Tiny Tidbits

Just the yellow lemon tree .......

2012-01-18T08:04:00.011+08:00

(Image courtesy : dreamstime.com via Google)

A love for the English language is something both Macadamia and Pecan have been blessed with. For that matter, right from his childhood days, Pecan has always had this habit of “twirling” the “r” sound when he speaks – making his speech sound sound quite UnIndianised. For that matter, even the rest of his speech never really sounded like the English me and Vic spoke. At one point of time, in jest, it led us to wonder if we’d got the wrong baby home from the hospital :-).

Anyways, not to digress – they love the language and they love to immerse themselves in it (a tad too much, at times). Both of them are relentless bookworms - they have been so for the past many years and they still are. Judging by the way things are going, they will continue to remain so.

We’ve been noticing for a while now – it has been a couple of years actually – that Pecan’s ability to articulate his thoughts is getting better and better by the day. It is not as much what he says, it is more about how he puts his thoughts or feelings into words. He hits the nail right on the head virtually every time. There are times when he leaves us speechless with the vocabulary that he uses to communicate.

The other day, it was really cold and all of us were sitting in the bedroom with the heater on. It was cosy enough to make Macadamia and Pecan linger on there – not wanting to go back to their own bedroom which, by the way, was equally cosy in terms of the warmth generated by the heater there. But this is something we do especially on weekends, songs playing on YouTube and all of us sitting around in the same room.

The other day, the song that was playing on YouTube was “Lemon Tree”. As far as the lyrics go, the ones that keep repeating through the song are :

I wonder how, I wonder why

Yesterday you told me 'bout the blue, blue sky

And all that I can see is just another lemon tree

I'm turning my head up and down

I'm turning, turning, turning, turning, turning around

And all that I can see is just a yellow lemon tree

The first time around, Pecan went all quiet and still like one of those sniffer dogs which have just about detected some scent but don’t quite know which scent they’ve caught and where it’s coming from. He had that slightly faraway look in his eyes which said that he was in one of those “contemplative” modes. Just then, the brows furrowed just a wee bit which did say that some of the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle were in place and that the theory he was forming was being solidified into a ball of thoughts . Now it is a good thing to read these signs about Pecan because once that “ball of thought” has been formed, he just picks that ball up and swings and wings it at you like one of those baseball pitchers.

Sure enough, after a couple of minutes, came the theory which began thus. “OK – so this is a simile so don’t take it literally. Now the person who wrote that song, I know, is talking about waiting for someone – probably his girlfriend or something – Gawd guys can be so dumb sometimes – girlfriends – gah !! (It was at this point of time that I thought to myself – yeah sure – tell me the same thing about 15-20 years down the line and believe you, I shall). OK – so to get back to my point – I was talking about the lemon tree in the song. Now, if we look at this in the 21st century, the lemon tree in the song would indicate the pollution that we see around us – everywhere, everytime, anywhere, anytime. Whether you are sitting near the window or driving around in a car – all you see is the “yellow lemon tree”, which, in our case or in the case of anyone living in the 21st century, is definitely pollution."

Phew !!

He thinks. He thinks a lot. Sometimes a tad too much for a 8 ½ year old, methinks. He has his own logic pathways – some of them pretty unconventional. I mean, speaking with him on some serious topic is not at all like watching a Hindi movie wherein the ending is rather predictable. It is more like being led on a roller coaster ride, with the dips and the gentle rises, the steep falls and the sharp turns, the stomach churning twists and the all numbing turns.

From what we’ve been seeing for quite some time now, those “roller coaster rides” are here to stay. When he was a lot younger, it was Abhayisms that were the most popular on Tiny Tidbits. I think it is about time I started tagging posts with the tag “Logic – Pecan style”.

Well, as things stand right now, Pecan does what he sets out to do, Macadamia does what she sets out to do. Both Macadamia and Pecan are busy with school and the challenges that school is bringing along. Both me and Vic are busy with our respective jobs and the challenges that our jobs bring along. In the midst of it all, all four of us have our "together time" too and that is the bit that makes it all worthwhile. That is the bit that we value, enjoy, appreciate, relish and cherish.

That's our little train, chugging along life's way .........

Of being pickled .......

2012-01-05T19:17:00.008+08:00

(Image courtesy : indianfoodsco.com via Google)

Pickles !!

What memories does that one word evoke ?

To me, it is not just a life saver, not just a virtual necessity, not just one of those palate cleansing, tongue tickling condiments that adds a whole new dimension to food. To me, the word pickles evokes many more memories from my childhood.

There are some memories from childhood which I distinctly remember and then there are other memories which are rather fuzzy around the edges. There are many memories that are as sharp as a colour picture taken at a time when photography was not so abundant and at the same time, there are many other memories that have been tinged with tones of black and white or a more earthy sepia. Pickles are something that evoke those distinctly clear memories. My childhood memories related to pickles are unblemished even at this age. I guess I was a foodie even back then – just that I didn’t know it !!!

Come summer, the mangowallas would be seen walking around the building compound, big baskets deftly balanced on their white capped heads. These baskets would invariably contain a veritable treasure – small, tender mangoes, mangoes which are plucked from the tree in infancy.

I still remember how the mangoes would be carefully inspected by my mom and how she would buy the smallest and most tender mangoes for pickling. Though I was never a part of this (almost sacred) process of making pickles, I always used to hover around the sidelines – feasting my eyes on the ingredients and soaking up their aromas. I can still remember the sharp tang of the turpin from the fresh mangoes, the fresh odor of a newly opened packet of salt, the tongue numbing fiery smell of the red chilli powder which promised to be just as fiery on the tongue when tasted. There were other muted odors that I do remember – the sharp pungency of the mustard seeds being ground, the wafting aromas of other spices being roasted, the seemingly unique aroma of asafoetida.

In the winter, it would be lemons or gooseberries being pickled. If we had been on a trip down South of India, it could be the Mahani root pickle. Every season had its own specialty and it would be difficult to judge which pickle was the best. Each one had its own distinct flavor, its own defined personality. Each of these had its unique, distinct aromas and flavors which are etched on my mind and my palate and I guess these are one of those things that I will remember with distinct clarity for a long time.

Unfortunately, time has indeed left its mark on pickling too – or rather, the heritage of making pickles. In this fast world that we live in today, it is so much easier to just buy a bottle of pickle off the shelf in the stores, is it not ? We have done this too, a few times. But it was never as fulfilling as a bottle of home made pickles. Not just the taste factor, it is the fact that there is something so innately about the whole process of pickling. There is something intensely gratifying, something inherently rewarding about pickling. No questions about it – it is an art. Pickling is an art in itself.

It is, however, an art which is slowly being eroded, an art which is slowly being lost as home made pickles are replaced by the store bought ones. Over the past few years, we have been making our pickles at home – we have tried pickling lemon, lime, mango, ginger, tomato and some other vegetables. The first time you taste those homemade pickles, when a whole range of tastes tantalize your palate, when that balance of sourness, saltiness and spice (in some cases, sweet too) are in perfect balance with each other – the feeling is not unlike nirvana J

Here’s to pickles, then ….. those tangy, spicy, lip smacking, tongue tingling accompaniments to an Indian meal …….. may pickles continue to seduce palates the world over.

Of resolutions and then some .....

2012-01-03T15:39:00.005+08:00

Image courtesy : michellehenry.jr via Google

Another year has flown past. Another has begun. As the seconds tick past, the minutes dwindle away and the hours merge and fuse, one into another – we will see yet another year go by. Our wise ancestors did not coin the phrase “time flies” for nothing. It makes so much sense.

I, for one, have fallen out of the habit of making the notoriously infamous “New Year Resolutions”. There was a time when I used to make New Year’s Resolutions – many of them. There was a time when I used to religiously write down the resolutions I’d made. That was a time in my life when I used to religiously forget things too !!

There was this time when I resolved not to eat chocolates through the year. You know, it is true that human beings go through these shades of insanity. I must have been going through one of those when I made that particular resolution to myself. No chocolates for a year !!!! Who was I kidding ??!! But I did. Once that moment of insanity had passed and I saw things clearly for what they were, I realised what I’d done and more quickly than I’d put down that resolution, I dissolved it !!! I simply cannot impose such things on myself. Oh No !! I can’t !!! That was about the time I decided that these “food based resolutions” were simply not my cup of tea. See – there I go again with a cup of tea.

Why make resolutions in the first place ? I asked myself then. I mean, why make life difficult for oneself, eh ? “I won’t do this. I won’t do that.” The very next day begins the battle of the wills. And with me, my will is definitely stronger than that of my resolution. The situation gets resolved and the resolution gets dissolved just as soon, if not sooner.

There was this time when I swore (read resolved) to go off “fried stuff”. The intense craving that hit me the very next instant had to be seen to be believed. So I decided to put myself out of this misery. “No more resolutions” became my motto and believe me, it has worked fine for me. Without a resolution breathing down my neck, I seem to achieve what I had set out to, anyways. Just that when the word “resolution” comes into the picture, my mind automatically rebels. Gah !!

The same works the other way around too. There was this time when I’d said to myself that I would do weight training every single day – well, almost. And through that year, my mind worked on the belief that once a week is quite equivalent to every single day of the week !!! How it came to that conclusion, I know not. But I do know that through the whole of that year, I barely touched the dumbbells. I rest my case !!!

There is one thing that is irking me, though. Big time !! It has been a couple of years now (maybe more) since I stopped posting regularly on this blog. NO – that is not to say that I regularly post on some other blog. I stopped writing regularly and I stopped posting regularly. Posts became sporadic and the sad part is, that did not bother me at all. I should have but it did not. Just the other day, the penny dropped. Like with almost everything else in life, writing / blogging too takes discipline. I mean, it is so easy it is so very very easy to let go, sit back and not pick up the threads again. I find that I’m getting used to “not blogging” or not letting those words in my head flow onto pen and paper.

It is pretty much like letting yourself go and eat a bag of chips every single day of the week. When you weigh yourself at the end of the week, you realize that the weight has indeed crept up on you and settled rather comfortably around your middle – pretty much like an unwelcome guest. And yet again, pretty much like an unwelcome guest, it just refuses to leave on being coaxed and cajoled. It has to be pushed away, in a rather determined manner. Problem is, people like me have to hang on tooth and nail to the little determination that we’ve been blessed with – which is to say, not much !!

So, the blogging / posting thing is one thing that I need to aim at changing. See – I did not “resolve” to write more often – that way I’m sure it will never get done. I’m just nagging myself (trust me – I’m good at it J) – the nagging, I mean – not the writing. I’m nagging myself to get back into the habit of writing and posting regularly. I really need to. Knowing me, unless and until I push myself back into this habit, it ain’t gonna happen.

So yeah – that’s me – fingers and toes and everything else that’s possible, crossed – hoping that I get back into some semblance of regular blog posting, hoping that I have enough determination left in me to put those thoughts down on paper or in cyberspace.

For the rest of you determined souls out there, I do sincerely hope that you can hold on to your resolutions, if you have made any. Even if you can’t, I do sincerely hope that you don’t have any regrets about not holding on to those resolutions. You have me for company !!

Resolutions or no resolutions, here’s wishing everyone a 2012 filled with love, peace and good health.

Santa Claus - Myth or Reality ??

2011-12-23T08:06:00.004+08:00

(Image courtesy : blogs.babble.com)

The other day, some talk had come up about the festive season and about Santa Claus being busy and things like that. “Gawd !! We know Santa Claus doesn’t exist !!!” exclaimed Pecan. I looked at Macadamia, only to find her shooting looks in my direction – looks that seemed to speak out loud and clear in saying “Exactly how old do you think we are ??” “Santa !!!” “Good Lord !!” She did not say it out aloud but “the look” said it all.

This Santa issue is indeed a big one. In fact, there are debates as to whether parents should even introduce the concept of Santa to their kids. Some parents nod in the affirmative while others insist that a negative answer to this question makes more sense. “Don’t lie to your kids !” state some websites, which encourage parents to tell kids (no matter how young they are) that Santa is nothing but an illusion. One website I looked at actually called Santa a “Hogwash”.

I don’t know if it is me or if it is the child in me (yeah – there definitely exists a child in each and every one of us – deep down inside our hearts – no matter how old we grow !) but it seems infinitely sad that there seems to be no room for that childish hope for a ray of magic (albeit an illusion) in this fast paced world of today.

I don’t remember ever bringing up conversations about Santa during my childhood. Not that I didn’t know about Santa but simply because ours was a conservative family which did not even think of celebrating festivals other than Diwali, Vishu or Onam and the like. Christmas and the celebrations thereof, were a far cry. So yeah, I did read about the jolly old man with a long white beard who embodied the concept of giving and spreading joy but never once did I bring up the topic – for, it would have lead me nowhere.

But think – honestly – does the air not change around this time of the year ? Things do get and feel more festive. There is more than just a nip in the air – there is a distinct feel of something upbeat. And that big jolly old man in a red suit with a long white beard is in the centre of it all. Even if Santa is just an illusion – for me, he embodies something deeper. He embodies the very spirit of “giving”, of “sharing joy”. I may sound extremely childish in saying this but yes – “Santa is magical”.

As compared to when we were kids, when I look at kids nowadays – and I’m talking in general here – not just Macadamia and Pecan, it does seem as though kids nowadays are getting sophisticated way too early in their thoughts. I mean, look at this generation of kids – all Kindled, IPODed, PSPed NDSed, IPADed – and you will find that they begin scoffing at the very concept of the jolly old bearded man in a red suit at a much younger age. And the average age when disbelief sets in about Santa is steadily decreasing, as we speak.

I really don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing but to have this charming myth put to rest so early in kids’ young lives – seems a tad tragic, actually. I know it is not true but isn’t there something magical about believing in magic ? And Santa represents the magic and the innocence of childhood, more than anything else.

I still remember the times when Macadamia and Pecan were much littler and come Christmas morning, the first thing they used to do was rush over to the Christmas tree to check what Santa had left for them. I still remember the time when Pecan insisted on leaving a whole pack of cookies for Santa because he’d said “Santa will be so tired and he will be hungry”. I still remember the smiles on their faces as they looked at the goodies under the Christmas tree. I just have to close my eyes and I can still feel that buzz of excitement that used to zoom all around them like little atomic particles as they opened their gifts. I still remember the starts in their eyes, as their little eyes shone with joy and excitement. I still remember them, with those twinkling eyes and those sweet smiles, as the festive season and the jolly old man wove their magic around them and as Macadamia and Pecan willingly entered that world of magic. I still remember the time when we had made one of those online videos for both Macadamia and Pecan and I remember Pecan being thrilled to bits about having received a message from Santa – directly addressed to him. Macadamia had, by then, already stepped into that phase which is fuelled more by realism than by magic.

And I see them now, both of them - totally worldly wise and it is yet another one of those little reminders that life sends your way in saying “Look. Your kids have grown up.” In my case, I guess it is pretty much saying “Look your kids have grown up. It’s about time you did, too !” J Santa is no more that unexplained figure of enchantment, he simply was a wispy figment of imagination that they’d come across when they were a lot younger.

I remember having said in many of my blog posts “the kids are growing up”. Looks like it is about time I started saying “the kids have grown up”.

