education in far away Gangtok, which took five hours to reach in those days.

Our first lesson was the longest and the toughest. How to board, find a seat and survive the journey in "the city bus", our childhood fascination. Blue in colour and shaped like a fat loaf of bread.

We invariably managed to land up sitting close to the driver's seat, next to the engine, and it can really get pretty hot and stuffy out there.

We took turns sitting beside the window, except for one junior family member who refused to budge once she got her turn.

We had to travel in our school uniform, making it doubly uncomfortable. As aptly put by a fellow passenger, we looked like "statues made out of the same clay".

Strangely enough, everyone else in the bus seemed to be in high spirits, especially my dad who always landed up sitting on someone else's bag of rice, basket, box, etc. due to shortage of seats. But he never complained.

Several times during the journey we had to disembark as the hill road was too steep at places and the "Blue Loaf" over-loaded. We were the first ones out as dad wouldn't take a chance, even though the driver insisted the kids could stay inside. The fresh air was a short yet sweet break.

Holidays were welcome but the journey was always a torture. My sister's head used to start reeling at the thought of the impending travel and she used to even start throwing up on the eve of the journey.

As we grew up the traffic slowly increased and other modes of travel became available.

The "Blue Loaf" was eventually decommissioned, but it remained embedded in our collective memories.

Now, thirty years later, when I look back on my childhood, I realise that I was never grateful to the only means of transport that enabled me to move on from quaint little Mangan into the big wide world.
Thank you "Blue Loaf". R.I.P.

SUNDAY IS LONGER THAN MONDAY?

Whosoever said Sunday is longer than Monday meant it as a joke.

The wait for Sunday is definitely long. You long for Sunday from Monday onwards for six whole days. But besides that there is nothing so long about Sunday.

You wake up late on Sunday as its the weekend, a holiday for most people, by the time you eat breakfast or skip it its already time for lunch. After lunch you try to pack in as much as you can. Pending work pertaining to family, pet, phone calls, visits, you barely manage to do even one of the chores in your 'things to do list', when its time for dinner and of course an early night as Monday is a working day.

Monday is another day, where you rush, rush, rush. You get up really early, earlier than the other days of the week because you are extra cautious as it is the first day of the week and you always want to make a good start to the week, you also have to drive to work, catch a bus, tram, metro, auto, taxi, rickshaw or maybe walk to office. Once you you are there you have to catch up with the weekends developments, could be anything to do with office backlog, staff, gossip and current affairs. And then finally you get down to work. You also land up staying longer hours planning for the whole week ahead.

Other days of the week are mundane for most, definitely does not pass off as fast as Sunday as they are working days for most people, but there are always exceptions to the rule. budding office romance et al.

If someone said Wednesday is the longest day of the week, perhaps I would agree, as Wednesday falls in the middle of the week, and Wednesday's spelling is the longest. But all said and done, Sunday is definitely not longer than Monday. However Monday, surely seems much much much more longer than Sunday.

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Little Worries

Every time my little girl tells me she has an activity in school there is pandemonium in my household.

The last time it happened was a week ago when she told me she had to make some salad in school and she needed to take the paraphernalia.

I racked my brains and could not come up with anything more original and easier than the 'good ole fruit salad'.

After all the ingredients were in place, started the usual parental worries, my child has never used a knife, how could I send a knife to school, how will she manage it all by herself. etc.

I took out my little chopping board, decided her plastic 'birthday cake' knife will have to do and started a demonstration on how to cut the fruits.

She in turn also practised under my supervision and finally I packed her an extra bag with chopping board, plastic knife, washed fruits, a big bowl for mixing the ingredients, salt/pepper, fruit cream and disposable plates and spoons for serving and finally retired to bed.

The next morning I got up early and checked through the contents of her bag just in case I had missed something.

In the afternoon I waited anxiously for her school bus to arrive and excitedly asked her how it all went.

She said it went off okay, except that she was the last one finish her salad preparation.

She said that while some had cut the fruits/vegetables at home itself, others had come prepared with the entire dish and only had to serve it in the classroom. They just stuck the extra spoons into the bowl and offered it.

Amazing! How very innovative! And I never even knew this option was there. If there is any one who needs to be educated, I think it's me. Hello school! Here I come.

NET PALS

Facebook -- a site where you get booked by your mugshot.

Where your past catches up with you or you catch up with your past.

Where you remind people of things that they fogot or wanted to forget.

Where you are reminded of things you wanted to forget or thought you had forgotten.

Where you shamelessly pass comments on every photograph uploaded, which you otherwise would refrain from doing.

Where every photograph you upload is commented to shreads.

Where you poke, nudge and %$#*&;

invite friends to games and then force win.

Displaying your winning stats against your pals.

Where you remember friends you near forgot.

Where they in turn also recollect.

Where you are shocked to see the change in some.

Where they in turn are horrified.

But at the end of the day its an awful lot of fun.

Doing things we never would have done.

AIR HOISTED

I am an air hostess who has just lost my job due to my excess weight.
I went to the market the other day to buy some hoisery.
The shopkeepers assistant was a young and over enthusiastic lad.[I guess everyone must have come across one sometime]
As I took my pick of the various items my eye fell on a colourful box and I asked him to show me the contents.
The boy was reluctant and said it contained stockings which were meant for the 'air hoisted' and further went on to explain that the 'airhoisted' are girls who work in an aeroplane.
Amused I decided to buy a pair and try my luck, just in case i get "air hoisted"again.

My Mother-in-Law

My mother-in-law just got herself a new set of dentures, and she has a complaint.
She cannot get used to the new ones as she says her teeth in her lower jaw are smaller than her original ones. She wants her big teeth back. I think its a valid complaint.
Sixty years of getting used to it, she cannot be expected to accept new jaws over night.