Loyal Kunta

There is this limping stray dog in our vicinity. With HK’s whistle this dog comes running to us, no matter at which corner of Ananth Nagar he is in. Prachi loves to watch him come running and screams with delight “Kutttta….dhavnu dhaanu…”(meaning, Kunta run run) till he comes close by and I scream at the top of my voice “STOP” and shoo him away. Prachi imitates me. We feed him with biscuits, chips, bread etc. This dog is of ‘high breed’ that it does not eat rice, dosa, idli and maintains its status by eating only foreign kind of food. Status factor bothers dogs as well!! I am never a fan of animals. I entertain, read feed this dog only for Prachi’s sake just to see the joy bubbling out with his arrival. I casually named him ‘Kunta’ (In Kannada this means one who limps) and now that has become his official name much to HK’s disapproval.

Over the weeks, Kunta gets fed daily by us, spoken to, scolded and shooed away as well. Prachi throws biscuits at him in all 4 directions and makes him run to different places to eat those tiny biscuit pieces. She calls him ‘kuttttta’, talks with him ‘kuttta yaaao’ (kutta come), ‘kutttta baaais’(kutta sit), ‘utttta’(get up), reprimands him ‘gaggimannni kutta…ganni pettu dittha’ (dirty kutta I will spank you) and asks him to come with her wherever she goes generally to the dettthhananna (= devstan, temple close by). Gradually now kunta has shifted his place of stay to our garage, sleeps there all day long, lazes idly and comes out wagging his tail when any of us comes out of the house. He too has special liking for Prachi and follows her instruction to follow her to the temple. So, you can see kunta lying outside the temple when we are inside or coming behind us is a limping dog during our evening walks. Prachi recognizes him and whenever she sees any dog on the road she calls out loud ‘Kuttttta’, followed by ‘Kutttta naaaiiiii….” (Meaning it’s not Kunta).

Over the last few days, Prachi has started liking him overly and runs to him, tries to touch him and I am not at all comfortable with this. I warn her all the time keeping a vigilant eye. With these developments I told HK a couple of days back,”We should get rid of him.” But, yesterday an incident changed this. As usual we were on our evening ‘dhaavnu, dhaan” walk(Prachi running ahead, with me behind her) when a herd of dogs came barking. Following them was this Australian lady who keeps feeding meat to the stray dogs of Ananth Nagar. I particularly dislike this lady who I think is causing more harm to the society than good by feeding the stray dogs. Stray dogs are a huge bane to a healthy society with dogs scattering all the garbage around the bins, barking at wrong times, scaring little kids plus adults, health risks to add. Additionally, I’ve heard feeding raw meat to the dogs make them violent, not sure if this is true. This lady came yesterday and all the dogs surrounded her making lots of noise, running helter-skelter. Poor kid in a cycle lost all his wits and came running to me. I was holding Prachi and was standing aside trying to avoid the dogs from coming near us. And to my surprise there was Kunta standing beside me as though for my guard barking back at dogs and trying to scare them away. The dogs ran chaotically towards the lady for food, but here was Kunta bothered least about her food and just stayed besides me. The lady herself came to him, wheedled him, Kunta responded nicely but none the less left my side. She left the place; I too left but with a different opinion about Kunta. I said with a broad smile to HK who was approaching us, “I am proud of Kunta.”

Note:

1. I intentionally ignored (read, showed contempt written all over my face) the stupid lady. This is unnatural of me, but I can do it if I dislike someone.

2. On introspecting, Kunta being the ‘status-conscious’ dog may not appreciate being fed among the rest of the folks or being the ‘food-picky’ dog he is may not like meat and hence the lady. Whatever be the case I have started liking him!

Confused Child

Prachi and I were at my mom’s place on vacation when she was just 1 year old. One morning a couple of days or more since we had been in Puttur, she wakes up and calls out loud “Amma…” I run to her,cuddle her,cajole her to wake up and do all the goodie goodie talk when she asks in an inquiring tone, “Amma?” I say “what Amma? I am here only”. Again she asks, “Amma?” as though she is looking for Amma. I say “Arrey Chinnu…Amma is here only…look here at me. Your Amma is here” .Unconvinced she continues “Amma?” I point at me and say, “Look gundappa…who is this? This is Amma, Prachi’s Amma.” She asks again “Amma?” Now I know something is amiss…I think for a while and the whole jig saw puzzle is solved. I call my mom “Amma”. I generally use this ‘Amma’ in almost every sentence I speak to my mom. Prachi who was with us would have picked this up and started wondering “Why is this other lady called ‘Amma’? Why does Amma call her Amma while I call her Mamama?” The little kid might have gotten into the confusion whether she was Amma or Mamama. On waking up she had wanted to see my mom and was inquiring for “Amma” with a confused look in her face. Wonderful is my kid!!

Note: I am always referred as ‘Amma’ and HK as 'Aaanu' once Prachi has started talking. When I want to say HK to get something I generally say, “Anna, please get me xxxx”

Curly hair very fair

“Chubby cheeks, dimple chin, rosy lips teeth within, Curly hair very fair, eyes are blue lovely too, mommy’s pet is that you, yes, yes , yes”, this was my favourite nursery rhyme. With me having chubby cheeks and very curly hair I used to think the poem was written describing me except for the dimple chin which I did not possess. The poem would have been perfect I used to think if it were not for that ‘dimples’ which I envy people for having and the blue eyes which I never liked until Aishwarya Rai became miss world. Over the years however, the chubby cheeks remain no more chubby as they used to be, thanks to my overzealous taste buds; teeth though present inside the mouth have grown rich thanks to the silver and gold patchworks. Thank God, lips remain rosy though and my curls are with me hanging around my head like maggi noodles!
Most of my lady friends like my curls. “How nice your hair stays like a bush”, say some while others say “lucky you, hair loss never appears on curly hair.” Both are true and I was quite happy and proud of my curls in spite of all the pain associated. Oiling my hair was like watering the plants in a desert, if there were any; the oil just vanished requiring at least a quarter litre of oil to make my hair appear oiled. Head bath was a headache, rounds of shampoo, water and conditioners to take the oil, sweat, dirt off my head left my hands aching at the end of the bath; so literally speaking head bath was hands ache. Post head bath was a bigger nightmare. The hair would be spread across in all possible directions as though given an electric shock. With comb getting stuck in knots at almost an inch with every 100 strands of hair, all my preciously stored energy got drained at getting the herculean task of getting all the strands together into a bunch! I still remember the times when I used to be a proud owner of long curly hair and my mother plaited it into two plaits pulling the comb out of knots every morning before going to school and me wailing with ‘aah’s and ‘uhh’s.
I believed in the saying “no pain, no gain” and enjoyed the “wow wow”s about my hair for a long time that is till I got engaged! All my dreams got shattered as soon as I had a honest chat with my fiancé. Having read quite a few romantic novels with always a situation where the hero reveres the lead lady’s curls with a sensuous whisper “Oh! You have such beautiful curls, you must set them loose. ” Alas, romances live only in books and my ‘hero’ had read none of those. My hero said, “Eeee, you have such brush like hair. I always wanted my wife to have long soft straight hair.” I was angry and retorted, “Eeee, I wanted to marry a Greek God who is tall, handsome…..” adding all the items in the list that he did not possess whether I really liked them or otherwise. Tit for tat, but never the less I was disappointed. “So what if he does not like ? Curls is the style in the west and people curl their hair as a fashion and this man is blind to his wife having natural curls . So out –dated” , I consoled myself.
In some survey done, I read that most men preferred long straight hair for their women. My husband was extremely obsessive about hair, long hair , straight hair until a few months back. Something changed him and he now finds curly hair very beautiful, short hair very cute. Little angel of ours has hair which shows signs of curls . I am not sure if Prachi will have curly hair or wavy hair, but surely not straight hair. With she being the apple his eye, my husband inadvertently has changed his views. This reminds me of a story which I had enacted in during my school days. A very beautiful queen of old times is obsessed with her beauty and asks her men to show a person more beautiful than her. Men search all over the world and bring ladies, each prettier than the other. The queen remains unconvinced and keeps the search on. One wise minister, one fine days searches a very beautiful lady and presents her before the queen and says, “Your highness, this lady is undoubtedly prettier than you” for which the queen nods in agreement and rewards the minister. The queen says, ”Oh wise minister, yes this lady surpasses my beauty, my daughter is the most beautiful lady in the whole of universe.” This is the beauty of nature!