I still can’t let go of those Christmas memories and I guess these are things I never will let go of. It was just a few years back when they used to sit still, stay awake as long as they could, waiting to hear the hooves of Rudolph and the other reindeers, waiting to hear the squeak of the window as it opened and the scrape as the rotund, cheerful Santa Claus squeezed his girth through the small windows in HongKong. There was such an intense air of anticipation that it actually hung over the whole house, over all of us. They believed in Santa then, because they wanted to believe.

This whole thing about the jolly old man is all about believing or not believing. It is simply about adding an element of mystery, an aura of mystery, if you may. It is all about trying to work and weave a little magic into this world of today. To me, Santa embodies the concept of “giving”, of “sharing”. Which is probably why I don’t really want to “grow up” and say that Santa is unreal. Santa does not have to be unreal. He can be real, if we choose for that to be so. It does not have to be a huge bag full of goodies. It can even be something little, doing something as little as say donating some toys to orphanages or even food to orphanages or old age homes, sponsoring education for children in remote parts of the world where education is not something that can be taken for granted, where education is a luxury that few can afford or have. It is all about trying to add that extra bit of warmth into the world of today. God knows that the world of today needs it more than it did in the past !!

Like Edwin Osgood Grover once said

“Santa Claus is anyone who loves another and seeks to make them happy ; who gives himself/herself by thought or word or deed in every gift that he/she bestows.

To all of you out there – let the magic live on ..........

Here’s wishing all the readers at Tiny Tidbits a very happy Christmas. May this Christmas and the year to follow be filled with joy, love, good health, peace and hope.

Granola Bars .....

2011-12-22T10:28:00.011+08:00

What are Granola Bars ?

The names "Granula" and "Granola" were trademarked in late 19th century for foods consisting of whole grain products which are crumbled and then baked until crisp.

They are found in large numbers on the shelves in supermarkets. Ever taken a close look at the ingredients and the nutrition labels on the packs of these supposedly "healthy" granola bars ?? Trust me, you'd be shocked.

The store bought granola bars range from the very healthy ones (which taste like packed dry cardboard) to the supposedly healthy ones (that are pretty much sugar bombs with loads of the fructose and maltose packed in - through the syrups).

I came across this recipe on Nigella's website. I know Nigella isn't exactly a person known for brandishing healthy recipes - I mean, almost all her recipes are quite high in fat / calorie counts. Yet again, it is a matter of personal preference and when it comes to our diet, we prefer to eat healthy (for the most part, that is !!) :-).

But this recipe caught my attention and I decided to give it a go after having made a few changes to the recipe mentally. What remained was to actually give it a try and see how it turned out.

Ingredients

------------

4 baking cups rolled oats (not instant oats)

100 gms unsalted sunflower seeds

100 gms unsalted pumpkin seeds

100 gms roasted unsalted peanuts

8-10 dry apricots (chopped)

5 tbsps dry blueberries

8-10 dry strawberries (chopped)

5 tbsps dry cranberries

1 can sweetened condensed milk

Directions

----------

1. Add all the dry ingredients and mix them together.

2. Warm the condensed milk in a saucepan on low heat, stirring all the while. If it is left unattended (even on low heat), the sugar sticks to the bottom of the pan.

3. Once warm (it does not have to boil), add this warmed up condensed milk to the dry ingredients.

4. A wooden spoon or a silicon spatula works best for mixing the whole lot together.

5. Preheat the oven to 130 degrees celsius.

6. Line a baking tray with aluminium foil or wax paper and grease with either oil or butter. I used a little bit of melted butter to grease the pan. You will need less than a teaspoon to grease the pan. I also coated the back of the wooden spoon with the leftover bit of melted butter.

7. Pour the granola mix into the baking tray and use the back of the wooden spoon to smoothen and even the mix in the baking tray.

8. Bake at 130 degrees celsius for an hour.

9. Once baked, take the tray out of the oven and lift the whole block of granola off the baking tray. This is just to ensure that the bars do not cook further in the heat that the baking tray would have retained from the oven.

10. After about 15 mins (while the block is still warm), cut into pieces.

11. Stored in an airtight tin, these bars can well stay upto 3 weeks. But then again, you have my word on this - they will NOT last that long. They will be merrily consumed well within the week !!

One serious disadvantage to these bars - they are dangerously addictive !!!!!!

The original recipe which was syndicated from Nigella's website, can be found here.

Changes I made to the recipe

-----------------------------

1. Nigella's recipe calls for dessicated coconut. I substituted this with more of rolled oats.

2. Nigella's recipe calls for just cranberries. I used dry apricots, blueberries and strawberries too.

Variations

----------

You could use chocolate chips, flax seeds, pine nuts. I mean, there's a whole world of variations that one could try with granola bars. The next time around (yes - there definitely is going to be a next time baking these), I'm going try using some bran flakes with the rolled oats.

Happy Baking !!! :-)

Stuffed Paneer Parathas

2011-12-20T18:17:00.000+08:00

Ingredients
-----------
Atta (Wheat Flour) - 3 cups
2 tbsps oil (I use Canola)
1/4 tsp salt

For the stuffing
----------------
Paneer - made from 1 1/2 litres of full cream milk
Vinegar / lemon juice - for making the paneer
1 large potato - boiled and mashed
8 fresh green chillies (chopped fine)
a bunch of coriander leaves (chopped fine)
a few sprigs of spring onion (chopped fine)
salt to taste
2 tsps (flat) red chilli powder
1 tsp chaat masala

Directions
----------
Mix the flour and the salt. Add oil and mix it in using your fingertips. Add small quantities of water till the dough comes together nicely. I make it slightly softer than the normal roti dough. Cover the dough and let rest for about half an hour.

1. Heat the milk in a deep pan and add about 3 - 4 tbsps of vinegar. This makes the milk curdle. Once the milk fat and the whey separate, strain the mixture through a thin muslin cloth. Squeeze out the whey and place something heavy on the cloth so that all the excess moisture drains out.

2. Once the paneer is slightly cool, crumble it until it resembles bread crumbs. Add the mashed potato, all the other ingredients for the stuffing and mix well.

3. Divide the stuffing into 12 parts - for 12 parathas.

4. Divide the dough into 12 parts as well. Roll out the dough into a small roti, ensuring that the middle is thicker than the sides of the roti.

5. Place one portion of the stuffing in the centre of the rolled out roti and brings the edges together so that they overlap. Dust with flour and gently roll out the paratha.

6. Heat the griddle. Place the paratha on the griddle and use either oil / margarine or butter to drizzle over the paratha. Flip the paratha over and repeat the process on the other side of the paratha as well. Cook until light brown spots begin to appear.

7. Serve hot with pickle and yoghurt or raita.

We had these parathas with the homemade green chilli pickle and cucumber raita.

Homemade Green Chilli Pickle

2011-12-19T19:21:00.002+08:00

Ingredients
-----------
700 gms fresh green chillies
10-12 tbsps salt
3 tbsps haldi (turmeric) powder
5 tbsps amchur (dry mango powder)
200 ml oil
juice extracted from 2 lemons

For Dry Roasting
----------------
6 tbsps fennel seeds (saunf)
2 tbsp cumin seeds (jeera)
1 tsp methi seeds (fenugreek)
6 tbsps mustard seeds

1. Wash the green chillies and lay them out on kitchen napkins or tissues to dry. It is important to ensure that the chillies are completely dry before pickling them. Any retained moisture only serves to reduce the shelf life of the pickle.

2. Once the chillies are completely dry, slit the chillies lengthwise - about halfway up the chillies. You could remove the stalk from the chillies if you wish to. I did not.

3. Dry roast the spices (fennel seeds, jeera, fenugreek, mustard seeds). Let cool.

4. Once cooled, give it a quick blend in the mixer. Just so that they break up and blend with each other to give you a uniform powder. This will ensure that you actually bite into these seeds once in a while while having the pickle.

5. Mix the salt, amchur, lemon juice and turmeric powder. Add this to the slit green chillies and mix well.

6. Once cooled, add the dry roasted/ground spice powder to the above chillies and mix well.

7. Warm up the oil and pour onto the chillies when the oil is still warm. Mix well.

8. Do not cover the dish at this point of time as the oil is still warm. Just cover with a kitchen tissue which lets the dish breathe and the pickle mixture cool down.

9. Once cooled, cover the dish.

10. The dish will need to be placed in direct sunlight until the chillies lose their rawness and are pickled. I had to place the pyrex dish in sunlight for about a fortnight. Every morning, before placing the dish near the window, I used to give it a good mix and then put the lid back on. Another quick mix in the evening before the dish was put away in a dry place. This process was repeated for 15 days.

11. Once the chillies have lost their rawness and turned into pickle, they are ready to be stored in airtight bottles.

Gingersnap Cookies

2011-12-10T11:41:00.002+08:00

Christmas is just around the corner and one does associate Christmas with aromas of baked goodies. I've said this before and I shall say it again - there is something so intensely satisfying about the home being filled with the aroma of something "freshly baked". Be it bread, be it cookies, be it cakes, be it muffins - there is something hugely gratifying about it.

Also, the entire process is something that I personally find de-stressing. Vic asked me the other day "why don't you use ginger in baking ?" and therefrom germinated the idea of baking gingersnap cookies.

The original recipe was from here.

As I normally do, there were many changes I made to the recipe.

Here goes .....

Ingredients

3/4 cup melted butter (I pop the butter for 40 secs into the microwave)

1 cup lightly pressed light brown sugar

1/4 cup white sugar

1 egg (at room temp)

2 cups + 3 tbsps all purpose flour (I used the organic unbleached flour)

1 1/2 tsp baking soda

1 tsp cinnamon powder

1 1/2 tbsp ground ginger

3 pinches of salt

granulated sugar (for coating)

Cream the butter, brown sugar and the white sugar together. Once that's done, add the egg (at room temperature - not right out of the fridge). Cream the mixture till the egg whites and yolk are all incorporated well into the butter/sugar mix.

Add the spices (cinnamon and ground ginger powder), baking soda and salt into the butter/sugar/egg mixture and work the mixture with a spatula, making sure the spices/baking soda do not leave any tiny lumps.

Add the plain flour and mix to bring the whole dough together. I found the dough a bit on the looser side with just 2 cups of plain flour and ended up adding another 3 tbsps of flour.

The dough is extremely malleable and is quite soft as compared with the cookie dough that I normally make for choc chip cookies.

Preheat the oven to 180 degrees C.

Roll the dough into small balls and dip one side of the dough ball into a bowl of granulated sugar.

Place the dough balls on the cookie sheet about 2 1/2 inches apart as these cookies really spread while baking. Place them sugar side up.

Bake for about 12 minutes at 180 degrees C.

Changes I made from the original recipe

1. The original recipe called for 1/4 cup dark molasses but I substituted with 1/4 cup white sugar.

2. The original recipe called for oil - I used butter. (Policy : when you sin, make sure you sin properly !!) :-))

3. The original recipe called for 2 tsps baking soda. I reduced this to 1 1/2 tsps because I've found that baking soda tends to really "dry out" the cookies. These were perfectly fine with 1 1/2 tsps of baking soda.

4. All cookie recipes normally call for the dry ingredients to be sifted together and then added to the wet ingredients. I never do this. I add the baking soda/salt etc directly into the wet ingredients. This way I can make sure that the soda or the spices (in this case) do not leave small lumps.

5. The original recipe calls for 1 tsp clove powder. I omitted this. Cloves do tend to have a very strong flavour and I had a feeling that the cloves would completely have taken over the flavour and the taste of the cookies.

Happy Baking !! :-))

Happy Birthday, Aps

2011-11-30T19:05:00.003+08:00

(Image courtesy : amazon.co.uk via Google)

There was once a little girl

To “Maine Payal Hai Chankayi” she loved to twirl

Chubby with rings of baby fat

Now what can be cuter than that ?

No clichés but time does fly

Leaves one breathless, my oh my !

You stand before us today, all of twelve

All set for the future, into which you want to delve.

A complete transformation is what we’ve seen

You are definitely not what you’ve been

Quiet and shy, you were an easy target,

For friends who tried to treat you like a carpet.

You had your share of pain and tears

As you were bullied time and again by your peers

It caused in you a lot of fears

All through those few years.

But you’ve emerged from it much stronger

You fear arguments and fights no longer

“Not any more” is what you say

“No one can do that to me, come what may”.

As you stand before us today, all of twelve

And as your fears and inhibitions you steadily continue to shelve

Know this and know it well,

I am proud of you, the way your fears you now quell.

I love the way you’re changing

The way that cheekiness is emerging

I see you laughing a lot more now

As, to jokes, you no longer raise your brow.

We all start as caterpillars

We grow up in life, using our feelers

Life, in its own way, makes us emerge from our cocoons

As we dance to life’s tunes and bassoons.

“We love you” no matter what and will love you forever

That, I hope and pray you always remember.

Be strong and always smile

As life takes you on its path, mile upon mile

Know that beauty lies in your inner self

Always, always believe in yourself.

Never do anything just because everyone else is

Always stand by your beliefs, even if no one else is

People around you might gripe and moan

But always stand up for your beliefs, especially if you are alone.

Believe in magic, wish upon the stars

Life’s nothing but a very fast car

Travel and soak in the sights, in lands afar

Time waits for no one, it just whizzes past

For the bounty that this universe has to offer, is very very vast.

Love, Trust and be compassionate

About things you believe in, be totally passionate

Always be true to yourself and give it your all

Remember that He will always be around to catch you even if you fall.

A very Happy Birthday to you, my precious tot

Go out there and show the world what you’ve got

A very Happy Birthday to you, my “not so little anymore” dot,

Always have, always will love you a lot !!

All my love and then some,

Mum :-)

The early morning treasure hunt !!

2011-11-24T13:06:00.004+08:00

Imagine this - the early hours of the morning. A whole bus load of passengers who look as though they are still in the clutches and claims of sleep, some drifting away kind of suspended halfway between the woken up world and the sleepy world, some snoring away, seemingly lost in a world of their own dreams, some struggling to keep their eyes open despite sleep trying to lay its claim on them and then there are some who are hellbent on being very industrious - even while travelling on the bus at such early hours of the morning.

There's this individual I've been observing over the past few weeks, actually. Sometimes he has his compatriots (who are equally industrious, by the way) while on some other days, he ploughs on rather diligently. Now he has a choice between two paths that he can take. Both are equally dark, equally deserted and equally obscure and murky. You never know what dangers lurk in such dark, unexplored places but this brave trooper - he cares not. He marches through those pathways, just about every single day, rather staunchly and boldly.

There are people who look and him and wonder why he does it day in and day out. There are people who stare at him with eyes as wide as saucers. Then there are others who look at him from the corners of their eyes, furtive glances as though they simply cannot bear to watch him venture out on that dangerous path. There are people whose eyes widen at the prospect of what they are about to witness and in people who fall into this category, you can virtually see the realization sinking in, you can hear the clink of the penny as it drops to the floor of the skull (I presume). You can see it in that split second widening of the erstwhile sleepy eyes, you can see it in those hands which fly across to cap their mouths to prevent any sounds from emanating or escaping.

In the midst of all this, that brave trooper makes his decision and decides to march on.

I do wonder about the amount of courage, nerve and pluck that it takes to start out doing something as dangerous as this gentleman in question is about to. Beats me, honestly. I mean, what is it that can drive a person to such extremes - that too day in and day out. Virtually everyday. I really don't get it.

