H(W)ealth*

I remember from my childhood...

Gypsyma

She came to me when she was maybe a month old – at that point I couldn’t tell her apart from her brother. She is the timid one; I still can’t work out whether it is a girl-cat thing or it is just her.

My Trooper

Cute little trooper.

He comes running in from the yard, tiny feet pattering across the stones and sand without a care. His chubby face is pink with the exertion yet the rose-bud mouth is pulled out into a great big grin, two little pearls of teeth making their appearance right in the front – the kind of grin that makes you inadvertently break into a smile of your own at the innocent optimism and quick contentment that life seems to take away as we grow older.

I think we lose a lot when we forget how, as a child, we could go from zero to elation in the time it takes to say ‘toffee’.

Anyway…. he comes running in, voice garbled with words that he does not know yet and eyes shining with excitement – he found a butterfly, his first. He reaches the entrance only to trip on the door step; hardly noticeable to the rest of us but to this two-feet-something ball of sheer joy, I’m sure it seemed like a high jump hurdle. He trips and fall onto the floor, the only teeth he has making contact with a soft little bottom lip – the sight of blood twists my insides into painful knots.

He bursts instantaneously into loud heart-rending cries as I scoop him up and check how deep the cut is. Not that deep, I sigh with relief. Then I go into damage-control mode, I coo soft nothings in his ear while cuddling him close as his wails die down to whimpers and then quiet sniffles.

I hoist him onto my hip as I reach for the jar on top of the fridge and pull out a bright red piece of candy. He looks at it and shakes his head, the sniffles growing a wee bit louder. I put the red one back, pull out a yellow one and hand it out. He closes his pudgy, pink fingers around it and chews one end – by now the sniffles have died down completely. I set him down on his blue kiddie chair and search the cabinet for oral ointment, it takes me a good five minutes to locate the tube of Zytee.

I turn around only to hear receding pitter-patter of feet heading off towards the yard again, accompanied by slurping sounds and the occasional word that he cooks up when he’s talking to himself. He’s off looking for the butterfly again.

Brave little trooper.

If only we learn from them, children. If only.

P.S: Dramatized real incident, my brother has grown up so much since this happened, both literally and figuratively, that I cherish the memory of this phase of his so so much. If it weren't for memories.

Hospital Chronicles #1

When people say love is a weakness, I never believed it. I wondered how the strongest positive emotion that anyone can feel can become something that will disable them. 

Turns out, it is. 

As as it happens, I'm pretty useless when it comes to my mother. She is that single, most important person for whom I should be willing and able to do anything but apparently only the former is true. I'm only willing, my existence is pointless when it comes to doing something for her when she really needs it. 

She's in the hospital for surgery now; Inshallah she will be out of here before the week ends. 

But when it came to being strong enough to be her rock, I'm ashamed to say I folded faster than a pack of cards. She can't depend on me when she is weak for I can't bear to see her like that. I. Just. Can't. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm capable - I can do anything else, everything else for her. If I don't know, I will learn. I can run the household, take care of the dogs and cats, look into insurance, check the administrative blabla, call the nurse and whatnot but when she needs someone, family, next to her to assure her that everything is okay, I am useless. If I end up being by her side, she'll be the one doing the assuring and I'll be shamelessly weeping my face off. 

So I'll plug my earphones in, update nonsense on Facebook, share songs like crazy on #nwplying, play Snoopy Coaster and whatsapp everyone in the world to pretend that everything is alright with my world. Lying to my own mind that everything is just fine and praying real, real hard. Because the alternative is not anything that I even want to think about.

Crux of the matter, I hope I don't love anyone as much. Not now, not ever. For this kind of love makes me weak when I want to be the rock that she can lean on anytime, any day. 

A Quickie

No this is not about that quickie:P Sorry.
And no, this post has absolutely nothing of importance. 
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O.k this is just plain embarrassing. The poem I posted yesterday?
I told y'all that I hadn't asked her for permission right?
Yeah. I told Mum that I'd posted her poem on my blog, hoping she wouldn't scrag me and you know what she said?
"But that's taken from Google!"

Yeah, so basically I copied someone else's work.
So sorry about it, people. I apologize profusely and have taken it off.
She's promised to give me one of her real ones, so yeah.
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A DECENT Monday, I had.