Tell me Why?

Disclaimer: This blog is on some ‘why’ questions that popped up in my mind related to the stereotype portrayal of characters/incidents. These is not a set of serious ‘Y’s like Why God is not visible? Or why earth revolves around sun? If you are looking for questions/answers on those fronts please skip this post on trivial ‘Y’s-

· Why are scientists always portrayed as old men with disheveled clothes , Einstein-like hair , and soda-glass kind of spectacles etc? Can’t there be a handsome young scientist; a tip-top , dark-tall-handsome guy as described in the M&B novels with a neatly tucked in shirt and a clean shaved face?
· Why do teachers always have to wear glasses? And further upon a teacher is generally a female and a lecturer generally but not always a male. In either cases both wear spectacles.
· Why do the ads of HR jobs, IT jobs, corporate jobs always have a model-like lady figure in them holding a laptop or a sleek bag with a nicely made up face, delicately manicured/ pedicured nails? Can’t there be people like you and me who are very normal in their looks with average heights, with dark circles around their eyes(off course this shows the amount of sleepless hard-work put) be the role models for the jobs?
· Why does a granny in a bollywood movie always has a secret love story of hers to share? Why are the grandparents (grand dad or grand mom) in favor of some love escapade of his/her grandchild while the parents who in comparison are of newer generation opposing it?
· Why in movies is a lady always screaming with pain during labour? Of what I’ve heard from my mom, aunties and others none of them screamed with such high decibels during their labour and were really silent enduring the pains.
· Why in case of any hospital scene, a handful of doctors and someone runs along with the patient in the stretcher?
· Why is a traffic congestion always present when there is an urgency to reach the hospital/airport etc and on the other hand when the lead lady and lad sing duet absolutely nobody is present in the near vicinity?(Don’t mention the Tamil/Kannada movies where a bunch of yuck dressed fat ladies emerge from nowhere and start gyrating to the beats in the background changing their clothes for every stanza of the song)
· Why does a book worm always have to wear spectacles?
· Why does a detective need to be in a suit and a dirty pair of boots with a cigar in his mouth and a hat on his head?
· Why does a dentist always have to don a white coat and flash his white teeth and always have a couple of toothpastes for making comparison? He looks so sanitized in the attire.
· Why should a writer always be absent minded , lost-in-dreams character? On the contrary these are the people who observe even the minute items!
· Why should a poor man always be virtuous and a rich man vile?
· Why should there always be a ‘too-good-to-be-true’ daughter-in-law and a ‘too-bad-to-be-true’ mother-in-law?
· Why in fairy tales, the youngest sister happens to be the most beautiful, the most decent and helpful creature while all her elder siblings are selfish and bad?
· Why does a instrument player like table/guitar always have to grow his hair long?
· Why does a South-Indian have to speak Hindi with a funny accent?
· Why is that only a house-wife/clerical jobbed husband portrayed to have headache and not the neatly clad corporate lady or suit donned manager or a teeth flashing dentist?
· Why is a faded dirty red towel always present around a coolie’s neck?
· Why does the police force generally reach the crime spot only after the crime is done or after the criminal has surrendered to the hero?
· Why is a techie male shown as a smart guy when in reality most of them are pot bellied or have a receding hair line?

Just think of these characters in your mind and almost within a second you will have the same image as I have stated above. For example, take the example, of a techie itself , you are surrounded by thousands of them , associated with many of them and you are one as well. But instead of finding your irritating colleague with a bad breath or your almost bald headed technical manager or a boy-like fresher chewing the gum like a cow chewing the cud you will only find the image I mentioned above.
Think of the teacher and your primary school teacher who taught you multiplication or the physics teacher who taught you “every action has an equal…..” does not come to your mind; instead a lady clad in starched white saree with little blue flowers in it, a stick in hand and spectacles almost slipping of her nose, contempt on her face and a blackboard in the background is all that come to your mind.
Is it because of the repeated portrayal of the image in the visual medium that your brain is tuned to the image? I must say the best of all the images imprinted in our minds is that of a ghost who we can think of only as a she in a plain white nylon saree and long hair left loose over the shoulders with a candle in her hand and cold eyes that never wink! I do not have to describe the background of the scene, do I?

Language chow-chow

“Naanu outside iddene madam” said my driver today. He had called me to tell that he was unavailable. Nothing significant about it, but what struck me was the word ‘outside’ being used in the sentence and how very out-of-place it was. Me, being a staunch kannadiga (you may call me a regionalist) I absolutely hate English words being introduced forcefully into Kannada. I do agree that language is just a means of communication, but the very thought of infiltrating a language with words from other language (read English) infuriates me. We, people from Mangalore generally speak Kannada less impure, and as we move towards Bangalore the degree of infiltration increases proportionately.
I remember this typical incident when I was doing my B.E in Hassan, a place somewhere midway between Mangalore and Bangalore. Casually I asked a kid of about 5-6 years, “Shaalege hogthiya?” He did not show any signs of answering and looked confused. I asked him, “Kannada barthada?” Kid said, “Howdu”. So this cleared both of my doubts, the kid can hear and understand Kannada as well. I repeated, “Shaalege hogthiya?” The kid looked confused again. Thousand thoughts struck me, Has India reached a state where a kid does not know what is a school? I know of school drop outs but is this kid in such a position that he has not known what a school is? But how can that be possible in 21st century in a place like Hassan? Etc. etc. But the thousand and first thought proved all these were wrong. I rephrased my question, “Schoolige hogthiya?”. Hola, the kid is relieved of the confusion and is all smiles with a jubilant “howdu”. I was happy that all my initial thousand thoughts were wrong but at the same time there remained an irritation just like the remains of a food item stuck in the molars but has to be cleaned off. How is that a word as simple as ‘Shale’ unknown? Every now and then I am asked for time, be at bus stand or while walking on the roads. “Taaime eshtu aaytu”, meaning what is the time. Although I would have preferred a much nice “Gante eshtu aaythu” I still can understand this; but a question like “10 ‘0’ clock aaytha?” is hard to digest.
I am not supporting for a language to be spoken in its purest state. I would find it easy and practical to say a tube light a tube light whether in Kannada, English or Sanskrit than a pure “Dandadeepa”. But “morning milk haakle illa”, “templege hogthene”, “Evening barthene”, “brother buy maadthane”, “mummy cook maadthare”, “vegetablesuuuu, fruitsuuu healthge thumbha useful anthe” are just unacceptable. Why do people have to force English words in the other vernacular languages? Is it to show off one knows English or has it become such a part that inadvertently it gets added into the conversation. Although I like watermelon juice more than moosambi I would not want watermelon juice to be added to my moosambi juice!

Cool Thought

“I have replayed the messages as you wanted”, said my colleague from the build team. I said “Cool” and went back to my desk. On my way back to my seat I just started wondering “Why did I say cool? What was cool about replaying messages?” A thread was initiated in my mind on this usage of the word ‘cool’. Over the next few days I noticed myself and people around me using this word very frequently, almost to the extent of an average of a dozen times a day during the working hours of the office.