Anyways, I did not mean to digress and deprive you (you, who is reading this at this given moment) of the adventure - freeze frame by freeze frame. It is almost as if he is about to fight an enemy. Such intense concentration on his face, seldom seen in the human race of today. He marches forth, seeking information at first, slowly and cautiously, extremely carefully and further and further he heads, down the dark, murky paths. Not once does he stop or have second thoughts. Such strength of conviction !!

When he finds what he's looking for, the look of sheer accomplishment on his face tells the whole story. Beyond compare, is what his body language seems to say.

I watch the spectators now as some of them seem close to fainting and others, not wanting to witness that spectacle, turn and avert their eyes. This time around, there's no looking furtively towards the man. The spectators have their firmly averted gazes fixed the other way.

The triumphant man all but lets out a bellow. He looks like a man whose mission has been accomplished - fully and finally. And for all that effort that he put in (quite literally), for the bravery he exhibited, he finally holds out his treasure. Well, not all of it. A bit of it. But that's more than enough to convince people around him that such courage is simply not their cup of tea.

On his finger, his pointer, to be precise, rests the treasure he'd been looking for.

A huge wad of booger !!!!!!!!!

This visual spectacle, witnessed on the bus almost every morning (NO - I don't look every morning. I am among those people who firmly look the other way) will be filed away as The HongKong Experience - Part 2.

Gotcha !!!!

2011-11-23T19:26:00.006+08:00

(Image courtesy : multimedia-graphics-download.com via Google)

And Pecan is back !!!!

As expected, the camp stories have begun. He seems to have taken a little break right now cos his sights settled on my ITouch which was apparently looking a little too relaxed for Pecan’s comfort. He plays some soccer game on the ITouch and for the past three days, the ITouch has been having a holiday of its own – since it was being used solely as a source of music output. Now that Pecan is back, it’s days are numbered, yet again. It is going to have to work overtime. Thankfully, it does not demand OT payment !!

“Two days without any electronic stuff” proclaimed Pecan. Trust me, Sir Edmund Hillary would not have huffed and puffed as much when he conquered the Everest !! “Oh ! It’s been so long” he said a tad too warmly, to the ITouch while Yours Truly (who looks like Mount Everest in repose on any given day, in terms of the fat around the middle) looked on. Yours Truly kept looking on, waiting for those warm glances to fall on her good self but it was all in vain. Those warm glances seemed to be reserved for the ITouch and the ITouch alone !!!

While he was in the midst of telling Yours Truly something about camp, he paused rather dramatically and fixed his stare on Mummy who, by then, was rooted to the spot under that fixed, unrelenting gaze. His mission accomplished (in terms of having his mother rooted to one spot and having the entirety of her attention fixed on him) Pecan wagged his finger at Mummy and said “But let me tell you one thing, Mummy This camp was SO NOT about teamwork”.

“Huh ???!!!” was all Mummy could manage, given the intensity with which that sentence had been spoken a few moments back. “Yeah” continued Pecan “this camp was SO NOT about teamwork” he said, this time his brows furrowing as well, to compound the wagging of the finger and overall adding to the effect, which, by the way, was dramatically rather vivid and striking. Impressive enough to mesmerize one momentarily.

With Mummy’s seemingly hypnotized gaze fixed on him (pretty much like those hapless snakes in India that look at the snake charmer), he went on “There was NO teamwork !!”. Momentarily recovering her footing, Mummy gathered her wits around long enough to ask him “Why – weren’t you kids working well together ? Were you guys fighting with each other or bickering over something ?”

“Pssshhhahh !! Not US” hissed Pecan. “The teachers SO don’t know what teamwork is” he retorted, eyes blazing and what have you. By now, Mummy was completely confused (not that it takes much to confuse her in the first place). “Teachers ??” she queried. “Yeah, T.e.a.c.h.e.r.s !!!” retorted Pecan, looking as though he was scraping the bottom of the barrel for patience. “What did the teachers have to do with the teamwork bit ?” asked Mummy.

“See” said Pecan, whose left hand was now on his hips, alongwith the furrowed brows and the wagging pointer on the right hand. “They did not help us make our beds at all”. “They just stood there and kept saying “this is so messy. do it again” or “this is not right. put the bedsheet on again” and all that. Would it not have been simpler if they had worked with us as a team and helped us get the bed spread on the mattress ? See – now THAT is teamwork. Not standing around and watching while the other members of the team struggle !!”

Mummy could well see what was coming next and her face was beginning to resemble a 60 watt lightbulb going on 100 watt. Just today morning, Mummy had posted a comment on the camp blog, telling Pecan that since he’d done it at camp, he could start making his own bed at home too, starting tomorrow.

And Pecan walked straight into it, much to Mummy’s obvious delight.

“OK – so that was that at camp. And today morning you posted a message saying I need to do my own bed at home too ??” he whined, eyes as big as he could get them to be and all that. “One of our teachers read the comment out to me and my friends even came and told me “awww we’re so sorry that you will need to do that at home from now on. Don’t worry, it’ll be OK”. He sure was making it sound like Mummy was about to put him on some torture regimen of sorts !!

Mummy’s grin was widening by the second as she could see the fish swimming directly into the net !!

“Why do I need to do that at home ?” countered Pecan.

“Ahem ….” began Mummy.

“Just a couple of days back, I do believe that someone said something about independence and being independent ?” asked Mummy, waiting for a couple of seconds to see if she could hear the clink of the penny dropping. Nah - no clink. So on went Mummy ...

“Something about your not having a problem with being independent but that Mummy does not want you to be independent ?? Mummy does want you to be independent. Which is why you can start with little things like the bedspread” said a now grinning Mummy, prodding those memory cells into action.

The slow smile spreading on Pecan’s face and that sheepish look just about said it all !!!

“Yeah ….. but but but ……” spluttered Pecan as we just collapsed into giggles and gave in to the mirth.

He had been outwinked for the moment, and he knew it !!

Knowing Pecan, he will look for a loophole in this situation too, find one and swing it right back at Mummy. But fact remains that for the moment, Mummy did catch him on the wrong foot. Knowing Pecan, that is definitely not an easy thing to do !!

As of now, all Mummy can say is “Gotcha !!” :-)))))))))

Pecan flies the nest !!!

2011-11-21T12:24:00.005+08:00

(Image Courtesy : pccrafter.com via Google)

The younger sibling has flown the coop too !! The nest, I mean :-). He’s off on a three day / two night camp. We spent the morning laying out all the stuff that he needed to carry. There was a lot of banter, a lot of laughs and fun as we took turns labelling all his stuff.

There were some little butterflies fluttering away inside Pecan’s tummy and occasionally there would be statements like “Hmmm ….. my first camp ever. My first time away from home” or “I’ve never been away from home without you guys”. But those little butterflies would always be covered up with a sense of intrepid bravery. “I can do this” is what he seemed to be telling himself, convincing himself of, over the past couple of days. With Pecan, if there’s one thing he IS good at, it is facing his fears. No matter what the fear, no matter how big the butterflies – he has learnt to face them head on. He does not shy away from them and this attitude, if he continues with it as he grows, should hold him in good stead through the vagaries of life.

Among many other things, one thing that he mentioned to Vic this morning, made me think really hard. He said to Vic “I don’t have a problem with being independent but Mummy does not want me to be independent”. :-) Made me think. Made me ask myself, after having reached into the deepest recesses of my heart whether this was true. Well – it is true that every time Macadamia goes off to camp too, there are those eeeny weeny butterflies inside my tummy too. Now, when it is time for Pecan to set off on his camp too, the same eeny weeny butterflies are flying around my tummy too. But I guess this is something every parent feels – when they, albeit for a few days, entrust their offspring to the watchful arms and eyes of The One Above and The One Above alone. It is not as much the entrusting part – it has more to do with the “letting go” bit.

In that sense, perhaps, these camps are just as a learning curve for the parents, as it is for the kids. The kids have been told that there are going to be many activities at camp, some of which may or will make them face their fears. It could be something as simple as facing the fear of a few days away from home (the comfort zone that they’ve known so far). For those who have a fear of heights, it could be the session in which the kids do rock climbing. This camp, as will the ones to follow next year and the next, will see the children taking more and more risks (controlled risks, I’m sure) but end of the day, it is all aimed at making them more independent – independent in terms of making decisions for themselves, by themselves, independent in terms of facing their fears, independent in terms of taking accountable risks. For the parents, it is yet another lesson in “learning to let go”.

Mother Teresa knew what she was saying when she said “Life is an adventure ; Dare it !!”

Over the next couple of days, I know my thoughts will wander time and again about what Pecan might be doing at that point of time or whether he’s eaten enough or whether he is wearing his blanket at night (cos this is something he does not really like to do) or whether he is cosy enough at bedtime and lots of other little things. But everytime I do that, I will pause to remind myself that Pecan is probably having the time of his life, with his best buddies for company, with his teachers for guidance.

He might come back from camp a slightly different person – with a much stronger sense of independence, of the person that he is and most importantly of the things that he can “do” and “be”, all by himself. These camps, ideally, are an excellent opportunity for them to experience life, look at life from a slightly different point of view, an independent point of view. Probably, some of the best lessons that they will practically learn in life might be through these camps.

Nowadays, one finds kids interacting less face to face and interacting more with and through machines – emails, IPads, ITouch, IPhone, TV, NDS, PSP, XBox – you name it. For the most part, one sees kids with their nose stuck in one of the above at most given points of their free time. I personally think that these three days / two nights in the absence of technological gadgets is a really good thing for them. This will probably see better social skills emerging in the kids and existing social skills being sharpened and honed.

Another thing that camp is bound to teach them is team work. The dynamics of working in a group in an environment other than the ones they are normally used to, will indeed teach them valuable lessons – some of which may stay with them through life.

Knowing Pecan, he will, in all probability, come back with a whole load of stories from camp to share with us. Yet again, knowing him, they would be a good mix – some outright funny, some downright outrageous, some very philosophical with a touch of his deep thought to it and hopefully some things about camp that he will treasure for a lifetime to come.

I do hope this is the beginning of yet another innings in his life – one in which he learns to navigate, learn and enjoy life, one in which he learns to look at independence as a valuable asset that strengthens him and lays the foundation for him to build his character, for what he is. I do hope that whenever the opportunity presents itself, now and later on in life, he learns to stretch his neck out of his comfort zone – for, as Herbie Hancock says “that’s where the joy and the adventure lie”.

The HongKong Experience - Part 1

2011-11-11T10:47:00.010+08:00

(Pic courtesy : apessimistisneverdisappointed.com via Google)

For those of you who don’t know HongKong firsthand, HongKong is Asia’s World Class City – or some such thing. For those of you who do know HongKong firsthand, HongKong is still Asia’s World Class City – indeed !! Now, now – don’t get me wrong here. Don’t all of us have our very own quirks. Yes, we do. I do, too. I vaguely remember blogging about mine too. But then again, the quirks of the local HongKongese (that word does not exist but it sure has a nice ring to it) are simply unbelievable, rather bizarre, at times.

Of late, I’ve been commuting by bus to and from work and I’ve been subjected to an awful load of the unique behavioural tendencies that the HongKongese are capable of exhibiting rather unabashedly.

The most common sound effect that one is subjected to, just about everywhere in HK, is one of those loud, ear splitting belches. While burping is a rather controlled exercise in other cultures, the people here seem to view burping as some sort of a pecking order contest. The louder and grosser the burp, the higher up on the totem pole that individual is deemed to be. Just cross your fingers and hope you’re not sitting (or standing) next to one of those persistent burpers or your olfactory senses would go bonkers. They’d either go berserk trying to process the smells of all the half digested breakfast or lunch (depending on the time of the day) wafting towards their unfortunate nostrils or, at the other extreme, their olfactory senses would simply shut down – steadfastedly refusing to process any of the smells inhaled. Such is the power of those killer burps !! Now I know why so many of the local HongKongese choose to wear facemasks, at the first given opportunity.

The other sound effect that one is subjected to – trust me – you don’t even want to know !! It is rather hazardous to even talk about it (or in this case, type about it) !! Even more dangerous than the noisy kind, is the silent kind. Absolute killer, that one !! Not to mention the fact that most of the public transport is airconditioned. The windows shut, there is no room for the air to escape and those killer fumes just travel all the way down the train or the bus. Oh !! Sheer joy compounded !!

Remember the Tokyo subway Sarin gas attack. Well, the Japanese needed the Aum Shinrikyo to accomplish that. We just need our very own HongKongese who seem to think nothing of dropping human gas bombs at split second intervals. You want chemical warfare, send across a human gas bomb from HK. You’ll find plenty of them on the public transport here !!!

Ever seen people clipping their fingernails on public transport ? If your answer to that question is a horrified “NO !!” , it is about time you took a trip to Asia’s World City. On just about any form of public transport, you’re quite likely to come across atleast a couple of HongKongese hellbent on leaving their DNA samples all over the floor of the bus or the MTR. If it is indeed your lucky day, you’d be sitting across the aisle and you’d see someone slowly taking their feet out of their shoes. As your nostrils are once again bombarded by the steamy odors of smelly socks and as you stare, totally paralysed and horror stricken, you will see a pair of feet emerge from those socks. By this time, your sense of smell would be dead, your mouth would be hanging open (well – you have to breathe, don’t you ??) and your body would be going into a mini seizure of sorts – well, the kind you see when you take a fish out of water. In the midst of all these reactions (which nobody cares about, really), you’d find that a nailclipper has magically appeared and the concerned person with the dinosaur-like toenails is busy leaving their nail shavings on the floor of the bus or the MTR like those little pixie fairies sprinkling magic dust rather liberally when they are so in love with this world of ours.

Come winter and you face the prospect of a 45 odd minute journey (if you’re lucky it won’t be more than that – the pixie fairy will ensure that you faint well before that) standing or sitting right next to a person who’s merrily skipped the teeth brushing ritual that is so common amongst most of the human populace on this planet that we call Earth. And if you’re really really lucky and your good Karma is pouring on you in truckloads that morning, those very people would be taking a nap with their mouths wide open. Now, for those of you who have not been fortunate enough to travel in public transport in HK, let me assure you that it is pretty much like being in a strait jacket. You are guaranteed to feel like a sardine in a can with a whole load of other sardines – all packed so tight that you have no choice but to inhale the air which has just been exhaled by your fellow passenger (who, if I may remind you, might not have brushed his/her teeth that morning). Like I said before, that’s your good Karma pouring its goodwill by the buckets !! Let’s not go on to the Bad Karma bit – not right now. That’ll be a bit too much to stomach !!

Oh well !! Did I not mention at the beginning of the post that HK is Asia’s World City !! The smells of a world class city – you’ll find them all here, in HK, for sure !! Live here for a while and your olfactory senses and your lungs could well start serving you with a lawsuit for assault.

But then again, this is a city that grows on you. It kind of creeps up on you. One may crib, moan and bitch about all these quirks in the HongKongese (like I’m doing, right now), but the pros definitely seem to outweigh the cons.

These quirks do bring about a short lived sense of irritation and annoyance but over a period of time, some say, no one really cares. Small correction - I, for one, still do.

Just the other day someone said "When you've been living here for many years, you just have to learn to live with it".

Well, apparently, where such things are concerned, I still haven't !!!

P.S : Watch this space for more quirks about HongKong and its people and believe me when I say - There's plenty more to come !!