After a very PMSy (courtesy: crazy MadCow hormones) day, ahmazeeng pizza (courtesy: Boo), getting soaked in the rain while carrying a lot of luggage (courtsey: TNSTC), a hot dinner (courtesy: Mother Dear) and a zooper bike ride later (courtesy: Varkey), I got home to find this:

My Dove gift hamper!! I love you guys at IndiBlogger:)

I hope I have made you jealous enough to register, at least the girls:P

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@Shreya, @Superrrrnick, @Akila so sorry I haven't been on Twitter today, too busy bursting crackers like a maniac:P

Do NOT make me feel guilty about it, for it's been three friggin' years since I celebrated Diwali. For once I don't give two hoots and a half about the environment, I need my smoke-filled air and chemical-smeared hands now. So hmph.

Anyway,

HAPPY DIWALI PEOPLE!!!

Have a good one:)

And don't burn through your new skirt like I did.

Come back tomorrow to read about "Theatre Goers - A Case Study".

:P

An Ode To A Family

*touchwood*

Have you ever experienced the feeling of completeness that a family can give you?

You know the part twenty five years after happily-ever-after? The part that they don'y show in movies or write about in stories?
That's the part when you know that a man and a woman a gentleman and a lady have taken the life that God destined for them and made it a success, a life that they can be proud of having lived, the beautiful family that they made from scratch.

I have had the opportunity to be a teeny part of this family or rather I have adopted myself into theirs.
(In case you're still lost, I went to my bff's place for the weekend and it's their family that I'm talking about)


I love the way they have made it happen, love the way they bound together bits of yarn, wool and all things nice to make their little world cozy. It's not perfect and they don't pretend that it is and maybe that, the fact that they live for themselves for each other, is what makes them so *searching for the right word, none seem to be enough*.


The Father is everything you think of when the word comes to your mind. Responsible, solid, dependable, a wee bit intimidating, honest, respected in every sense of the word, fun, loving, caring beyond all else, typically grumpy when sick, supportive, witty, quietly proud of his daughters, provides guidance not advice... and so very much more. I respected him much before I even met him; it only grew. He is the foundation for their worlds, everything begins from him.
And I keep wondering what he thinks about me, if I measure anywhere near the high standards he's set for his daughters.

The Mother is a copy of mine. Ditto except mine is slightly more harum-scarum and she's slightly more Malayalised. This itself is my greatest tribute to her for my mom is, like, the ultimate to me.
And she treats me no different from her daughter; I say this not because she said it to me (she didn't) but because I can feel it. I can feel it in the way she holds me by my waist and talks to me. Apart from all that, sensible, iron-willed, AWESOME cook (I put on two kilos in as many days, you can imagine), organised, careful, pious, squeaky-clean, ordered are words that do their best to describe her but still fail a little bit.

Sisters to match, a paired set who are complete opposites to each other and beautifully accomplished in their own way but very much a part of the parents. And a muthashi (grandma), who is cute and fluffy and is a vast treasure trove of surprises, stories and tradition.

They have their own ways of dealing with problems, with life, with social situations. They are a unit, a tribe unto themselves.
They are stable.
They have deep-rooted value systems, beliefs that are the DNA of who they are.
They respect. They care. They follow the rules and make some for themselves.
They teach their children. By example.

They are a family.

I haven't done them justice, not even close.
But I'm glad they let messy, scatter-brained me into their lives, even for a weekend.
And if my own family, one that I'll start sometime in the future, is even half as beautiful as this one and mine, then I'll count myself lucky.

*touchwood*

Moments (Part II)

Have you met my extended family?

Shaina - The Angel

She walks around with the most apologetic face, a very fussy eater and the founder of the Sheaba-Haters Club.

Sheaba - The Actual Dog

The only one which exhibits dog-like attributes, guards the house and is a perfect working Mom. Loves coconut.

Sharuk - The Spoilt Brat

The self-proclaimed King of the brood, has a lazier butt than me and doesn't like eating anything but Pedigree. But fluffy as hell.

Shania and Sasha - Our Babies

They are Katrina and Irene rolled into one. Firm believers in destroying annihilating everything they can get their pearly whites on. Beautiful, fun and awesomely puppy-ish. They don't like their mother (Sheaba) much  and their father (Sharuk) doesn't like THEM much (because they cramp his style). Love coconut, grass and chocolate;) And love my sister more than me.

So whaddya think?

Ain't they the cutest things ever?

And they don't smell either:P

P.S: I had NOTHING, not even remotely, to do with their names.