The first person to be scrutinized was me. I used this word almost as a substitute to OK or a Yes. Whenever someone did something and I approved their doing it I said ‘Cool’. ‘Cool’ here meant an acknowledgement. Whenever something worked as per my wish I said ‘cool’. This cool meant ‘Good, I like it’. As I noticed this usage of cool as an acknowledgement was mainly done by the Indian colleagues of mine. The English men never used them in this context. Their version of cool in these cases was ‘Cheers.’ ‘Have you sent the mail?’, ‘Cheers’, ‘have you finished that?’ ‘Cheers’. Although I found this ‘Cheers’ quite cheerful, a friend of mine was not so cool about it. He thought saying ‘cheers’ early in the morning only reflected the bad boozing habits of British! I did not think this was a cool thought but did not attempt to correct him. Making him lose his cool over a cool subject was not a cool idea!

The other term associated with cool is attitude. ‘He has a cool attitude’, ‘He is cool’ indicates that the person in question is not rigid and is easy to handle. Cool clients, cool managers, cool professors are hard to find, especially the latter two. Managers, Professors lose their cool very easily. The reason for them to lose their cool is mainly the cool attitude of other people around them i.e. the cool attitude of subordinates, students. In other words one might say one being cool is the cause for other losing cool.

The other general usage of cool is when you refer to something which is trendy, like a cool cap, a cool pair of glasses, or a cool bag. Possessing something which is not normal, which is stylish is considered to be cool today. Every teenager these days wants to look cool, be cool. They think sporting an attitude of don’t care is cool, wearing jazzy clothes is cool, having a weird hair cut is cool, skipping classes is cool, driving fast is cool, making fun is cool only to realize later that these are not only not cool but are also stupid. Having said so much about cool I just thought to make a cool search on the net. For those of you guys interested, here is the link http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cool_(aesthetic)#Cool_defined. The link/meaning is not as cool as the word itself. Check it out…

Pondering over the cool subject for sometime now, I just think how the meaning of cool has changed over time and usage. The ‘cool’ we learned in English lessons was something which meant cold, chilly. If we were asked to frame a sentence for cool it would be like ‘we had a cool weather yesterday’, ‘cool winds are forecasted’ etc. We never used them as frequently as we do now. I wonder what kids of today will frame sentences for cool. They might be like ‘I wanna cool watch’ ‘That bag is cool’. The usage of the word ‘cool’ itself is considered cool and is used by the new ‘cool’ generation. Just imagine how an English professor would respond to the ‘cool ‘usage of the word ‘cool’ by a ‘cool’ boy having attended a ’cool’ party
Boy: I went to a cool place yesterday
Professor: Really? A cool place?
Boy: Yes it was. Never been to a place so cool!
Professor: Is it Mumbai? Mumbai is cold like never before
Boy: No I went to this cool place filled with cool people having a cool time
Professor: Place was cool?
Boy: Yes
Professor: People were cool?
Boy: Yes
Professor: Oh I get it. You switched on the AC, so the place gets cool. People get cool because of the AC, but…………….how will the time get cool??
I know this was a PJ. But just to think how words change meanings over times!

Talking of words which had different usage in earlier times I remember an article which I had read a couple of years back. It is about the embarrassing situation that occurs with the word ‘gay’. Today the meaning which directly comes to mind when you hear/read the word ‘gay’ is homosexual. Think of the old poems which you read in schools, old essays, and old classics. Gay means happy, bright, lively or in new terms ‘cool’. Just imagine the kind of situation that might happen in a conversation between two people belonging to different times when the word ‘gay’ is used. Professor finds the boy happy and bright and says
Professor: You are smart and gay. I like you.
Boy: But sir, I am not gay
Professor: off course you are
Boy: Sir I am NOT
Again a PJ. But just to think how words change their meanings over times!

I think being cool is being open, not rigid on one’s view points. I do not think possessing new electronic gadgets, showing carelessness is cool in any way. I am not cool, to be frank. I like things to be done with perfection and am a little fussy about it… Never the less I would like using the word ‘cool’ for one main purpose if not for anything; situations where I neither want to lie nor want to hurt (In Kannada we have a saying haavu saaybaradhu, kolu muriyabaradu) like for instance when my friend asks me how her new bag is, I wouldn’t want to tell her it is gaudy, it is bad; but I wouldn’t want to lie either, so I can tell ‘Its cool’. So, now you know what to comment if you don’t like this article, don’t you?

Estate Agents

In UK, I have met this unique genre of human species. They are semi Asians (i.e. their parents/grand parents immigrated from India/Pakistan, generally the Punjab area); they have their hair gelled and maintain a portion of it like a spike just above the fore-head in the front; they wear black rectangular rimmed glasses (just like those Sania Mirza used to wear); they carry their cell phone in a hands free mode; they keep talking in their cell phones in a language called Hinpunjish (which could be said to be a hybrid of Hindi, Punjabi and English); they listen to the music albums like ‘Shakalakalakalakalaka… boom boom’. If you are from London, I am sure you can identify this category of people. They are the estate agents!!

Having got to change my house thrice in a year and a half, I invariably had to meet them whether I liked it or not. “Oh sorry Mrs. Pai, that house is just gone. But we have this lovely flat close to station…” This is the common statement every agent makes when you enquire about a house you had seen in their ad in the net. “It just went now … just before 5 minutes” follow later. I wonder why every house I find interesting goes just a few minutes before I enquire. Initially I thought this was real and got worried. But having got to hear the same statement in the same pattern from different people made me realize me that this was a common statement made by any estate agent. If there was training academy for estate agents then this statement would be the first lessen taught just like the first lesson ‘A for Apple, B for Ball…’ taught in schools.

Apart from the alike appearances I mentioned above, estate agents have many more attributes in common-
1. They have an attitude that they are the busiest people in the world. They keep answering calls every couple of minutes, they talk in heated tones, and they hardly have any time to show you a place at a time mentioned by you. They always suggest a different timing which is inconvenient to you and yet you agree to it.
2. In spite of pretending to be busy always, they do not realize that time is valuable for other party i.e. you as well. They keep you waiting for hours together.
3. Most of their clients are IT professionals who have just landed up in UK and are earnestly looking for a place to live. They misuse this desperateness of their clients and try to exploit them as mush as possible
4. They do not provide any chance for the tenant to meet the landlord. “Mrs Pai, I know the landlord, he wouldn’t agree to this…””Let me speak to him. I think I can convince him” “No, sorry Mrs Pai but we cannot give you the contact number of the landlord” “Why?” “That’s how we deal Mrs Pai. The landlords do not want their numbers given”…The conversation goes this way. They trap you fully only after which you are allowed to meet the landlord who turns out to be a nice and sensitive man. But then you are already trapped.
5. They use a unique kind of blackmail to get you trapped. “Oh Mrs Pai, you have a situation here. I don’t think you will get a better house than this.” “Ok, I’ll tell you tomorrow” “Mrs Pai, houses go like hot cakes… I doubt if this will remain when you say tomorrow” “I need some time. I will tell you tonight” “No Mrs Pai, you would have to tell us now, you see they go and you wouldn’t be able to find a place…”blah blah.
6. They shamelessly ask your income, your husband’s income and you say it although you know it is not required for anyone to know how much you earn.