The Mask .... A writing prompt

2011-11-04T13:10:00.005+08:00

(Image courtesy : clker.com via Google)

The dust seemed to have a life of its own. Rising, falling, engulfing, coating just about everything it its path. It was almost as if it wanted to leave its mark on everybody and everything, it seemed almost lifelike in its childish insistence to mark its territory, to claim things as its own. It had a good friend, a very good one. Sand. When they joined hands, they could wreak havoc, render things absolutely useless. Nothing would move unless they did – the two of them – hand in hand – dust and sand.

The sandstorm continued to advance as he watched things get worse. There was noise all around him. Desperation hung heavy in the air as vendors pushed their carts around, tried to sell their produce before the sandstorm barged its way into their town. The smell of sweat mingled with that earthy smell that emanated from the barren, hot land he stood on. He stood there, in the middle of the market, with his eyes closed, absorbing the multitude of smells all around him. The fruits – some sweet, some sour, some in various stages of rot. The raw smell of the meat nauseated him on the one hand while the aroma of barbequed meat caused his mouth to water, his stomach to rumble with hunger.

His whole body was coated with a fine layer of dust, his eyes grimy, his little feet tired from walking, were all ready to give way under him. His ears buzzed with the sounds that were all around him, a sound so insistent and persevering that it seemed rather resolute in its purpose – that of lulling him into a sense of drunken stupor, imperative in its demand that he lie down somewhere and sleep for a while. It was a tug of war between mind and matter.

He had to force himself to stay awake. His chubby little fingers which had still not lost all its vestiges of baby fat, clutched stubbornly onto the scrap of paper. The stubbornness of his fingers were matched only by the resoluteness in his eyes. He was going to see this to the end – no matter what.

He remembered the time this whole saga had begun. He’d been out shopping for his Halloween costume. He had a scrap of paper with him – the same scrap of paper where he’d drawn the facemask that he wanted to wear when he went Trick or Treating on Halloween. He was very particular about what he wanted and he’d wandered in and out of many shops that evening. It had been a spooky evening too. A slight chill in the air – not cold enough to warrant a sweater but chilly enough to have given him goosebumps. Wait ! Had it been just the weather that had given him goosebumps ? Or was there a sense of foreboding too ? That sixth sense that had, in its own inimitable way, told him that something was going to happen ?

He still vividly remembered the moment when he saw that horrible mask hanging on display mannequin. It was so similar to the mask he’d drawn. There had been something magical, something so distinctly mysterious that it had all but pulled him into its web with its evil glare. He vaguely remembered walking over to that shop while his parents were busy in another shop. He could still remember the cold feel of the mask when he took it off the mannequin and he remembered having held the mask close to his face. He had then taken that final step and put the mask on ….

His growling stomach brought him back to the present. The hunger was pervading. The thought of food was saturating every pore of his body and was infiltrating his mental processes. All he could think of, as he stumbled along wearily, was food, food and food. The sandstorm was beginning to move in and the vendors were beginning to pack their wares.

“The mask” he remembered. Where was it ? He retraced a few steps and there it was, lying half buried in the sand and dust. It was grimy but those eyes had the same intensity. Something glistening and powerful that made him catch his breath and drew him into its spell. His hands were moving as though they had a life of their own. Yet again, it was pulling him into its spell ....

He was feeling very cold. Very very cold. He was curled up into a tight little ball, trying to preserve what little body heat there was, to preserve. He was alone, terrified, very cold and very hungry.

“How many times have I told you not to kick your blanket off at night ?” said a very familiar voice. His tightly shut eyelids, still pregnant with sleep, parted open ever so slightly and registered vaguely the rotund face that was hovering over him. Those familiar hands drew his blanket closer and securely tucked him in and as the cosiness drew him into its warmth, he smiled, secure in the knowledge that it had all been nothing but a dream.

It had been nothing but a dream.

P.S : Writing has become rather sporadic, of late. Now that's an understatement !! I just picked up a writing prompt today morning and gave myself half an hour to come up with a piece of writing. The prompt said "Use the following words in your story. Little boy, torn scrap of paper, market, cart". Hope to do this more often.

The Search Engine ...

2011-11-02T12:12:00.008+08:00

(Image Courtesy : onlineparentingcoach.com via Google)

“What do you want to be when you grow up ?” is a question that parents often ask their children. I don’t particularly remember being asked that question but then again, had my parents asked me that question, I wouldn’t quite have known what to say then.

But I do, now !!

I could be an excellent search engine. A search engine so good that I could easily put Google to shame. I could beat Google hands down – anytime, anyday. For that matter, so could any mom.

The kids sure have given me their vote. I mean, they’ve outvoted Google and “invoted” (if there is such a term) me as their top of the line search engine. “Mummeeee, I can’t find my shirt” wailed Macadamia, the other day, one finger firmly held down on the “almost in panic mode” button. Mummy seriously considered doing absolutely nothing about that so called “plea” for help (yeah, I’m quite mean that way) but then Mummy’s sights wandered over to Macadamia’s other finger which was dangerously poised, hovering and ready over the PANIC button. Now that’s a surefire recipe for trouble. Once Macadamia hits the PANIC button, the whole world comes to a grinding halt while she whips around the house like a bee on a sugar high.

She’d be seen rushing from one end of the house to the other (and this is one of those few times when I thank my stars that the houses in HK are small), looking busy, seeming busy, with a look of utter worry and concern written large on her face. The diameter of her eyes would keep widening by the minute (I’ve no idea how she does that but God ! it sure is effective as hell) until her eyes resemble the earlobes of one of those African tribes who walk around with saucers in their earlobes.

Macadamia searching for something when she’s in PANIC mode, is a sight to behold (if you’re watching from far away, that is). She’s quite a cacophony of sounds when she searches for something – what with all those hisses and glares – not to mention the rather liberal scattering of the pssshhhaaahhs (which are meant to convey her disapproval of the fact that the home based search engine isn’t performing its duties efficiently).

The final straw – Macadamia with all ten fingers pressing down on that PANIC button (how that increases in size enough to accommodate all ten of her fingers, I don’t know. I haven’t been able to figure that one out yet !!) hands on hips, eyes glaring, planting herself in front of the home based, home made search engine with a rather plaintive “I stilllllllllll can’ttttttttttttt findddddddddddd ittttttttttttttt”. Each of those syllables uttered through teeth which are grinding and gnashing against each other (pretty much like the grinding stones in the dosa batter grinder), grinding those syllables to mush and spitting them out with the force of an Angry Birds slingshot. Not to mention the Angry Bird which has planted itself in front of the home based search engine. And that is when the home based search engine, also known as Mummy (who will soon be christened with a more apt nickname) is forced to spring into action for the sole purpose of preserving and conserving whatever little sanity she’s managed to preserve through the parenting journey !!!

Pecan, on the other hand, having misplaced something, believes in turning on the doleful look, which, at first glance, would automatically and effortlessly lead people into believing that his pet of some sort had just passed on. Good thing that there are no actual pets involved every time he flashes that look else we would be busy burying multiples of all sorts of animals on any given day !!! “Mummy, I can’t find my homework and I’d put it right there – on top of the bookshelf” Pecan would pipe up, sounding pretty confident. In fact, he sounds so confident and sure that the first few times this happened, the home based search engine rolled up its sleeves immediately and got to work, turning the whole house upside down, in an effort to locate at home, something that had invariably been left behind at school. Now the search engine has wisened up to those mournful looks and downcast eyes. Simply put, the search engine does not spring into action that quickly.

The search engine had found a reply that she considered the mother of all replies, given the circumstances. “Well, if you’d put it there, it can’t sprout legs and walk away by itself, can it ?”, would be the search engine’s first salvo. It worked quite well for a while actually – what with Pecan giving Mummy those “Can you stop rubbing it in ?” looks and with Macadamia rather dutifully siding with her younger sibling and shooting dark looks Mummy’s way in saying “Can you stop looking all smug and try and help him here ? You’re just making things worse for him, y’know”. Pretty soon, in situations like these, we have two bees aimlessly rushing up and down the house in an effort to locate the misplaced object. If only just running up and down could locate misplaced objects !! If that were the case, Mummy would gladly run a marathon !!

Detour

While all this panic stuff goes on, when I crawl up the wall painfully slowly and sit in a little corner on the ceiling and watch them from there, a little part of my mind does register the fact that it seems rather lovely – the way they team up against the “dark forces” in the house (a.k.a Mummy).

End of detour

Of late, Pecan has taken to stealing Mummy’s thunder. He would go “Mummy, I have a problem. (What an understatement !!). You see, I don’t mean to sound negative or anything like that (That’s some disclaimer !!) but I had – I really had put my book right there (pointing to what seems like a non existent area) but now it’s gone. See, I can’t see it there anymore. (Well, I can’t see it either because it IS NOT THERE, Einstein !!). And then he goes “I know they can’t sprout legs and walk away, so then where is it ?”. (Hey !! That’s supposed to be my line. Gee !! He just stole my thunder from right under my feet – if that’s where it exists, in the first place).

Despite all the smart assed comments, retorts, smug/amused/nonchalant looks - end of the day, the search engine always ends up doing what it has always been meant to do. It ends up fulfilling its prime responsibility (so it seems, of late) which is to “find” stuff that the offspring and progenies have rather conveniently “misplaced”.

Now, thanks to Suma, this home based search engine has a new name too.

I hereby christen myself – GOOGLINI the SECOND !!!!

P.S : Suma has the honour of being Googlini the First.

Religion seeks emancipation ....

2011-10-05T16:39:00.005+08:00

(Image courtesy : godisthere.wordpress.com via Google)

I came across a flyer recently – one that was sent out in the name of a prominent mission among the Hindu community which I, among many others, found outrageous. It was about a workshop for women and was titled “God – She’s beautiful and so are you”. The flyer was accompanied by a picture of a Hindu Goddess in a sleeveless, full length cocktail gown.

The most offending aspect was that religion was being used as a launching pad for a program that is essentially aimed at women’s welfare or enhancement of awareness or life strategy, maybe. While I have no problem with institutions or groups conducting such workshops, my question is very simple “Why use religion as a crutch?”

Having been born and brought up in Bombay, having spent the first 24 years of my life there, I’ve seen firsthand, numerous instances of people using religion for personal gain or for their vote banks or to simply start a feud between people of different religions. Religion has always been used as an unwitting crutch way too many times. It is almost as if religion is a sitting duck, just sitting there within arm’s reach, to be taken or yanked out of the shelf at what one might consider the “right” time and used as one pleases to.

The eminent Indian artist, M.F.Hussain, gave vent to his artistic imagination and he was chastised to the extent that he had to leave the country. He was just an artist and he was in no way promoting or demeaning any religion. Compare this to a Hindu mission letting a leaflet be published in their name with a picture of a Hindu goddess in an attire that the mission itself otherwise doesn't condone !

While attending classes in Hinduism conducted by the respected mission, the dress code for the children is strict. When the respected mission lays so much of emphasis on the dress code of children, why let circulate a picture of a Hindu Goddess wearing a sleeveless, off shoulder cocktail gown ?

Is this not hypocrisy ???

I remember reading a plaque somewhere which said “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience ……. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.”

Spirituality is one of the cornerstones of any religion. But while religion requires one to adhere to certain norms and is quite tradition bound in terms of the acceptance of a particular higher order, spirituality is not necessarily bound to any particular religion or religious practice. Spirituality tries to enable a person to discover the very essence of his or her very being, his or her existence in this life form, on this plane of life. Any religion, without spirituality as one of its paths, would fail to serve a greater purpose.

Religion, by believing in the unknown, was meant to help mankind overcome its fears of the unknown and uncertain. Somewhere along the way, individual thoughts and group thoughts have merged to form “organized religion”. Once the system of “organized religion” takes over, the question that stares at one in the face is simple. How, when and in what way or different ways can one see religion being distorted or being used as a crutch, a prop for furthering other agenda ? The branding of religion to promote personal ambitions and ulterior motives has taken the spiritual dimension away and reduced religious organizations to the level of social clubs and/or lobbyists.

More and more people are taking to religion, not in pursuit of the spiritual dimension but rather as a means to seek forgiveness for their sins and transgressions. Organized religion, nowadays, increasingly caters to and exploits this very tendency in humans, by using religion to cleanse their feeling of guilt or to put it simply “wash away their sins”. In the process, spirituality is almost forgotten, as spirituality, with its tendencies to lead one away from materialism, does not help fill the coffers of the various organized religions.

Edwin Arlington Robinson once said,

“The world is a kind of spiritual kindergarten where millions of bewildered infants are trying to spell “GOD” with the wrong blocks.”

A tried and tested Stress Buster ...

2011-09-05T18:55:00.003+08:00

(Image courtesy : new-oceans.co.uk via Google)

Stress Busters !!

Who does not need these ? I’m pretty much sure that almost everyone does – well, almost. There are people who claim to be zen enough not to need any stress busters whatsoever. Well, what can I say, other than the fact that I totally envy such people :-). ‘Tis true that stress or the lack of it is a state of mind, ‘tis all in the head. But then again, my head is pretty much like me. At any given point of time, it probably resembles one of those overfull landfills – filled pretty much with stuff that cannot be used or does not need to be used. Needless to say, things that need to occupy space in my head, important things that I do need to remember to make life easier for myself, are pretty much left out in the cold. They are forever fighting for a space inside the landfill that happens to be my head. Landfill !! Ewwww !! Did you just say that ? Well, optimist that I am, I can only say this. My head sure may resemble a landfill but it does state a point – my head isn’t empty !! Ah Haanhh !!

What I’m trying to say, in my usual drawn out, convoluted manner is that I am the kind of person who needs to have loads of stress busters in my armoury. It has to resemble one of those virtual Kurukshetra fields (remember the one from the TV serial Mahabharat ?) – missiles (of the ancient kind) flying back and forth. The Kauravas send across a missile which spews fire and the Pandavas counter it with a missile gushing water. Get my point ?? I too, need a whole variety of stress busters at my disposal. Maybe my range of stressbusters are not as colourful or as dramatic as the missiles in those TV serials, but they know their job and they do it well. Simply put, they bust stress !!

One stress buster that I’ve always relied upon is sharpening pencils. Remember that post I’d done, wherein I laid bare all my quirks (and there were quite a few, mind you). If you haven’t read that post earlier on, I’ll just put in the link here for you so that you can go right over and read about all my quirks. I am a very kind soul that way, you see.

So, like I was saying before I digressed, one stress buster that I had, I do and I always will rely upon, is sharpening pencils. There is something so innately soothing about sharpening pencils. I know I sound like a loon, but the next time you feel like throwing something at someone, just take a deep breath (or two, if you like), pick up a pencil sharpener and a pencil (of course !) and just … well, sharpen the pencil. The swish, swish, swish of the wood against the sharp blade of the sharpener registers somewhere within the chaotic mind and in its own inimitable way, begins to restore a sense or calm, rather automatically. Not to mention, the twirl of the wood shavings that curl out of the sharpener – it automatically sets the creative mind in motion, making the mind dwell upon the different uses that those wood shavings could have. They could be used as Santa’s beard on some artwork, or on a blank paper to create abstract patterns. In doing this, the mind calms down, unknowingly, automatically. Once that feeling of wanting to kill someone passes, I feel safe enough to put the pencils and the sharpener back, in their rightful place.

Over the past year, full time teaching brought me face to face with yet another extremely resourceful stress buster. It works like magic – every single time. The next time you feel really stressed out over something, anything – pick up a blank template (print anything from the internet), pick up a pack of colour pencils or crayons and get to work. Simply put, just colour a picture. It works and it works like magic.

As those colors begin to seep onto the erstwhile blank and sterile landscape of your paper template, it totally captivates the senses. As you watch the pencil strokes grow, as you watch the colours spread, the feeling is one of exquisite delight. It feels rather fairylike, enchanting, captivating yet there remains a feeling of mysticism as you simply give into the messages flowing from your brain on how to fill in the rest of the landscape a.k.a your blank template.

How exactly this works, I know not. But this I know for sure – it works !!

I’ve relied on this stress buster many a times in the not so distant past. It has worked like a charm – every single time. That is to say, I am definitely not one of those zen people that don’t need any ideas or concepts to quell stress !! Quite the contrary !! I think what quite happens is that those streams of colours actually create some sort of pathways inside that stressed up, landfill like head of mine. It’s more like connecting a 5 point 1 home theatre system. All the wires are colour coded, so you know which wire is meant for which speaker. Something similar, I guess, happens inside my head too.

Those streaks of colours, some muted and quiet, laying the foundation and providing the depth and some colours – bright, flashy and loud – bringing the entire landscape to life, screaming for attention – make the picture complete. Those colours automatically make thoughts flow in a sane fashion inside my head, like smooth flowing traffic on a very busy freeway, rather than letting those thoughts zoom around and just zing and bounce off the walls inside my head, leading to utter pandemonium and anarchy inside my head. To put it simply, the colours quell the turmoil and unruliness and restore a much needed sense of order.

Which is pretty much why, when Macadamia and Pecan are in full form, when they unleash the forces of torment like only kids and pre teens can, when they drive me up the wall as effortlessly as they do nowadays, I will, probably be found, sitting on the ceiling, defying the law of Gravity, with a few blank templates and packs of sharpened, colour pencils in my armoury, letting those broad strokes and thin lines of colour, those dark smudges, those bright splashes restore a sense of much needed calm, peace, tranquillity and composure.

Like Robert Fulghum once said,

"Maybe we should develop a Crayola bomb as our next secret weapon. A happiness weapon. A beauty bomb. And every time a crisis developed, we would launch one. It would explode high in the air - explode softly - and send thousands, millions, of little parachutes into the air. Floating down to earth - boxes of Crayolas. And we wouldn't go cheap, either - not little boxes of eight. Boxes of sixty-four, with the sharpener built right in. With silver and gold and copper, magenta and peach and lime, amber and umber and all the rest. And people would smile and get a little funny look on their faces and cover the world with imagination."

The young uns speaketh - Part 2

2011-09-03T14:51:00.005+08:00

(Image courtesy : ms-goodies.com via Google)

I've said this countless times before, I'm saying it again and I probably will be saying it for quite some time more.

If there’s one thing the younger generation are masters at – it has to be “The art of conversation”. I mean, they are so prolific that it simply takes ones breath away and leaves one totally speechless. The vocabulary is so abundant that it teems with words and is seemingly inexhaustible. Their versatile vocabulary is an apparent panacea for all the evils of the older generation.

“Huh !”

That, just about, says it all.

Ever noticed how the younger generation needs just a “Huh” and “Really ?” in their linguistic repertoire to carry on, what they deem, is an active, two way conversation ?

“They’ve successfully transplanted an elephant’s head onto a dog’s body.”

While a normal human reaction would be a gasp or a “What” or a nonplussed “What in the name of God are you talking about ?” and the like – a pre teen would probably respond to that with a simple “Huh ?” which, by the way, will have the capacity to make you feel like the biggest dodo on the face of this earth.

Take Macadamia, for instance.

Anything and everything, at first instance, is met with a standard response “huh ?”. And the “huh” goes hand in hand with what we’ve now begun to recognise as “the look”. “The look” is a combination of glazed over eyes, lips pursed together or slightly stretched as though she’s doing something really tedious (don’t get me wrong – that is not a smile I’m talking about), both eyebrows raised about as high as they can go. The effect is even more powerful when just one eyebrow gets raised and the other one stays put where it is supposed to. “The look” says it all. You feel totally on top of the world – if that’s where self-made dummies are generally found, that is.

The other day I mentioned something to Pecan and he responded with something that sounded like a bunch of sounds strung together. I, for one, could simply not figure out what he said or meant. The only thing I could make out at the end of all those funny sounding syllables was the sentence “Whoa ! That’s so cooooooooaaaaaaaaa”. Well, to be honest, it took me a few minutes to figure out the “cooooooooaaaaaaa” bit too. Did I not mention earlier that I’m kinda right at the top of the dummy ladder ??!!

Oh ! and just about everything now is a “thingy”. In any given sentence, every two words uttered in what was hitherto known as human language, is interspersed with “like” or “whatever”. One normal Macadamia sentence would be something like this ...

“I’m like going to schooaa and she like calls my cell and like keeps asking about that test thingy. We have like this Science test thingy like sometime tomorrow. It’s like not exactly like a test but like it’s like a test thingamajiggy. And she like calls and asks me about some History stuff. What a doofus ! I mean – she’s really like ...... sheeesh, whatever !!!”

By the time she’s done speaking those Latin and Greek sounding sentences, I’m, for the most part, found reeling around someplace at home, having gone all green in the face, trying to look normal and struggling (quite literally flapping around like a fish out of water) to figure out what was being said.

There are times when I do ask myself why I even try to decipher the language that today’s younger generation insists on speaking. It wears you down to the bone - just trying to figure out what exactly the kids are trying to say. Pssst !! Sometimes I actually give up trying to decipher cos if I keep trying to, then I would be found walking on the ceiling, for the most part. This language doesn't just drive me up the wall, it makes me defy gravity and walk on the ceiling !!!

I can almost visualize Macadamia and Pecan reading this and saying “Yeah, rrriighhht !!! Whaaatevaaaaa !!!”.

And then of course, there would be “The Look” !!!!.

The One Word Vocabulary ....

2011-09-01T18:47:00.003+08:00

(Image courtesy : herecomesthepunchline.blogspot.com via Google)

Ever wondered what it would be like if people had just one word, to communicate with each other ? Never ? Well, I hadn’t either. I’d never ever contemplated the possibility of humans communicating with each other with just one word in their vocabulary.

I stand corrected !!

I have been given to understand that people can indeed communicate with just a single word. I’ve seen it happen, I am seeing it happen and I’m sure I will see it happen for quite some time more.

If you want to find the solution to this puzzle, you will first need to find a teenager or better still, a pre-teen. Throw this question at them and lo and behold, the answer shall be revealed. In all probability (actually, I’m willing to bet on it), they’d give you the answer straight out …..

Huh !!!???

Yes – that is indeed the magic word I was talking about.

Huh.

It is amazing how this small, one syllable word has replaced so much of vocabulary with such apparent ease. All you need is the right facial expression to go with the word “Huh”and there – you’ve mastered the art of communicating with just one word.

Take Macadamia, for instance. Ask her something, anything and the gut reaction, initial response is “Huh”? But the simple “huh” had evolved a great deal over the past year or so. Starting off as a humble word a few years ago, this simple word has all but taken over the world of teenage / pre-teen communication (if one can call it that !!). The previously uncommunicative teens and pre-teens now have that one weapon in their arsenal which can make like absolutely miserable and drive the adults around them, totally nuts – stark, raving mad !!

Ask Macadamia anything and she responds with a “Huh ???!!!” and a look that makes one feel like the biggest dodo on the face of this planet that we live in. That “Huh ?!”would invariably be accompanied by a raised eyebrow and a slight extending of the lips, sideways. The mouth would be upturned, ever so slightly, at the sides and the eyes would have the “why do you ask me such silly questions” look in them. Ask her the same question one more time, gathering all the patience that you possibly can, mustering all the willpower that you perhaps have within yourself and you will be met with the same reply “Huh ?!”. The only thing that changes is the facial expression which takes on varying shades of boredom. The boredom, incidentally, would be in direct proportion to the number of times the same question is repeated by the said parent. This simple word has, I’m sure, driven many a parent insane and still continues to do so, with considerable ease.

We’ve, of late realized, much to our consternation, that this single word that is driving us up the wall so effortlessly, does have a younger cousin. Ask Pecan something, anything and his first response would be “Whaaaaa ?”. In case you’re wondering what that is, it is nothing but the simple “What ?”. “Whaaaaa ?” is apparently a lot cooler than just saying “What ?”.

So here we are right now, in this place in time and space, going where no person had probably gone before – into a world where the “huh’s” twirl and swirl all around – some gently touching us as they lightly brush past us and some smacking into our faces as they consistently drive us up the wall. But then again, did I not say in my previous post that I am an optimist ? Nowadays, to every single question of ours, as we pose them to Macadamia and/or Pecan, we atleast know for sure what their immediate response is going to be !!!

The Apocrypha says

"Let thy speech be short, comprehending much in a few words."

Kids nowadays sure have mastered the above art. There exists a whole gamut of meanings in that single word that they use for anything and everything under the sun.

"HUH ???!!!!!"

Changes galore ....

2011-08-31T14:57:00.004+08:00

(Pic courtesy : CartoonStock.com via Google)

Been away from this bloggy blog for way too long now .....

'Twas not that I did not want to visit this space or fill this space with my meaningless meanderings but 'tis just that something was eluding me all along. 'Twas not that there was no material for the writing juices to flow - oh ! there was plenty, but that important something continued to elude. 'Twas not that Macadamia and Pecan did not provide any grist for the mill, but it was just that the elusiveness continued.

What was eluding me all along ? The same thing that seems to be eluding everybody, the same factor that somehow seems to be running our lives - day in and day out - TIME !!

There are a few changes around - OK - make that quite a few changes. We just moved into another apartment over the weekend and needless to say, the past week and a half have been absolutely insane. We've been over the edge and just about made it back. Our new home does in fact resemble a home now :-) rather than look like someplace which is about to host a garage sale. Lots more need to be fine tuned, some rough edges need to be filed but all in all, that warm, fuzzy, cozy feeling, that feeling of "being home" when one walks in through the main door, is back :-).

A change around the job front too - with Yours Truly changing jobs. Starting tomorrow, I'm going to be teaching English full time in one of the local schools. I'll be leaving home as early as 6.40 am and needless to say, I am SO not looking forward to winter. No more snuggling under the quilts and enjoying the warmth for "just another five minutes" :-)). I will have to be up and about as early as 5 a.m on weekdays. But then, optimist that I am, I shall look forward to those vacations which had eluded (I'm beginning to love this word !) me the whole of last year :-)).

I honestly don't know if Macadamia and Pecan are looking forward to having Mum back home much earlier than she used to get back home through the whole of last year. Did you just ask why ? Elementary, my dear Watsons. When the cat is not around, the mice do absolutely play. With the cat back home early, the mice shall find some restrictions in place, the mice shall find the theory of "answerability" does exist - despite the fact that they've grown up and are growing up. But then again, did I say somewhere earlier that I am an optimist ? I did, I did !! So yes - I'm so looking forward to getting back home earlier and getting down to some serious baking again. Ah ! I can already smell the fresh bread and the cookies and the brownies and the blondies. Did I not say that I am an optimist ?? :-))

Another thing I'm really really looking forward to, is getting back to regular blogging. It is nice to be back in Blogsville and I now realize how good it feels to be posting again. I've missed writing, I've missed blogging. There have been days when posts have swirled around in my head, begging to be put into words and on the blog but time indeed proved elusive. I hope that will change at least a wee bit, this year.

So do stay tuned as I endeavor to resume regular programming on Tiny Tidbits. Until then, as I start a new chapter in my teaching career tomorrow, do take a minute off (if you can, that is :-), for I do know that time is rather elusive) and wish me luck, will ya ??

Until the next post, Toodle-oo !!

:-))

Mumbai bleeds ..... yet again

2011-07-15T12:03:00.008+08:00

(pic courtesy : providencedailydose.com via Google)

Mumbai bleeds ………. yet again. The blood of the innocents flows ……….. yet again. Pictures float through all arms of the media – TV, the internet, newspapers ……….. the sheer terror in the eyes of the survivors, blood splatters everywhere, limbs lie scattered ……………. innocent lives have been extinguished forever …….. mayhem rules once again.

I felt totally numb when I heard about the latest bomb blasts in Bombay. Totally numb. I could not react, my thoughts would not flow – nor would the tears. It is all in there, bottled up somewhere but putting a finger on it right now seems a tall task. The heart bleeds, yet again, for a city that had been home in the physical sense for the first two decades of my life. The heart bleeds, yet again, for a city that is and will forever be home in the mental and emotional sense, for as long as I live.

The heart bleeds, yet again, for the many innocent who have lost their loved ones in these fresh round of attacks. My heart for one, among a lot of others’ I’m sure, feels the pain for these innocent Mumbaikars – for, they are now left to reason out the loss of their loved ones, they are left with the unenviable task of finding solace where there is none, of finding answers where there are none, of finding reason where there is none. The heart bleeds for them because despite the fact that they will get no answers to the questions that echo from the bottoms of their bereaved hearts, they will still have to go on with life.

Mumbai is getting hit again and again and again. One would have thought that our government would have learnt a lesson or two from the horrendous attacks on 26/11. But they, seemingly, have not. Maybe they did not have the time for something as trivial. After all, when you live a life as protected as our so called leaders in India do, surrounded by black cat commandos every inch of the way as they step out of their houses, you don’t necessarily have to put in an effort in even trying to imagine what the common man goes through – every day of his or her life, not knowing when they or someone they love is going to be ripped into shreds rather meaninglessly.

What our so called leaders of the nation do instead is thump their chests which have apparently swelled in pride, and proclaim that “the spirit of Bombay lives on”, “the Mumbaikars’ spirit cannot be broken”. Newspaper headlines tout “life back to normal in Mumbai after the bomb blasts”, “95% of the workforce reports to work on the very next day” and our so called leaders smile and say “the spirit of Mumbai lives on”.

The answer, quite incredibly, is rather simple. People simply do not have a choice. They are forced to go on with life as though nothing happened, simply because they do not have a choice.

I was in Mumbai in 1993 when a series of bomb blasts rocked the city. A bomb went off in a building a very short distance away from where I was working. Our building shook, the windows rattled, a few windows shattered and I remember all of us together, crouching under our tables, hearts pounding, palms clammy, sweating profusely in the confines of an extremely cold room. When you come face to face with it, terror does not have a definition. Once planted, it takes root within the psyche, within the heart. On our way back home that evening, we saw bodies and limbs being carted away like offal in truckloads. Yet, the next morning, all of us were back at work as though everything was back to normal, as though nothing was wrong, as though nothing had changed.

Why ?

Simply because we did not have a choice. The same is the case with the Mumbaikars today. A majority of the populace lives a life of quiet desperation, of silent anguish, of unspoken hopelessness. It is not as if they do not have questions, it is just that they know that they will never get answers – not the way the current political system is built.

To the politicians who thump their chests and proclaim that the spirit of Mumbai lives on – I have just this to say – go and ask the parents who have lost their children in such meaningless violence, go and ask the husband who has lost his wife, go ask the wife who has lost her husband, most importantly, go ask the children who have lost their parents to such worthless, inane, senseless acts of terror. Then come back and talk, come back and tell the world about how “the spirit of Mumbai lives on”.