To say it one word they are liars. If you think you can become estate agent being sincere and nice then you are undoubtedly wrong. Lying is the basic criteria in this field. We had to find a house for a short term and were in search of one. We went to the agent who had got us the current one and told our requirement. “Oh! That is difficult! You have a situation here” (Please note the word situation is generally used in UK when you are amidst some trouble having some problems) He thinks….”Mmmm… Mrs Pai I have one house worth £675 at xxx” “But xxx is very far from the town centre.” “Yes it is not very close, but you see you have a situation here Mrs Pai” “Yes I know I need a house for short term, but I do not need immediately. I still have time, so you can find me something which is closer” “But Mrs Pai, you should understand that you have a situation and it is difficult to find one with such situation “ I go and see the house which is not only far but also damp and dirty and refuse to take it. “Mrs Pai, it is not advisable to leave it being in your situation” “Gimme time. I need to think. “I get the same reply I anticipated “I have to show it to somebody in the evening. It might go by then. “This time I don’t budge in for these threats. After lots of bargaining and talks about our ‘situation’, “Mrs Pai we can give it to you for £600” “No I still think it is not fit to live” “I can give it to you for £580 Mrs Pai, being in the situation you are taking this is the best deal”

We did not want to get in a ‘situation’ which never existed by taking that house. We did get a house after lots and lots of searches followed by such situations with the estate agents. But I got very frustrated by the way these people try to exploit your weakness. I just wanted to go back and tell them on their faces to be human and sensitive. But my husband stopped me and told that we didn’t want to get into a situation.

Cuties!!!

‘Nobody is ready to agree that their babies are ugly’; this is what a character said in the ‘Friends’ series. Although this statement might seem insensitive for a few, I couldn’t help but appreciate the sincerity in this statement. I have always been in these tricky situations where people start talking about the cuteness, smartness, cleverness, of their kids but never stop. And when they start talking, I don’t know how people, who otherwise are normal enter into this insulated state and become such thick skinned that all my subtle as well as evident attempts at restraining their overflowing conversation overwhelmed by their little ones just go unnoticed!

Right from the day the baby is born, folks around it start talking about it. Every grand ma/ grand pa says every person he/she meets “Our baby is soooo cute. The nurse in the hospital told that this baby was the most beautiful baby she has ever seen in her service”. Little do they realize that the nurse was only trying to please them to get some additional tips! Which parent wouldn’t be pleased to hear that his/her offspring is the most beautiful one! The nurse just enchases on this little weakness of the strongest of strongest parents. You might find me skeptical, but how else would you explain me hearing the same compliments for different babies of different families born at different times in different hospitals? Now don’t tell me it is a coincidence or my super luck that I happen to meet the parents of the most beautiful children! I wouldn’t believe that.
Due to some obligation or the other I end up visiting these most beautiful babies and invariably I find every baby the same; very small, pink to reddish, wrinkled skin, eyes very thin or generally closed, no teeth, little or no hair, no eyebrows (or is there a thin one? Never noticed in such detail, will check next time), packed in a bundle of clothes smelling of a mixture of urine, sweat, stool, baby powder, milk and some medicine i.e. the exact baby smell!

As the baby grows and starts to crawl, walk I just try to avoid his/her folks. All they can talk about is their babies. “Our baby has become so naughty. He crawls all over the house and broke 2 vases and a showcase in a week. You will just adore him.” “Our angel has become so active now. She swallowed a button yesterday and put a stone into her nostrils the day before. You will just adore her.” Will you adore someone who breaks glasses and eats all non edible stuff? I think you will only if that someone happens to be your kid/ grand kid.
As the baby grows a little older, “Our son today played with bat and ball whole day. May be he will become agreat cricketer like Sachin Tendulkar” “Little Simran always likes to play with the stethoscope, May be she will become a doctor.” “She always likes watching herself in the mirror. She is an absolute beauty, may be she will become Aishwarya Rai.” “Cute Rohit likes mobile phones. May be he will become a busy business man. ””He likes cars, two wheelers a lot. May be he will buy many cars when he is big “(Please note- nobody says he will become Michael Schumacher. Why? Absolute logic, it is difficult to pronounce). These are the common statements. Having heard these many times from many people I can very well predict what folks talk about their kids. I just did a detailed analysis on this and have come to following conclusions-
1. In spite of every kid wanting to play with guns, no parent/ grand parent would talk about it like “Oh cutie baby, he likes playing with guns so much. May be he will become Veerappan or Phoolan Devi”
2. Parents/ grand parents don’t aspire their kids to become scientists. I have never heard anybody telling “Oh he may become Einstein or she may become Madam Curie.” If the little kid shows interest in breaking/fixing things, all they can imagine him to be is an engineer.
3. Wonder why folks don’t want their kids to do noble jobs! Never heard any one telling he/she will become a teacher, priest or a nurse
4. Bureaucrats are also out of the parents-list of professions for their kids.
5. Every baby girl likes cooking for play and would like to have her mini kitchen set. Still no parent tells she is going be a TarlaDalal or a Sanjeev Kapoor
6. Adventures, fine arts, litertaure are out of scope. Every kid does jumping, bungee jumping, monkey jumping or any kind of jumping. Did you ever here anyone telling their kid will become Tensing or an Edmond Hillary?
I am sure you would have come across many scenarios where a parent tries to show case his/ her kid’s vocal talents in front of you; (only that the vocal talents of the parent or rather the lack of it overwhelms any kind of talent of the kid.) In spite of all efforts to display their kids’ singing talents no parent tells he/she will become a Bhimsen Joshi or a Michael Jackson. “
“Our kid holds the pen and scribbles all over the wall and paper. At such small age he has grip over the pen”, yet nobody tells “He will become a Shakespeare”

Kids are innocent and adorable as they are. I do not like mediation from their folks to like them. It only creates the negative impact on me. I feel like telling them back “Look, your kid is no special. Every kid I have seen behaves exactly like your kid. “But being a nice person I am, I do not do that. Instead I pretend to be listening intently to all the heroics of the kid when my mind starts thinking of innumerable ways to get away from the person as far as possible and as soon as possible. A resolution takes shape in my mind,” I will never bug anyone with the antics of my kid in future.” Excitement of motherhood might make me to forget my resolution. But you guys will remind me, won’t you?

Dowry and me!

For people who do not know what dowry is, It is a gift in the form of money, valuables or property given to a groom by the bride's family at the time of marriage, generally on demand from the groom/groom’s parents. I have borrowed this definition from the dozens and dozens of essays I wrote during my high school days on the evils of dowry system. This was a favourite subject for all question paper setters, essay competition organizers and off course I was quite happy with their favouritism towards dowry system because having written on the same topic many times, the words just flowed off my pen without any effort from my end.
The first time I came to know about dowry was when I was about 8-9 years old when I watched a Kannada movie themed about this topic. It was a movie about a bride being tortured by her in-laws for failing to bring the demanded dowry. I do not remember the movie but I do remember scenes where the heroine cries, begs and then argues with her in-laws that ’Varadakshine’ (Dowry in Kannanda) was illegal and incorrect. The film didn’t make much sense to me then. I asked my mom what ’Varadakshine’ meant and she gave me the exact definition I gave you. I do remember thinking a lot about this then. I tried reasoning why the in-laws would have asked the heroine to get money from her parents. Finally I came up with this line of thought. If parents sent their daughter to somebody’s house to stay there after the marriage it was quite natural that they had to pay to that somebody to look after their daughter. Why would somebody want to bear the living expenses of someone else’s daughter? Just like the parents paid fees in school for sending their kids to school they had to pay fees to the groom for sending their daughter with him! With this logic I found the torture of the heroine by her in-laws quite ok and very much justifiable. The in-laws were quite right to torture and had every right to do so. I am in the party of the in-laws I thought then. I did feel pity for the heroine but that was only because she seemed very pretty to me then and I dreamt to look like her when I grew up!
I did not stay content with this reasoning for long. Although I hadn’t understood much of the movie, I knew that heroine was right at the end and the in-laws were treated as villains. This meant something was wrong in the logic I had derived. I thought again for days together. I slowly asked my mother again “Is she right? Or are they right in asking dowry?” to confirm my understanding. My mother said “Off course it is wrong to ask dowry.” So my theory was wrong and I had to derive a new theory for the heroine to be right and the in-laws to be wrong. I thought about it again for many days. Finally it clicked. If one buys something from the shop, the buyer has to pay the shopkeeper and not the other way round. When a person purchases a pen, the pen moves from the shopkeeper to the buyer. I found the procedure of a bride moving from her parent’s house to her husband’s house analogous to buying a pen. So, logically as per this theory the in-laws had to pay the bride’s parents for getting her with them and it was absolutely foolish of them to demand money from her parents instead. “Why would the shopkeeper pay when he sells something; he should get something instead. How stupid of me not to understand this simple logic!” I thought. I was very much happy with this logic and stayed with this theory for years together.