About what Rahul Gandhi had to say about these bomb attacks, honestly, less said the better. I was ashamed to even read what he had said. He compares it to the terrorist attacks on American soil. I have just one simple question for Mr. Gandhi – exactly how many terror attacks have been carried out on the American people on American soil since 9/11 ? Mr. Gandhi, having probably realized that he had shoved his entire foot into his mouth, went on to compare this with the American soldiers losing their lives in Afghanistan and Iraq. That, Mr. Gandhi, is totally besides the point. If Mr. Gandhi is done shoving his foot into his mouth, I would suggest he go and shove it elsewhere in himself – in a place that is more appropriate – given the insensitivity he displayed when he shot his mouth off on this issue.

I wish our Indian government was as interested in providing their own citizens with the kind of protection they seem hell bent on providing Ajmal Kasab !!

This attack proved a point in showing that Mumbai today is just as vulnerable as it was on 26/11. Nothing has changed. Given the current state of affairs, nothing probably will. Mumbaikars will be left to handle things as they crop up. Mumbaikars will be left all to themselves, to cope with the situation, to the best of their ability. Mumbaikars will know, just as they do now, just as they have always known, that they have no choice but to go on.

My heart, soul and prayers are with the families who’ve lost loved ones in these acts of violence. May God provide them with solace in ways only He knows how to.

Our prayers are with all the Mumbaikars and with Mumbai.

"Although it is difficult today to see beyond the sorrow
May looking back at old memories, comfort you tomorrow”

~ Author Unknown

Happy 8th, Pecan :-)

2011-05-25T00:41:00.006+08:00

(Image courtesy : latestgifts.co.uk via Google)

So you are all of eight years old today

And my mind is quite in a disarray

Where did the past seven years go, I wonder

As my heart, you still continue to plunder

You’re growing up, I know

‘Cos the winds of change continue to blow

So I shall try and keep this short

Before you give me an embarrassed snort

I still remember you as a little baby, I guess I always will

Even though I know time flies, it does not stand still

Time has indeed flown past real fast

The speed of which never fails to leave me aghast

And in the midst of all that

My baby has grown into a little man, just like that

So little man, as you shed your milk teeth

And find your own firm footing under your feet

As your face loses those last vestiges of babyhood

I see signs of wings being spread – fast and good.

For a little guy who was always in the midst of girls

A lot of changes, now I see unfurl

Where there used to be shy smiles a few years ago

Now there are rolling eyes and sounds of “Eeewwww”

All of eight, you often proclaim “Girls are SO dumb”

But to those very girly charms, my dear, does every man succumb

Beneath all those “ewwws” and “yucks”

Despite your latest mantra that “girls SO suck”

I know that you’re still a very sensitive soul

And sensitivity does still make your persona whole.

For someone who abhorred any physical sport

Hiking now has become your consort

And much to your sister’s dismay

On difficult hikes, you do have a field day.

“Oh God !” she says, as she rolls her eyes

And looks up for help towards the skies

A firm "NO" for any kind of sport a few years back

Now with a vengeance, any sport you attack

As you dive around and dash

All in the name of sports, a grin your flash

Falling down and getting hurt is a part of the game, you claim

"God help us all" I proclaim

While the blacks and the blues stain your skin

And scare the daylights out of your kith and kin

Those marks make no difference to you

As you brush them off with a "Ah ! Just a few"

With tears and frays on all the knees,

Your jeans bear a mute testimony

to all the dashing and diving on concrete, Oh Blimey !

As you get back after play, all dusty and grimy

Your head still buzzes with queries

You sometimes leave us lost with your theories

As you continue to churn out those “Whats and Whys”

Your questions get more and more complex, as time flies

The furious pace at which your mind works and whizzes

As your throw at us, questions and quizzes

Leaves me breathless at times and the mind tends to blot

As you so effortlessly leave my head all twisted in knots

With your sister whom you so love to bug

You goad her, provoke her and then look so smug

Beneath all that inciting veneer

I know exactly how much you hold her dear

When I see the two of you ganging up on dad and me

My inner mind smiles and jumps with glee

Stay this way, the two of you

Despite the tiffs and the miffs, the sibling bond does shine through.

Life has its ups, life has its downs

Through it all, there will be smiles, there will be frowns

Just remember never to give up

Always keep your chin up and holler “Yo Wassup ?”

You came into our lives eight years ago

And changed our lives in a way we did not know

You were an original and you still very much are

Always stay original, my very own little star

I have said this before and I now say it again

You are one of His little birds, one of His nestlings

Life is sure to bring along sunshine and rain

And through it all, as you hustle and hover

Remember that Univeral Force, that Supreme Entity

Which, upon you, I pray, will always watch over.

A very Happy Birthday to you, my not-so-little-anymore one

Here's wishing you tons and tons of fun

With our love in your heart and God's hand on your head

Forge ahead, give things your best - no matter what lies ahead.

Happy Birthday, Jughead :-)

With all my love, precious, and then some,

Maiyya :-)

A hike through the Twin Peaks - Wilson Trail

2011-05-09T14:04:00.013+08:00

The HongKong most people know and recognize is the HongKong which is a concrete jungle. Tall buildings rising out of the earth like leviathans, buildings which are built so close to each other than their walls are stuck to each other. HongKong runs essentially like a well oiled machine. The public transport mechanism ranks amongst the best in the world, the efficiency and speed with which work gets done, business gets conducted is unparalleled.

But wait. Is that all HongKong has to offer ? Quite simply put – the answer is No.

A major portion of HK – almost three quarters of HK is countryside. Rising landscapes, beaches, grasslands, mountains, valleys – you can find them all here – in HongKong.

After having pulled off 4-5 other hikes earlier (I haven’t blogged about them yet, but will do so in due course), it was Pecan who steadfastedly held on to the idea and the wish of hiking and trekking The Twin Peaks. This, we knew, was a very difficult hike – a hike that many an adult has given up on, a hike that many people have forfeited and have turned back. Simply put, we knew this one would be challenging, to put it mildly.

This trek/hike covers two mountains and that’s how it derives its name “The Twins”. But to get to the first of the twins, one needs to hike over another mountain “the Violet Hill”. The hiking trail onto Violet Hill starts at Wong Nai Chung Gap and once Violet Hill has been negotiated, the first of the Twin peaks begins.

Yesterday was a perfect day for hiking. Clear skies, humid enough to bring down the danger of hillfires, yet not too humid as to totally sap ones energy outright. Force four winds were forecast, which meant that there would be some breeze on the way, some respite from the sweat and the heat.

We started hiking the Violet Hill from the Wong Nai Chung Gap. The incline was a bit steep and the heat hit. Violet Hill, being smaller than the Twin peaks that followed, did not have much of a breeze. We did not have any trouble hiking the Violet Hill and about 45 minutes later, we were at the base of the Violet Hill and started our hike on the first of the Twin Peaks.

The first peak was, yet again, not too difficult. The peak itself, is spread out, in that the gradient is not too steep. The path too is pretty much laid out – there are steps in some places of the peak while most of it is just a rough hewn path to follow. Yet, not too taxing or difficult. Many places along the way to the summit, the views of HK from atop the peak are simply breathtaking. It is like looking at a HK we’d never seen before. Lush greenery stretches out for miles together, only to be broken by splashes of pink, red and white. Blue waters beckon with lazy abandon near the reservoir. As we reached the summit of the first peak, Macadamia remarked “Is it just me or is this place suddenly foggy”. It was not fog, though. They were clouds.

Through all this, we started out descent down the first of the twin peaks and were greeted by cool cool breeze. One cannot help but marvel at nature. The breeze that blows through the valley as one treks down feels simply marvelous. It is natural airconditioning at its best. It refreshes and it rejuvenates. All the energy that’s been sapped while climbing and hiking seems to simply flow back into you. The climb down was refreshing, in terms of the views and the breeze that was trapped in the valley between the two mountains.

Once we were at the base of the first hill, we came to the junction where we took a break for a few minutes. There are three paths from this junction. First to the left, the path towards the Tai Tam Tuk Reservoir. Second, upwards onto the second of the Twin peaks. Third, to the right, a path that leads to one of the roads.

There was a map there which clearly marked Section 1 of the Wilson Trail, which we were aiming to complete. Macadamia looked at the map and said “the second peak is actually smaller than the first one that we just did, going by the distance markers on this map”. Though this sounded good, some niggling instinct told me the opposite. Somehow, I was sure that the tough one was just beginning. The party was just beginning, we were just about to enjoy our picnic.

The climb started off and after a few minutes, it hit us. The trail for the second peak seemed smaller on the map simply because the steps were a lot lot steeper and the gradient was really really steep. For most of the climb on the second peak, we had to bend our upper body forward just to maintain balance. And each and every step was an effort. This climb began to take its toll and the sweat started pouring down in rivulets. There was no breeze, no respite from the heat and from where we stood, all we could see was a very steep incline with seemingly no end and just flights and flights of steep steps to negotiate. We knew then why many people had forfeited this trail and turned back. Simply put, the second peak is grueling. The first peak eases you into the trail and the second one punishes. The first peak is rather gentle while the second peak exacts its due with harshness and severity.

We ploughed on, stopping every 10 steps for a 5 second break. There were an assortment of butterflies, caterpillars and centipedes around, not to mention spiders of different sizes and colours. Plants on both sides of the trail were sporting fresh leaves. The strain was beginning to tell and we kept talking to each other just to make the going seem easier. We had exhausted our water supplies and while on the incline of the second peak, started on our energy drink bottles. We were sweating so profusely that we were losing body salts and exhaustion was threatening to creep in. A few sips of the energy drink and we continued uphill. The motto then was “when the going gets uphill, think of the view from the top.”

We met other hikers along the way, some going the same way as we were and some others working the trail the other way around. That’s another thing I’ve noticed about hiking and trekking. People whom you come across on hikes and treks are total strangers yet there is an indescribable bond that forms, albeit for a few minutes. Smiles, cheers of “good luck with the climb”, a simple “thumbs up”, a simple “you’re doing great, you’re almost there” goes a long way in shoring energy and gives you that renewed vigour that small burst of energy that takes you those few steps further.

We were about halfway up the second peak and the climb seemed neverending. The summit was nowhere in sight. There had been two more people hiking the same path and at the small landing about half way up the second hill, they decided they could not go any further and they decided to retrace their route and abandon the second peak. We trudged along, realizing that this climb was going to be truly testing. It was “mind over matter”. We had decided this at home but just kept reminding each other during the climb on the second peak that no matter how long it took us, we would not give up. We would go on to complete the trail.

After what seemed like a long long time, we could see the trail opening up and the gap getting wider – a sureshot sign that the summit was near. And sure enough, about five minutes later there we were, on the summit of the second Twin – or so we thought !!!!

Once at the top, we realized that nature indeed has a sense of humour. Four exhausted people realized that nature had thrown yet another curved ball at them. This peak has a hump. It is pretty much like a camel’s hump. Meaning, to get to the actual summit of the peak, we had to negotiate yet another descent and more importantly, yet another ascent. We could see the summit from where we stood.

On went the caravan and this is where the going got rather treacherous and tricky. There is no laid path at all – during the descent and for the most part of the ascent the path is full of rocks and rough hewn stones and gravel – and the gradient is steep. We lost count of time, we stopped looking at our watches, we just kept focusing on the next five steps ahead – five steps at a time.

“When the going gets uphill, think of the view from the top.”

The view from the top was indeed spectacular. Tai Tam on the left, Stanley right below, views of Repulse Bay and Deep Water Bay as we’ve never seen them before - beeeeyooootiful !!!

It was so serene up there – the clouds floating around like powder puffs, masking the top of the peak, enveloping it like a fuzzy blanket. The breeze had once again started, with a vengeance, as though hellbent on reinfusing energy into the tired folks who trudge their way up. HK, from up there, looked enchanting. It was a delightful feeling – filled with a sense of achievement and with such fabulous views to captivate and enthrall ones senses.

We spent some time on the summit, recharged ourselves with an Oreo (just one) each and more of the energy drinks before we started our descent from the second of the Twin peaks. We were there, almost. The climb down was almost boring, to be honest. Concrete steps all the way made the going quite monotonous. We came across a huge group of youngsters who had decided to take on the Twins and had started their trek from the Stanley Gap Road part of the Tai Tam Country park. We met some fellow hikers who were also on their last stretch of this hike – having started out from Tai Tam or Wong Nai Chung and were heading towards the Stanley Gap Road.

That feeling of achievement, of completeness that accompanies the end of every hike and trek, is unrivalled. At the end of the trail, we were thoroughly exhausted but it did not show. That feeling of exhaustion was overshadowed by a sense of accomplishment.

The Twins done and over with, Pecan is now contemplating climbing other peaks. He has his sights set on Tai Mo Shan – which is said to be the highest peak in HK. It will be a while before that happens but I guess sometime in the future, we will have our tryst with Tai Mo Shan as well.

Vulnerability - The Internet Connection ...

2011-04-20T08:29:00.001+08:00

(Image courtesy : csaawarenessmonth.wordpress.com)

Through the month of April 2011, more than 40 bloggers from around the world have joined hands to write about the various aspects of Child Sexual Abuse, in an effort to raise awareness about this issue, which, unfortunately, is seen rearing its head at a rather alarming rate, all over the world.

Posts have been rolling in steadily, a lot has been said, experts have written in, survivor stories have poured in, there have been trolls over Twitter and other forums who’ve dismissed the whole thing as “an over rated issue which is not so serious”. So far, the focus has been on sexual abuse of the physical kind which leaves not just physical scars behind but also very intense mental and emotional ones.

This post is not about physical sexual abuse of children but about a form of abuse which I believe is increasing by leaps and bounds in the world of today. This is a kind of abuse that totally destroys young minds mentally and emotionally. This kind of abuse is just as dangerous as face to face physical sexual abuse, especially given the fact that it does not leave physical scars behind for parents to see and notice.

Cyber or Internet Sexual Abuse of children.

In this world of today, which is increasingly becoming dependent on the cyber world, this threat / problem is real. It is not non-existent. Quite the contrary. During our childhood days, we did not know what a computer was. Compare that with the children of today. They simply cannot do without one. Right from a very tender age, children are used to electronic gadgets which give them access to this vast world web. They browse, they play games online and apart from all this, the internet is now increasingly being used as a medium of instruction. The internet is being used to “teach” and children are using the internet more frequently for “education related” activities. Projects, research work, online learning, online exams – the internet has manifested itself in almost every sphere of a child’s life. Chat forums, online groups, social networking and much more have virtually become the order of the day.

Yet again, the onus does, to a great extent fall on the parents to be extra vigilant when children go online. What makes it difficult even more so is the fact that one cannot police the children every moment they are on the internet. That does not make sense – from any angle. Children of today need their freedom too. They need space to explore their thoughts, they need to network as networking has proven to be an extremely valuable social tool. At the same time, they need to be protected against cyber sexual abuse. Talk about balancing options and priorities !!!