Slowly things changed and I realized marriage was not a buy-sell business and by getting two people married nobody was doing anybody a favour. If at all if someone was getting a favour it was the couple itself and it was for mutual happiness. This weekend I was talking to my husband about the silly thoughts I used to have when I was small and I remembered this. I always used to have my own version of logic for events happening around me which seem very silly and foolish now. My husband’s nephew called him on his birthday to wish him and asked, “Am I the first to wish you? Or is it aunty?” I told my husband to tell it was him. I did not know what was the kid thinking when he asked this, but did not want to spoil his pleasure in knowing he was the first. May be he had his own version of thoughts and might laugh at them when he grows. I think childhood is all about that, living in a world where a different logic rules which is different from the actual world but which seems very right at that stage of life.

Just a Blog

"Frost fair", this is where we will go this weekend I thought on Friday as I was browsing through the Christmas events in London. The website said it would be a fair with ice sculptures, husky dog rides, street theatres, artist performances on the bankside. Wah! Interesting outing it would be I thought. So on Sunday, in spite of the freezing weather, two creatures i.e. me and my husband ventured outside. The venue of the fair was near Tate Modern, the famous museum of modern arts in London. I also had plans to visit the Tate which I did not mention to my husband, who otherwise would have cancelled this whole thing even before we started.
We reached the Southwark station from which the frost fair was at a walkable distance. Following directions, we started not to mention the horrifying cold enveloping us and penetrating its sharpness through all the warm clothing we had on us. There wasn’t any excitement on the streets showing any signs of social activity in the vicinity. I wondered if I had checked the date properly, hoped so desperately for 2 reasons, one coming out so far in the cold and finding that there was nothing would be a terrible experience on its own, plus I would also have to hear the continuous comments, tease from my husband, which I didn’t want to. So, I kept motivating him to walk further, when we saw some signs, parents with their little kids all bundled up in clothes treading little steps. “It might be good” I thought, although I started getting this intuition that it would be a huge disappointment
So, finally we reached the place, in front of the Tate. Except for a pair of little dirty dogs giving rides to tiny kids, a man demonstrating how to carve an ice sculpture and a few little stalls the place was dull. I didn’t want get into the phase of getting teased, so volunteered my apologies beforehand to my husband for getting him there. He is one person who at times sees light even in the darkest tunnel! He showed me a place a few meters away filled with smoke, which gave hopes of some warmth. There were food stalls, hot pies, drinks, pancakes etc. I had issued a temporary curfew on chicken items in the house, so my husband did not express any desire to eat any of the hot stuff although he was fully willing to do so.
With the freezing weather my finger tips started aching despite the gloves. That was the pretext to go into Tate. It displayed modern art which in reality made no sense but on observation, one could make 101 interpretations of it. Being an imaginative creature I am, I very well could read meanings into them. I am not an artist or a great fan of arts, but I could easily spend a couple of hours in the gallery. But meanwhile my husband was getting restless. He has a self-imposed (well, I think so) allergy towards museums, libraries or anything I like and I started getting the hints. I ignored the comments and continued;
Finally we came out of the Tate; I thought he deserved something for accompanying me to the Tate plus the frost fair, a fair which was lacklustre. A ping of guilt started piercing me for dragging him out in the terrible cold. Back again there were the food stalls. There was this Morocco food stall which sold all spicy dishes filling the air with beautiful aroma. Suggested him to buy it. Little encouragement was all he needed. He came out all happy with a huge Morocco chicken cone in his hand.
Back at home we were relaxing all warm and cosy. “When will we visit the next museum?” he asked all smiling (All credit to the Morocco chicken cone). I remembered Joey of the ‘Friends’ (the funny character in the ‘Friends’ series who likes eating). I said “Next Saturday, but this time there won’t be any Morocco checken”P.S: I know this is not my kind of blog. I just wanted to keep up the writing spirits

Try and try...

Oh! There is so much to do. How will I do? I hope it comes ok. I don’t know why I take such a long time to do it when that is the simplest thing according to everybody. I just hope I can do it well and with little time this time”. This is the sort of anxiety I feel when I plan to do this particular task. You are wondering what it is? In typical KBC style of Amitabh Bacchan, “Agar aap exam ke bare mein soch rahe hein to aap galat hai”(If you are thinking about exam you are wrong), “agar aap kuch confession ke bare mein soch rahe hein tho aap galat hai””(If you are thinking about confession you are wrong), “agar aap mere office ke kaam ke bare mein soch rahe hein tho bhi aap galat hai””(If you are thinking about my work at office you are still wrong). This task which makes me anxious, gets me nervous, brings me restlessness is none other than making chapathis.
“Making chapathis?” that’s the question mark on your face. Yes, making chapathis; soft ones, round ones has been a question mark to me from time immemorial. Oh, I shouldn’t lie, well not exactly time immemorial but for the past 4-5 months, the reason being I never tried to do one before that. My actual hands -on experiment in cooking started with my marriage. I had started with dosas and other Konkani recipes of different varieties and amazingly but true, all of them had come out quite well to my own surprise! My husband used to always bug me before our marriage although jokingly, asking me if I knew to prepare some dosa or some dish. I knew nothing at that time and had taken it as a challenge to prepare all those things he used to bug me with and feed him once I am married. So, now you see why I didn’t do chapattis when we were back in India ; that was not in the list of items he used to bug me with!! After coming to UK , the initial 6 months passed by in changing trains and managing time that there was neither time nor energy to try anything new. After shifting to London , I did make some futile attempts to make chapattis but easily gave them up following disastrous results. I was content to use the ready made thaw and eat Shana parathas.
The problem started when one of my colleagues a south Indian girl got engaged to another colleague a north Indian guy. She started making chapattis for him although she wasn’t used to them and had shared my opinion earlier that it was a difficult job. I don’t know why, but this part of me did not want to accept that I made bad chapattis. I didn’t see any reason why I should fail in this simple task. Yes, that’s when I made up mind; I am going to master the art of making chapattis.
The first thing I did was search for atta, Pillsbury or Annapoorna atta which my mom used. Unfortunately I could find only huge bags of them not less than 10kgs. I couldn’t buy bag of 10 kg. It would be like buying a brand new Mercedes E-class with a learner’s license. I had to buy something smaller which suited my L-board, like a second hand Maruti zen. So, I went to the Tesco and brought a 1.5 kg bag of Shakthibhog Atta. Now, the name itself was quite repelling, ‘shakthibhog’. I don’t understand why people name stuffs with such weird names. “Anyway, how does the colour of the car matter when you are learning”, I thought and went ahead with the plan. My chapattis came out nice, round as moon, soft as sponge. But………….. only before I put them on the tawa. Once cooked they were ok to be eaten immediately, bad after sometime and worse the next day. My mom, MIL suggested a few ideas, but all in vain; If only one needed equipments in the gym to exercise the jaw muscles, I would have become a rich woman by now owning a wholesale chapatti production unit. I wonder why the health conscious civilization hasn’t come up with such an idea yet.
When I am after something I do not give up easily. If A can make nice chapattis, B can make nice chapattis, why can’t C make nice chapattis? Off course she can! I changed from maruthi zen to Indica. I got a new brand called Natco. The name sounded better. With a new brand I wanted to try a new trick. Where can I find a new trick? Being in software industry for 4 years now, my mind by default went to Google, the beautiful manifestation of internet technology. I googled for ‘How to make soft chapathis’. Aah! There I find so many answers. First thought that came to my mind was “Wah! Chaitra you are not alone…many have faced this problem”. With the tricks googled out, I started driving my tata Indica;
Fuel the car and lubricate the engine parts before you drive, said lesson1; I kneaded the dough by applying a bit of oil in addition to the regular salt, flour and water. Keep the engine in running state said lesson 2; I kept aside the kneaded dough in a warm place for some time. Start driving smoothly said lesson 3; I rolled the chapattis carefully; Apply breaks only when necessary said lesson 4; I applied flour while rolling the chapattis only when it was absolutely necessary; Avoid humps and dents on the road said lesson 5; I flattened the chapattis evenly. Do not stop abruptly said lesson 6; I put the chapattis on the already heated up tawa. Always park your car in a proper parking area said the last lesson; I kept my chapattis covered.
My chapattis are ok now. But I am not stable enough to get rid-off the learner’s license. Generally my mood, spirits get reflected on the quality of the chapatti, not to exclude the luck. I still cannot say I can make soft chapattis with confidence. So, the day I plan to make chapattis, as the time approaches I will be in this agitated nervous state just like the time before the exams. I do not know why I consider this as something I need to achieve. But I am not ready to accept failure yet. I will follow the advice my mom used to give us when were small, ‘Marali yathnava maadu, marali yathnava maadu’