There were days when parents used to rest assured and bask in the security of the fact that they had installed software on their computers which monitored the sites which the children visited, software which blocked pornographic or graphic content, software which “protected” the children, safe searches turned on so that an innocuous request for an image by a child would not lead to porn pictures being thrown up over the net. I do believe that sense of security is on its way down too. There are porn sites which piggyback onto “educational” sites, there are pop-ups that flash across the screen when least expected. Put these together with the natural curiosity and innocence of children – strain your ears, it won’t be long before you hear the bomb ticking away. More so the case with social networks and chat forums. Those are minefields. Those are ideal places for predators to prey upon young and innocent minds, perfect grounds for predators to gratify their demented urges by finding young quarries and victims.

We, as human beings, are vulnerable. Being vulnerable to assault or abuse of any kind is a possibility that is very real. What makes children more vulnerable is the fact that children have in them a large amount of innocence and this makes them more gullible to deception and abuse.

How then, can we, as parents, be more vigilant in protecting our children against Cyber Sex Abuse ?

The solution, as with any problem, lies in first identifying and recognizing it. According to a study conducted by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, there are signs that parents can look out for, with regard to Sexual Abuse of children over the Internet.

Children spend a lot of time online, especially at night when parental supervision is next to NIL.

During the day, children invariably run the risk of having an adult “catching” them chatting on chat forums but during the night, the rest of the household is invariably asleep. They go online to chat with friends, they browse the web just to kill time, make new friends. And on the other hand, are predators, constantly prowling the very same web for victims.

Finding pornography on your child’s computer

Pornography is often used in sexually victimising children. Sex offenders often send their potention victims or supply them with pornographic content – pictures, film clips, as a means to open sexual discussions or as a means to seduce their young victims. It is also used to drive home the notion that sexual alliances between an adult and a child are “normal”.

Your child turns off the computer or changes the image on the monitor to view another site as soon as you or any other adult in the house walks in

A child looking at porn or sexually explicit images on the screen will definitely not want his/her parents to know about it.

The child becomes withdrawn from the family

Internet sex offenders work at isolating the victim from his/her family. Going by their normal modus operandi, these predators normally befriend their victims first. In the process, they become privy to a lot of inside information – information about what happens at home. Even something as simple as a tiff between the child and the parent can be exploited by these perpretrators – as a tool to drive a wedge between the child and the parents. The perpretrator then poses as the “good person” in an effort to further strengthen the relationship with the victim. In many cases, the child may become withdrawn after incidents of internet sex abuse. Confusion, guilt, shame – all go a long way in contributing to the child becoming more and more withdrawn after they are sexually victimized.

These are some of the obvious signs for parents to look out for in their children.

What can parents do to safeguard children against internet sex abuse ?

Communication

Yet again, this is of prime importance. While it is a fact that the internet is a rich source of information and that children often browse the web for school related activities or social networking, it is important to talk to children about the dangers that lurk in the cyber world as well. Macadamia has to make extensive use of her laptop for her school projects and for the research work that goes towards these projects. Almost all her school work is done on the laptop and the laptop is carried back and forth every day – from school to home and vice versa. We have told her about the dangers associated with internet use. If children are aware that such risks exist, it empowers them to recognize and seek help from an adult if they come across something “uncomfortable” over the internet too.

Spend time with your children on-line. Ask them to take you around their favourite / most visited websites

This is a good way to bond too. There are many instances when either me or Vic sit with Macadamia and Pecan when they are browsing the web. It also gives us time to exchange little snippets of information on various topics. It may be totally unrelated to what they are doing right then, but the flow of communication stays established. It also helps send the message across that we are not averse to them playing games on the computer, as long as it is within the set time limits and as long as we have an idea of what they are playing and where. Now that they know that, they do not rush to close the screen every time we walk into the room. It promotes openness, which is very important.

Tell children never to upload and send out their pictures to people or websites they do not know.

Both Macadamia and Pecan know this. For that matter, uploading or downloading anything here, at home – requires parental consent and parental presence. We have told them the possible risks there are, in uploading or downloading stuff to/from the net. Downloading pictures can also carry the additional risk of pornographic / sexually explicit pictures being piggy backed onto the other material being downloaded.

Tell children to never ever give out their contact details, address, name of their school, telephone numbers

Again, both the siblings are aware of this. Never give out personal information on any internet site, chat forum or social networking sites. If personal information needs to be given, restrict it to the bare minimum. The less you have of yourself (in terms of personal info) on the net, the better.

If your children are members of a social networking site, it would be a good idea for the kids to add the parents to their friends list.

Macadamia recently opened an account on one of the popular social networking sites. We had been stalling the same for quite some time now but there are times when children need to be cut some slack. Rules cannot be too rigid. Peer pressure is something to contend with and no child wants to stick out like a sore thumb. Again, social networking has its benefits, if used properly. One of the conditions for Macadamia to open her account was that both me and Vic would be on her friends’ list. Not that we would be actively engaged in conversing with her online, not that we were going to interfere with her conversations with her friends – but simply that it would make it easier for us to monitor what was happening. We explained this to her, given the fact that privacy does become a big issue between kids and parents.

If your child is a member of a social networking site, tell them to restrict their account to “friends only” and not to set their account to “friends of friends” too.

Restricting access to your account can go a long way in reducing instances of online abuse. This applies not just to children, but to adults too.

Tell children to never ever arrange a face to face meeting with someone whom they’ve “met” over the internet

Normally, sexual predators first establish themselves, get into the good books of kids, get kids to trust them and believe whatever they say – before making a move on the kids. Children have to be educated about the fact that not everything they see or hear on the internet from people is “believable”. Things people say could be true – but there is an equal chance that they are not.

The most important factors in keeping children safe from online abuse are :

- use of appropriate blocking software

- parental control

- having open / honest discussions with your child/children

- regularly monitoring your child’s internet / online activity

- explaining to them as to why you need to regularly monitor their online activity

- keeping channels of communication open

Like with other forms of abuse, the important thing with internet sexual abuse too is the same – children have to be informed and educated about the dangers that lurk on the web too. It is a vast place, with lot of rich knowledge stored and there for the taking but as always, where there is an upside, there is also a downside.

While children should be able to explore and make use of the rich information and knowledge that the internet has to offer, as parents it is our duty to inform, educate and alert them to the hazards that prowl and lie in wait, on the internet too. It is important to teach children to recognize deceptive behavior from people who mean them harm. Also equally important is letting children know, verbally and in absolutely unequivocal terms that if something happens on the internet – something that they are not comfortable with – they can and should always seek parental help.

Sir Francis Bacon once said “Knowledge is power”.

I’m sure he meant that under different circumstances and meant for that quote to be understood in terms of book knowledge. But in this world of today, that quote does take on a totally different connotation and yet, that simple quote sums it all up.

Yes – Knowledge is indeed power.

In this case, knowledge empowers children to say NO !.

(This post contains a few excerpts from the FBI website regarding Internet Abuse of Children)

Waxing and waning .......

2011-04-18T13:29:00.000+08:00

(Image courtesy : cartoonstock.com via Google)

A few months back, when Mommy and Macadamia were talking about something, the talk turned to the issues of "waxing", "threading" and the like. OK - no dramatics but just a couple of months back, Macadamia had rather resolutely, unwaveringly, unfalteringly, unswervingly, resolutely, persistently and very very firmly told the mater that she would not, under any circumstances, put herself through the torment and the pain of waxing.

The mater had said "Tell me the same thing a year or two from now and I will believe you".

Turns out, the mater did not have to wait that long, after all. :-))

But then again, you see, I'm not the kind of person who goes around telling Macadamia "I told you so" every five minutes.

I just tell her that about once in every half an hour. :-))))))))))))))

Yeah, I'm very considerate that way.

:-))))))))))))))

A slip of the tongue

2011-04-14T14:15:00.000+08:00

(Image courtesy : happytoysandgames.com via Google)

I've been noticing the way the nutty siblings are, with each other, over the past many months now. They cannot live without each other around, neither can they live with each other around. They have to talk to each other, but they also have to yell at each other. They have to pass each other those "knowing looks (read roll eyes heavenwards) when it comes to something their parents are telling them, yet they have to throw daggers at each other with just their looks, at other times. They whisper like a pair of co-conspirators at one moment and five minutes later they'll be found stomping and screaming and arguing with each other. They have to tell each other everything (well, almost), and they have to call each other a tattletale. Such is the chemistry between Macadamia and Pecan, nowadays. They are what one can call "A Complex Confusion". Confusion to the people around them.

These two are quite blissfully unaware of the fact that with each other, they behave pretty much like the weather in HK, sunny one moment and a typhoon the next.

Yesterday too, notes had apparently been compared in the evening (well before the parents got home), about the various aspects of their school lives (for the day). We totally believe in living in the present, you see.

Macadamia has been filling me in too - about the politics of friendship and the complexities of the relationship called friendship amongst a whole bunch of pre-teens. Meaning - Macadamia and her friends at school. As is normally the case, there are always ups and downs and when you have a bunch of pre-teens involved, the ups and downs seem more like a crazy roller coaster ride every second.

"This one is that one's pet dog, that one is not talking to this one, someone is going out with no one, anyone does not know what someone is up to" and the like. Was that complex enough ? Well, it is, for me. Blame it all on age, I guess ;-).

Oh ! another bit of newsflash - Macadamia has her own Facebook account now. So that adds a new dimension to friendship, I'm told. In fact, it was after looking at her facebook account that we realized that we somehow suddenly have three more daughters. How and when that happened - we know not !!! ;-))

OK - not to digress - yesterday evening found Pecan asking Macadamia if she'd chucked out two of her friends from her Facebook friends list. "Not from Facebook" she said. "That's just in real life". Huh ??!! We actually have scenes of The Matrix playing out at home !! "You mean they're still on your Facebook friends list ?" queried Pecan, quite unable to comprehend the complexities of girls' minds.

"What was that about ? Whom are you talking about ?" interjected Yours Truly. Before Macadamia could say a word, Pecan was found hopping around like a cat on a hot tin roof saying "That's A and B she's talking about." I've heard A's name and B's name being dropped a lot since Macadamia started Middle School.

"Why ? What happened ?" asked Yours Truly, trying to get a grasp on the situation.

Yet again, before Macadamia could say anything, a totally excited, hoppity hopping Pecan said "Because A

bitched her. A bitched her. A bitched Macadamia". He was so caught up in the intensity of the situation that he totally mixed up his B's and D's.

Macadamia started to roll around the floor (in an attempt to even out our uneven floors, I guess) laughing and it took a moment for it to register in Pecan's head that Mommy too had a grin plastered on her face.

Mommy has never ever before seen Pecan blush beet red. He's made several others do so but it's never actually happened to him. Yesterday was a first. He realiized that he'd been screaming "bitched" instead of "ditched" all over the place and his face was totally aflame. He would, by any standards, have put a beetroot to shame yesterday evening.

Combine that beet red face and ears with a totally sheepish look - and that was Pecan yesterday evening. A picture that was totally priceless.

Sadly enough, Mommy did not have a camera on hand to snap up that candid camera moment !!

Mommy, for one, sure is looking forward to many more such "slips" of the tongue !! :-)

CSAAM - April 2011 - Where did I come from ?

2011-04-12T07:08:00.009+08:00

(Image courtesy : aintitcool.com via Google)

Sexuality.

Small word, huh ? I know, by itself, it does not seem like much.

That word starts to take on a separate dimension, a totally different connotation when one looks at it from the point of view of a parent. That is when the shades of black and white cease and the shades of grey come into the picture. Simple question words like “When”, “How to”, “How much” demand much more attention and much more of thought than just a casual approach.

When I was a child, I simply don’t remember having had any discussions or question/answer sessions whatsoever with my mom with regard to sexuality. Even the standard question that every child asks at some point of time or the other – “Where do babies come from ?” were met with a response that was as standard as an ad for milk from the Aarey milk colony. I have to say that Aarey milk colony atleast used to change its ads for milk every once in a while. But my mom’s response was steadfastedly the same “You’ll know when you grow up”. That was it. Nothing more, nothing less. Just that one sentence. Period !

There were times during my childhood, when this one line answer of hers “You’ll know when you grow up” led me to imagine all sorts of permutations and combinations inside my head. There was a phase when I sincerely used to believe that babies “just happen” once two people exchange garlands and get married. There was another such phase when I believed that two flowers moving towards each other was what resulted in babies. Some pollination, that !! But thanks to good old Doordarshan and my mom’s one liner, my knowledge of sexuality was restricted to “flowers and garlands”.

Did Child Sex Abuse not exist then ? I honestly don’t know. There always have been perverts in this big world of ours, there definitely are perverts around now and I’m sure (unfortunately enough) that they will continue to exist.

An out an out open talk on all the aspects of sexuality has not happened with Macadamia and Pecan too. They do know bits and pieces, Macadamia – more so than Pecan. So as I write this post, I do so not out of personal experience in talking to children about sexuality per se, but out of my thoughts of how we might go about dealing with this, when the time arises. Both of them ask a lot of questions – some direct and some not so. Depending on the amount of information they already have, we craft and sculpt our answers – but the one thing we do not do is slam the door shut on their faces saying “this is out of bounds”. We also do not give them the cock and bull one-liner “You’ll know when you grow up”. As a parent, it is a part of your responsibility to educate your child about sexuality.

“Encourage your child to talk about what’s on their minds. Encourage them to ask questions.”

Both Macadamia and Pecan read a lot. Macadamia has also had some sex education classes at school (apart from the snippets of information that Macadamia and me keep sharing from time to time) about puberty and the like. The other day, some talk of babies came up and Macadamia was heard telling Pecan that “it takes a egg thingy and a sperm thingy” to make a baby. Sure enough – it does take a convention between an egg and a sperm to make a baby. What the Missy and the Master have not thought of, yet, is how exactly this “convention” takes place.

When talk of this “convention” does take place, we’re mentally prepared for a multitude of “EEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW”s and “That’s totally SO gross” and “Ewww – That’s so d.i.s.g.u.s.t.i.n.g”. I guess it is completely normal for them to exhibit that initial reaction :-). Think about it – how would we have reacted in our teens had our parents told us about the said “convention between an egg and a sperm and how it happens”. Could we have imagined our parents doing that ? I guess not :-). So then, to expect our kids to take and digest such information with a straight face is, I guess, asking for a bit too much. Macadamia, for sure, is not going to say “Oh ! That’s so nice. Sounds lovely.” Far from it !

Parents – rest assured – the final salvo is yours. Questions like “Ewww. You and Daddy did T.H.A.T ?” simply need a simple answer and a smile. “If mommies and daddies did not “do t.h.a.t”, you children would not be here !!!”

“Do not shy away from talking about sexuality. For that matter, even when it comes to questions that kids have about their own bodies, questions regarding the difference between the male and female anatomy – it is best to be honest with them.”

Age appropriateness in doling out information is important. So far, if questions about babies have emerged from the siblings early on in life, we’ve kept our answers simple. Now that they know a lot more about the human body, as and when questions arise, the answers are more detailed and so it will be, in the future too.

“Age is important when it comes to giving them information. Give them advice/information depending on how much they already know. Also, when talking to kids, use language/words that are understandable and comfortable”

Yet again, we do not “set a time” to sit and talk about the human body and babies. Curious as children are, questions do pop up out of the blue and when they do pop up, I personally feel that it is important to give them as straight forward and age appropriate an answer as possible, right then. Shrouding the whole issue in a veil of mystery and secrecy just drives them towards other sources for their answers. Trust me, it is much better that they get the basic information from their parents than from the multitude of other sources available in today’s world.