Marali yathnava maadu--> Try and try until you succeed

Chapatti--> North Indian bread like food stuff

atta-->wheat flour

MIL-->Mother-in-law

Calm & Quiet

Can you imagine the first thing about India that I missed in UK? Food? I did miss the food but it wasn’t the first thing I missed immediately as I came here. I will tell you what it is.
My initial project in UK was in Havant, a remote village in UK. The village was picturesque for the first sight with old Victorian houses, cool weather and silent roads. Having read hundreds of English novels, the place was exactly how they explain in books, a calm serene place. I had always considered myself as an introvert, an imaginative soul lost in some thoughts distant from this world. On seeing the village I thought, “What better place to live than this!” No, but I was proved wrong and that too within a couple of hours.
After freshening up, I was on my way to meet my project mate. For miles together I found not a single human being. Just a few cars went by, but again no horns, no noise just calm and quiet. I started getting this feeling as though I was alone and marooned in a place with no one around. I reached the place my project mate had mentioned. It is supposed to be the high street of the town. But I found not more than 5 people (including me) on the long stretch of road. I wanted to confirm if the place I came was the right one. There was no one close whom I could ask. I walked down the road for 5 min when I met a lady. The lady said she didn’t know. I had to ask someone else. But there was no one on the road. Just deserted and silent. I had to wait for 3 minutes before I met another human being and asked him for public telephone from which I could call my colleague. I went to the booth, but needed help; had to wait again for 10 min before I met the next human being. Being a bank holiday made it further worse. I started feeling sick. That’s when I realized I miss the general people, the crowd, the general chaos and noise one finds everywhere in India.
I used to stay in a B&B and every morning I used to come to the dining area for breakfast. Almost all the tables would have been occupied when I came. But still there was no hustle-bustle of the ‘Udupi Krishna bhavans’ or the ‘Bengaluru darshinis’. There were no orders of “ Ondu masale, Eradu poori, Aidu idli sambhar’ to the cook or the menu of the supplier ‘ idli, poori, masale, uppittu,sheera….”There were no sounds from the kitchen- the water splashing, the ‘chuuuuinnnnnn’ sound of the dosa on the tawa, the sound of boiling water in the idli cooker, the cooks chatting merrily. Except or the occasional clicking of forks against the plates the place was very calm and quiet
I used to take the bus to my office. Half the busy used to be empty. Everyone silently stood in the queues, bought the tickets from the driver and came in and sat down. There was no conductor of our Mangalore city buses blowing his whistle ‘Phew…Phew….Phewwwww’ non-stop, least bothered that his whistle is within a foot’s distance from your ears. “Olage hogi, munde banni, amma aache hogi, akka illi kutkolli, alli jaaga untu…hogi hogi…” with the final “Phewwwwwwwwwww Rightttsssss poyeeee” was missing.“Tickets….tickets…yaaaru tickets….” was missing...Cries of conductors listing the bus stops “Jyothi, lady Hill, Urvastore, kottara, baikampady, panambur, Surathkal….” was not there. The bus was just calm and quiet
I came to the office. The office was filled with people generally senior to me. Everyone was busy working. There were no colleagues who came for a chat during tea breaks, there were no project managers talking aloud on the phones, there were no support teams making hue and cry of every small issue. The office was just calm and quiet.
Back again in the evening, there wasn’t this friendly shopkeeper with whom you could bargain for the prices of petty vegetables, or the little boy from whose shop you bought your daily stock of milk, curds. You just went to the supermarket and bought the things you want for a week and returned to your room. Everything was just calm and quiet
I won’t get into the terrible details of boredom, loneliness I felt during my first week. But I felt one thing, no matter how beautiful or calm and quiet the place was it had no liveliness in it. It was a dead. The quietness started to eat me from within. I had detested the crowds and gatherings in India. But I needed them. I wanted to see people, active people bustling with activity; I wanted to see them laugh, talk, scowl, blame, scold, pull, push in buses; I wanted them to be there. The place was too calm and quiet for me.
I was transferred to London within 2 weeks due to some project requirement or rather the absence of it. It was my first time in tubes, the London underground. The trains were filled with people, busy people running for offices. At every stop, some people got down, more people came in. some were talking, some were reading, some were just standing or sitting, but they were there; More people came in, tubes got crowded, there was scowl on people’s faces, there were apologetic smiles, there was announcement from driver, there was anger, to summarize in a word there was life! Life was fast and moving; there was an active rhythm to it unlike that in Havant which was sad, slow and filled with melancholy;
I felt comfortable, I felt at home. “This is where I belong”, I thought. Crowd, people, noise, hustle-bustle are a part of me. Calm, quiet, tranquil places are good only to read in books. I would not want to live in a place calm and quiet.

B&B-->Bed and Breakfast; A small motel like place to stay providing boarding and breakfast

Marriage material

"How old are you, Where do you work, and then an appraising look is what I encounter where ever I go", said a friend of mine, an eligible bachelor. Age being the age he is and working in a company known to every literate or may be even illiterate in the country, he is considered to be an ideal 'marriage material'.
In India marriage is considered to be a vital part of a human being and an even more vital responsibility of the parents of that human being. So, irrespective of whether the input (i.e. the marriage candidate) is available (i.e. ready), the process is started. A lady becomes the marriage material as soon as she finishes her immediate studies, generally a bachelor's degree and a man when he attains an age of 25-26 and is in a good enough job. Having gone through that phase, I understand the situation of my friend very well. The society norms being the way it is I very well understand the anxiety of the parents to get their children married; but what I do not understand is the enthusiasm or the excess enthusiasm of the relatives, their relatives, their friends, some uncles, some aunties, so grannies to get an individual married. I am sure they are all well intended but the awkward situations the marriage material undergoes are worth mentioning.
The marriage material goes to a family function, the first thing he/she listens is a comment from an old aunty “The next family function would be your wedding” The marriage material just grins; his explanation that he isn’t interested would only fall on deaf ears, instead it would only raise questioning stares from others. Then he meets an old grandpa who is a distant relative of his mom. “I don’t mind even if I die but I want to see your marriage before that”. Marriage material is confused. Does it mean that the wedding of the marriage material would be such a heart breaking experience for the grandpa that he dies later? Or does it mean the grandpa wants to die with the satisfaction that one more man/woman is bound by the marriage knot? (Only that the old grandpa doesn’t die contently after the marriage but would only have more demands awaiting about kids, house etc).
Then a helpful aunty approaches the marriage material’s mom, “You know, there is this lady who has just finished her graduation in xxx. She is from very good family yyy. I saw her during the wedding of Mr X’s son last week. She is really pretty and is working as well. I think she is ideal for your son”, and looks appraisingly at the marriage material. The marriage material just widens his lips for the sake of courtesy. The helpful aunty doesn’t stop there; now she targets directly at the marriage material, “What kind of girl do you want?”, “Do you want a working girl? Or do you prefer a house wife?” “Do you want a fair one?” “Oh, you want one with lovely black hair?”(As though it is a market from which you can bargain and pick out the best one out as per your choices). Indians are generally not very open about their marriage and hence the marriage material just keeps mum only flashing his teeth. The story doesn’t end here. The helpful aunty suddenly realizes something and drags the marriage material aside. She now thinks of being a confidante and whispers into the ears of the marriage candidate, “Are you in love with someone?” Even before the marriage material confirms or declines it, she says “Which caste is she?” The marriage material tries to replies something which never comes out of his mouth. Aunty continues “No, you don’t worry. I will tell your parents. You are afraid to tell them, aren’t you?” Realizing that no sound came out of his mouth last time, the marriage material now tries to nod his head and refuse it. He is unsuccessful in this attempt as well, for the helpful aunty is now holding is head and mischievously telling him “Oh oh you naughty boy!!! You hiding things from you dear aunty! Look how I found it out?!! Do not worry, I will speak to your mama, papa”. Then comes the next character, the helpful aunt’s helpful husband sweating profusely after the heavy lunch, bringing along with him an odour which one can imagine to be a combination of the spices in the lunch he had, sweat, cigarette smoke and the sweet he has just gobbled. Having got to know the things from his wife, the helpful uncle hugs the marriage material now and says “Oh lover boy!!!...Who is the lucky lady?? mmmm? You know, when I was in the college there was this pretty lady……I will help you in every way” The marriage material only struggles to free himself from the helpful hug of the helpful uncle only wishing “I just hope he helps me get out of this sweaty hug”
I always used to remember a joke I had read somewhere and provided it as a suggestion to my friend. The joke is about a young man like our marriage material who always meets this old aunty during wedding occasions in the family. The old aunty always asks him “Mmmm…When is your turn dear boy?” Having got to heard this a dozen times the young man is fed up and waits for an opportunity to give it back. As usual he meets the old aunty at a ceremony, but this time a funeral occasion. He decides to avenge on her, goes to her and asks “Mmmm… When is your turn dear aunty?” Next time the old aunty doesn’t haunt him with her old question.
If you are a marriage material and are facing these situations, you might want to try this…but at your own risk.

You OK?

“You OK?” This is a very common statement made in UK when people meet each other. It could be your colleague you meet in office at the pantry, or your landlord who you meet accidentally in the train, or any other person who is not a stranger to you. People start the conversation with this. It is used as a replacement for a small simple ‘Hi’ or a sweeter ‘Hello’. During my initial days in UK, I used to feel quite awkward, rather offended at this small harmless question. What does it mean when somebody asks you if you are ok? Does it mean you don’t look ok? Or does it mean you weren’t ok yesterday? And what does this Ok mean? Does Ok mean you are in full spirits to jump and dance all around? Does it mean you are neither sad nor happy just ok-ok? Or does it mean you are sad and just ok? I perceive Ok as the second state; a state where you are not too happy with a situation, nor are you unhappy; rather you are just Ok.
Ok has an interesting background. My favourite and the most popular one is that it is an abbreviation for ‘All Correct’, or rather ‘Oll Korrekt’ where neither ‘O’ nor ‘K’ is correct. Supposedly, this was coined by American President Andrew Jackson who was bad at spellings. Some theory says OK came after an American president (FYI, Martin Van Buren) who was nicknamed 'Old Kinderhook’ and whose initials later became popular as OK. Others say it is the American craze of misspelling the words which lead to the birth of OK. Earlier it was used as O.K. which then became OK. Okay is a newer version of Ok. Okie is another form. Okie-dokie is a stylish version.
It is not that I don’t use the expression Ok. Somebody explains something to you and wants a confirmation from you and asks “Is that ok?” I am Ok with this ok. Asking “Are you in agreement with me if I don’t cook tonight?” will not sound as ok as “Is it ok if I don’t cook tonight?” You go to a shop and find a dress not quite interesting. Your husband asks you, “How is it?” “It’s ok”, this means you wouldn’t want to buy it. Some people answer affirmative as ok. “Will you do this?” “Ok”. Others are unable to decide and use Ok as the defence. On a query from her roommate about the new date she had, the girl says, “He is ok”, which means she is yet to decide about him. Mom says her kid who ate too many candies, “Beta, it’s not ok to eat so many sweets at once”, which means you are not supposed to eat too many sweets. Someone’s late for a party and apologizes. The host replies “That’s Ok”, which means ‘I don’t mind’. I am perfectly ok with these Oks. What I am not ok with is to ask a person “You ok?” when the person is already ok and asking that question will only make him not ok. I don’t know why, but asking “Are you ok?” somehow reminds me of a rude question in Kannada “Tale sari unta?” (Are you sane?), which is asked only when one is extremely upset with someone or something.
I feel one another general pleasantry used in UK equally annoying. “How are you today?” Had the pleasantry stopped at “How are you?” I would have been ok. But a ‘today’ added to it makes me think “Arrey, what had happened to me yesterday? I was ok yesterday; I was ok day before yesterday for that matter I was ok for the past 6 months. What is there to ask how I am today if I was ok and fit and bubbling with energy for the last 6 months?” We, Indians generally enquire how one is only if we have met that person after a long time or if the person wasn’t feeling ok the previous day. During my first few days in UK, if someone asked me these questions about my ok status , I would think “May be I look tired and sick” and then go to the rest room and check out in the mirror how I looked and think “Oh! I look quite ok. I wonder why he asked me that!” It has been a year now in UK and till now I have not been able to accept this innocent query; but I have become wise enough not to go and check if I am ok. On the other hand I am quite ok now.
By the way are you still Ok?

Chocolate Pudding

Yesterday I ate chocolate pudding. So whatz the big deal about it? I’ll tell you
I have been watching this ad in TV for quite a few days. Its an ad where there is a piece of chocolate cake kept on a beautifully decorated table. The cake piece is hot, all brown and juicy. Melted chocolate is poured over it which makes it still more appealing. Then comes a lady and stylishly picks up the cake and takes a bite of it with an intricately designed spoon. Next scene I am sure you can imagine, she expresses in her face and eyes all delight of eating the most delicious thing in the world.
No wonder after watching all that I was tempted to eat it. After all when you are in UK you should taste all these chocolate delicacies which you rarely find in India . Even if you find them in India , you would hesitate looking at the price tag. I remember a small piece of chocolate brownie cake of Café coffee day which costed about Rs 40-50 a piece. It tasted nothing when compared to the cakes and chocolates we get here. Nothing surprising, after all chocolates are the only sweets these people know. (In India we get variety of sweets each with a different taste, smell and a colour which people over here have hardly heard of. For ex, we have rasgulla, made of milk; gulabjamun made of milk; dood peda made of milk; dharwad peda made of milk; kheer made of milk and each of these taste very different although made of the same ingredient ‘milk’). Anyways abck to the chocolate pudding, I said my Mr “I want to eat that chocolate pudding”. He gave me a shocked look. Last year I had bought a Christmas pudding full of raisins. It was so sweet, so sweet, and so sweet that I could hardly eat it and finally had to throw it to the bin. So, with this amazing desire to eat the chocolate pudding I went for shopping on weekend. I found a small box of chocolate pudding which served a single person. I happily got it home.
I thought “Let me eat it tonight as a dessert after my dinner.” But that night we had our dinner late and it was already late for bed. I wanted to eat the delicious chocolaty thing with class, slowly relishing every bite of it, tantalising all my taste buds. So I decided to eat it the next night.
I prepared gobi palak for dinner the next night. The dish came out very well. I thought “Great dinners always end in a great dessert”. So planning to eat the pudding that night, I started my dinner. Only that by the end of the dinner I was so full that I couldn’t eat the pudding no matter how delicious it could be. So, again I decided “Let me eat it tomorrow. After all it should be eaten with class in style”
The next day, I cooked a very simple dinner and made sure I had appetite plus mood to eat the pudding. I had my dinner…”Mmm…there is still space…I am not full yet…Good”, I thought. I cleaned up the kitchen, did the dishes and sat with my Mr to watch the TV. ‘Friends’ was happening in the TV; but I couldn’t watch it, my mind kept going back and back to the pudding kept in the fridge. Finally I announced, “I am eating it.”
I carefully read all the instructions in it to heat it up. After all this wait I didn’t want it to be burnt or charred. I heated the thing in the oven. I could smell something….something sweet getting burnt? I immediately took it out… No, it was still hard. Kept it back again…again some burnt smell. “No, wait Chaitra”, I said. Another second and I thought enough of waiting. I took it out. I poured it from the plastic container into a plate.
There it was, the pudding exactly as I wanted it, soft, brown, full of chocolate with melted chocolate sauce over it. There were also some titbits covered by sauce, which I thought could be the nuts. I took it back to the sofa and asked my Mr., “Do you want some?” He made a face. (As usual, I force him to eat things which I like and finally he too starts liking them). I gave him some. He said he wanted no more. “Good”, I thought “Let me have it all”. So I took my first bite, slowly just like the stylish lady in TV. It was yummy…Just as I expected; I took the second bite; the sauce is a little too sweet for me. Never the less tasty. Third bite, the sauce is really sweet for me. I wish it was less sweet; Fourth bite, I wonder how people eat such sweet stuff; Fifth bite, Oh these titbits are bits of chocolate; Next bite, I wish they were nuts; Other bite, These people are fools. Why do they put bits of chocolate in a pudding entirely made of chocolate? Nuts would have made them much better. Next bite, “Darling, will you have some? It is really yummy”; One more bite, “Honey, Can you help me with this?” One next bite, “Hey please eat this. I can’t have any more”

Crave for talking?

Some people have amazing crave for talking. You are wondering that I belong to that category? No, I don’t. I talk to people only with whom I am comfortable. Else I keep my mouth shut.
Yesterday I met a lady in the train station, about 50-55 years, Indian by birth, but settled in UK for some time for sure. She boards the train at the same station as mine. I have noticed her talking to some person or the other always and every time it’s a new person she is talking to. Yesterday I was her victim. The train was full and both us were standing when due to some movement of the train she had to lean on me. She said “sorry”. I smiled and said ‘That’s ok’. Ouch, that was my mistake. She replied “Oh that’s a nice chance to know each other”. I didn’t know what to reply because people generally do not socialize much in UK.
Then and there without any inkling she started interrogating me. No matter how reluctant I was to reply to her queries, she somehow dragged the answers out of my mouth. “I guess you stay at xxx”, I said “Yes”; “I presume you work at xxx”, “Oh yes”; “Your husband works at xxx?” ;”Oh yes”. Meanwhile her phone rings and am happy that I am relieved. But alas no. “That was my daughter’s call”; ”Ok”; ”Do you have brothers and sisters?”; ”Yes”; ”How many?”; ”One each”; “They are married?”; ”No”; ”Do you have in laws?”…so went the conversation and by mid journey which could be around 20 min I came to know that she is in UK for 12 years, basically from New Delhi, has a son and a daughter, who lives in Cambridge who is a mother of a 4-month old baby and has just joined back to work. She has a mother-in-law to care, she wakes at 5:30 in the morning, returns back home by 5:30 in the evening working as a secretary and does all cleaning, shopping, washing, ironing , cooking etc etc.
At the end of conversation, I came to know one import aspect of her life, she didn’t tell me, but I realized it. She was hungry to talk. She was lonely in her life. Her kids had grown up and were indulged in their own lives. (I do not know of her husband, she didn’t mention him) She was facing this mid-life crisis and with the UK life style she didn’t have a friend with who she could talk to. So she talked to everyone she could, either in search of a friendship or to quench her thirst to talk to someone known or unknown.
No, I have no intention of befriending her to help her out. A talk with her would be an excellent trigger for a 420 Watts migraine. But this incident made me think; having all the things in life, she still felt lonely, Why? Is it the lost family bonding? I don’t know.

Whatz in a name? Bahut kuch

Aah! I am sure you would have given a thought at the URL of my blog. 'Kamath', yes that is my surname now. Not that I am quite used to it, but I thought of using it. 'What is in a name?' asked somebody, but I say there is a lot in a name. If someone comes and asks who you are, your immediate response would be “I am xxx" followed by other details. You wouldn't be telling "I am a software professional aged so and so working for so and so and then my name is so and so", would you?
Name has always been an interesting subject matter to me. I always like to remember beautiful names. When I say beautiful names, they are names which are not common and which carry a good meaning. I absolutely dislike the 2-syllabled Rita, Sony, Tina which are meaningless. They sound like alpha beta gamma. Neither do I like names which are so common that every next person has the same name. One lane will have at least a dozen kids with the same name and you would have to identify them by their surnames and eventually only the surname will be used; the whole purpose of name is lost.
My generally liking is towards names which are unique and carry a good meaning in Sanskrit or any of the Indian languages or belong to any mythological/ historical character. One of my lecturers in college had named her son as Amoghavarsha (Amoghavarsha Nruptungadeva was a great emperor of India). I absolutely love that name. The other name I like the most is Anagha (Its named after the Hindu goddess which means sinless; an+agha (sin)).
The latest craze among parents is to name their kids as uniquely as possible. I find this craze quite interesting; this trend leads to new inventions/ experiments in names not to mention disasters as well. About 4to 5 generations back parents rarely bothered about the names of their kids. Not much thought was given to the names. This led to great amusements to name a few -Young girls were named 'Kumari'(which is equivalent to Miss in English), who later in their lives after marriage would be called as Srimathi Kumari, translating to English would be Mrs Miss. Young girls were also named Shrimathi and would be called Kumari Shrimathi. I find this quite amusing.
In some parts of Karnataka, it is common to name people after vegetables like Mensinakai (chilly).Some other weird names are huchhappa (mad man), mudukappa (old man). West is not far away in having strange naming cultures. The current president of USA George Bush is the son of George Bush.

So there goes the story of names. Name be whatever ultimately what matters is the person, his character right? So, you call me Chaitra Pai or Chaitra Kamath I will respond. After all whatever you call me, I still remain the same me, myself Chaitra :-)