“Look out for cues from children when they seek information. There are also “teachable moments” that one can use to start and talk to children about sexuality. e.g someone in the family is expecting a baby. It would be a good way to start a conversation regarding babies and how they happen. Or with younger children – bath time or dressing time is a good time to talk to them about their bodies and about “safe and unsafe” touch.”

Our parents’ attitude, presumably, was “why do children need to know about sexuality” ?

Children DO need to know about sexuality because, for the most part, it helps reassure them that such feelings are normal. It helps them cope with peer pressure – trust me – no child in their preteens or teens wants to stick out like a sore thumb amongst their group of friends. It makes them more comfortable with the way their own bodies are developing and changing. Most importantly, it helps them to recognise “a good touch” from “a bad touch” or a “safe touch” from an “unsafe touch”.

Like I said before, age appropriateness in dispersing information is important. All the same, it starts at a very young age. Something as simple as teaching them the names of their body parts – defines and sets the base for openness in seeking for and giving information later in life. e.g if we were to tell children very early on in life that the private parts of their body is “chee chee” and use terms like “don’t touch there” or “that’s a bad thing in your body” – they’re going to grow up with mixed feelings, feelings of confusion, embarrassment.

As their bodies grow and develop, pre teens and teens spend a lot of time looking at themselves and wondering if it is only their bodies which are growing in such a manner or whether it is common and normal. Talking openly about the human body and the way it develops goes a long way in putting their fears to rest. It is, at this stage, important to tell them that not all bodies develop at the same rate and in exactly the same way. There are bound to be differences and that “being different is quite normal”.

“Talk to pre-teens and teens about the changes that are taking place in their bodies. It serves to reassure them that they are not the only ones going through these changes. It is better that they get this information from you rather than from other sources.”

Within the household too, it is important to place high value on the connection between “affection and touch”. A warm hug goes a long way in conveying affection, warmth, love and caring. It probably says much more than many a word strung together. All four of us, at home, place a lot of value in expressing our warmth and affection for each other in terms of “touch”. Be it a smile, be it laughing together, be it a warm hug, be it holding hands, be it just an arm casually thrown around the shoulder, be it an arm around the waist, be it a casual ruffle of the head, be it a gentle tweak of the ear, be it a tickle when it is least expected – brings about a sense of closeness, a feeling of openness and most importantly the fact that we, as a family, value this sense of openness, understanding, familiarity and intimacy between the four of us. The message that it carries is a very simple, yet very potent and important one – “good touch is a means of conveying your affection”. When children know the feel of a “good touch” it becomes that much easier for them to instinctively know the difference between “a safe touch” and “an unsafe touch”.

As parents, it is important to tell our children what we believe in and why we do so. It is important to share our values with them. That said, if it is our opinion that we are conveying to our children, then it is always better to tell them that what you’re saying is your opinion and not a given fact.

“Be open in sharing your values and concerns.”

Last but not the least, it is very important to let children know that they can come to their parents with any concerns, questions or problems, no matter how little or how large the said issue may be.

With the siblings too, we have a lot many more bridges to cross. I guess when it comes to openly talking to them, there may distinctly be moments of “being uncomfortable”. Knowing us, we’d probably tell them right at the very outset that we might be uncomfortable at some points and that they may be too – but then that’s perfectly normal and is totally OK.

“Keep your sense of humour going, keep it light and don’t be hesitant to express or talk about your own discomfort, if needed. It is perfectly OK to say “I may be a bit uncomfortable talking about this and so may you, but that’s perfectly fine.”

Once children reach puberty, it is not just the “good touch/bad touch” scenario that children need to watch out for. It is important for parents to talk to their children about the responsibilities and the consequences of being sexually active. Pregnancy, STDs, feelings about sex – are also important issues that need to be addressed. Helping children understand that these are important decisions that require maturity and responsible thought will increase the chances that their decisions, when they do happen, are level headed and responsible, and not just the result of strong peer pressure.

Parenting, raising a child is probably one of the most rewarding, the most gratifying things and without any doubt, one of the toughest. There is no single formula that fits one and all. The factors are different, the variables are different. What matters at the end of it all, is arriving at a balanced equation.

Like Bill Cosby once said

“In spite of the six thousand manuals on child raising available in bookstores, child raising is still a dark continent and no one really knows anything. You just need a lot of love and luck – and of course, courage.”

Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies

2011-04-04T13:06:00.000+08:00

I'd borrowed a book titled "Cookies" by Pippa Cuthbert and Lindsay Cameron Wilson, from the library a couple of months ago. This was one recipe I really liked. For one, you can use more oatmeal than plain flour which, in itself, makes the cookies healthier. This recipe calls for very little butter as the original recipe itself is a mix of butter and oil. For those who do not want butter in the picture, this recipe can be adapted by using just oil. The cookies turn out just as good (except the taste bit ;-) - that buttery richness will obviously be missing).

The recipe as per the book

60 ml vegetable oil
75 gms butter
100 gms caster sugar
110 gms light brown sugar
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1 egg
100 gms porridge oats
150 gms plain flour (unbleached)
1/2 tsp Bicarb of Soda
1/2 tsp Baking Powder
a pinch of salt
Chocolate chips (as preferred)

Preheat oven to 180 degrees celsius.

Combine the oil, butter and sugars and cream until smooth. Beat in the vanilla and the eggs, one at a time, then stir in the oats. In a separate bowl, sift the flour with the bicarb of soda, baking powder and salt. Using a wooden spoon, stir the flour mixture together with the chocolate chips. Stir until just combined.

(I used more porridge oats than the amount called for in the recipe. That way, the dough was more manageable when it came to rolling out small balls of the dough rather than dropping rounded spoonfuls of the dough onto the baking sheets).

The recipe calls for 10 mins of baking time. I found that baking time can be cut down to about 8 mins if using baking sheets or trays that are black. It retains more heat and thus baking time is reduced.

The changes I made were :

1. Used 100 gms each of white granulated sugar and light brown sugar (tightly packed)

2. Used more porridge oats and less plain flour (in fact, the plain flour was just enough to bind and bring the batter together)

3. I've tried the "all oil" version of these cookies too. They turn out really well.

4. I made these cookies with a mix of semi-sweet and dark chocolate chips.

5. I've added about 3 heaped tablespoons of unsweetened cocoa powder to the above recipe and used white chocolate chips in that mix. That way, inspite of using unsweetened cocoa powder, there was no need to add more sugar as the white chocolate chips tend to be much sweeter than the dark chocolate chips.

April 2011 - Child Sexual Abuse Awareness Month (CSAAM)

2011-03-28T16:53:00.001+08:00

Child Sexual Abuse is more common than any of us like to think, believe or accept. Sex offenders do not walk around with any particular visible traits. They may lurk right among us, they may already be in our midst, they may already be mingling with a lot of children. Scary thought, is it not ?

But fact remains that it is true. The situation too, is pretty complex. The abuse which starts off as a physical one, has huge ramifications on the child's mental health, emotional health and the psyche as a whole.

This is a hugely social issue and it is one whose awareness needs to be promoted.

That is precisely what is happening in Blogsville or the blogosphere all through the month of April 2011. Many bloggers, including me, are going to be blogging about various aspects of Child Sexual Abuse in an attempt to raise awareness.

This initiative is aimed towards increasing our awareness of this burgeoning issue, as parents and in turn, for us to teach and empower our children to say NO.

If you would like to add to the discussion or know somebody else who would, please note that we welcome entries

a. mailed to csa.awareness.april@gmail.com OR

b. posted as FB notes and linked to Child Sexual Abuse Awareness Month Page OR

c. posted on your own blog with the badge and linked to the main blog OR

d. linked or posted on Twitter tagged twitter.com/CSAAwareness OR

e. sent via some/all of the above methods

The list of topics is available here.

Anonymous contributions are accepted and requests for anonymity will of course be honoured. I will probably be hosting at least one guest post and encourage you to do the same for non-blogging friends.

Please remember to send in a mail with all necessary links or just your input to csa.awareness.april@gmail.com so that we can track your contribution and make sure that it is not inadvertently lost or something.

U can also support it simply by adding the logo of our initiative in your blog's sidebar. Grab the below code to do so

We owe it to our children to make this world as safe a place as possible, for them to grow up in.

The Art of Conversation

2011-03-24T10:21:00.000+08:00

Image courtesy : 101nights.wordpress.com via Google

If there’s one thing the younger generation are masters at – it has to be “The art of conversation”. I mean, they are so prolific that it simply takes ones breath away and leaves one totally speechless. Well, it sure leaves me speechless. The vocabulary is so abundant that it teems with words and is seemingly inexhaustible. Their versatile vocabulary is an apparent panacea for all the evils of the older generation.

Huh !”

That, just about, says it all.

Ever noticed how the younger generation needs just a “Huh” and “Really ?” in their linguistic repertoire to carry on, what they deem, is an active, two way conversation ?

They’ve successfully transplanted an elephant’s head onto a dog’s body.”

While a normal human reaction would be a gasp or a “What” or a nonplussed “What in the name of God are you talking about ?” and the like – a pre teen would probably respond to that with a simple “Huh ?” which, by the way, will have the capacity to make you feel like the biggest dodo on the face of this earth.

Take Macadamia, for instance.

I’m like going to schooaa and she like calls my cell and like keeps asking about that test thingy. We have like this Science test thingy like sometime tomorrow. It’s like not exactly like a test but like it’s like a test thingamajiggy. And she like calls and asks me about some History stuff. What a doofus ! I mean – she’s really like ...... sheeesh, whatever !!!”

By the time she’s done speaking those Latin and Greek sounding sentences, I’m, for the most part, found reeling around someplace at home, trying to look normal and struggling to figure out what is being said. By the time my brain comprehends what's being said and forms a suitable response in a more human language, the siblings would have moved on to something else altogether. My response time is deemed "too slow" for their quicksilver responses. Come to think of it, Google Translate should be inbuilt into parents and Google should seriously think of including "teengage" (a cooooaaaaa short form for "teen language" - or so I think) as one of the languages to translate.

Like I said earlier, my personal opinion stands at – The younger generation are masters at the art of making conversation. I know I am doing something I never do – generalize. But this conclusion has been arrived at after being at the receiving end of many a “conversations” with many pre teens and teens.

But then again (*wicked grin*) – who says there cannot be a payback time ?

We’ve been trying it out randomly on both Macadamia and Pecan and we’re rather delighted to see that paybacks are indeed effective – albeit in the short term. When Macadamia or Pecan say something, they’re randomly met with a “HUH ?” from Mom and/or Dad. Not always. Like I said, the magic word here is "randomly”. They don’t know when to expect it. And it sure bugs the hell out of them. (*evil grin once again*).

Well, what can I say ? We’re rather wicked parents, that way !!

Did I hear you say something ?

"HUH ?!”

A horse, Mr.President ....

2011-03-12T07:13:00.000+08:00

(Image courtesy : cool-clip-art.blogspot.com)

It's been ages since I've posted here and boy - does it feel good to be back in blogsville !! :-))) Oh Yes - it does !!!! The aim is to post regularly from now on but the time factor (read - lack of time) does have its effects in putting to rest any aims that one may plan towards.

Anyways, not to digress .......

What is the connection between a horse and a president ?

If your answer to that question is "nothing", I'd say it is time to think again.

This happened a couple of months back, during one of my ESL classes. These were a bunch of kindergartners and the topic for the day was "animals". Now everybody has an Achilles heel and so did a little boy in my class. A little boy who is always full of life, happy with life, happy with himself, comes bounding into class and whose answer for just about everything is a huge smile and a loud, resounding "yes". To top this bubbly attitude, he also has round black eyes that speak volumes.

This little guy's Achilles heel turned out to be none other than a horse. He simply could not remember horse. It just proved a little too elusive for him. He could remember and place all the other animals correctly in English but even after three classes, the horse proved consistently elusive. Instead of "horse" the only thing that would come to his mind when he looked at the picture of a horse, was the word "Mah". "Mah" is horse in Cantonese (the local language in HK).

On this particular occasion in class, his jaw was set stubbornly and he meant business. He'd decided that "the horse" was not going to elude him any more. "Enough of peek a boo" was the attitude on that little face that day. Out came the picture of the horse from the flashcards and his eyes widened. Those brows furrowed and he was thinking, fast and furious. I could not help a little smile. I just gathered him close to me and put one arm around him. He was still thinking - I could almost hear those wheels cranking and turning.

"Ah" he said - his face brightening visibly. "This" he said, pointing to the flashcard of the horse on the table "is Obama".

OK- that was the last straw as I could not hide my grin anymore. I was grinning from ear to ear and so was he.

His logic was fairly simple - he recollected the "Mah" which is Cantonese for "Horse". He recollected the "O" sound from the English word "horse". He put them together and came up with "Obama".

And yes, in the midst of laughter, the little genius did get a huge hug :-). Kids - their imagination and the way their synapses connect - never ceases to amaze me.

Now who was it that said teaching ESL is boring ?????

Revenge : A Desire

2010-12-13T09:48:00.001+08:00

Image courtesy : zazzle.com via Google

Revenge.

The desire for revenge had not burnt so strongly within me ever before. But now, it filled my every pore.

It was the reason for my very existence. I wanted blood. Their blood. I wanted to see their blood spill on this dry land just as my family had bled. I wanted them to feel fear, to feel death hanging over their heads.

They had wiped out my entire family. The panic, the fear, that smell of cordite was only too fresh in my mind. I was hurt. They had managed to hurt me but I had promised myself that I would not give up. I had found both my kids a safe place, a haven where they could grow and flourish - with or without me. My life was in peril but I had managed to get my children out of harm's way. They were safe and at this point in time, that was all that mattered.

My body was on fire, pain radiated from my leg which was still bleeding from the bullet wound. I knew that the men who were after me were still looking for me. For, I had something they wanted - badly. They would do everything within their power to get it. Man's desire for riches

is an unconquerable evil.

I was hungry. Very hungry. I could not recollect when I'd last eaten. I have now been on the run for so long that time has ceased to be of any meaning to me. The hunger gnawed at my insides. Food was all my mind could register. The desire for food was driving me crazy.

"Desire !", I thought to myself "is the root cause of many a evil." Right now, my body desired food in a rather frenzied manner.

The sun was shining in the sky, I could hear the birds chirping merrily. I could feel the weakness settling around me like a warm blanket, dragging me into oblivion. Vestiges of consciousness whirled their warnings in my head. "You cannot fall asleep", they said. "You are not out of danger. Those men are still looking for you. They are armed and could be here any moment" warned more voices inside my head.

As these voices hummed inside my head, my olfactory senses started tingling. The smell of food was wafting, making me drool. My stomach grumbled loudly in protest.

There is something so innately satisfying about a tummy filled with food, albeit leftovers, I thought to myself a while later, as water trickled down my parched throat. There was no time for emotions now but all the same I could not help but think of my children. Little bundles of energy, playful, energetic, the joy of my life. "Those men were wary around me because I had children to protect" I mused. They think motherhood makes the femalekind stronger but truth cannot be farther than that. Motherhood actually makes the femalekind more vulnerable. With children around, the stakes are much higher, we stand to lose so much more. But then again, these men did not know that.

My eyelids suddenly sprang open. I had not realized that I'd fallen asleep. The sun was dipping in the horizon, a big, orange ball of fire, signalling the end of the day. Night would soon lay claim, with its large, black blanket. It was night that I'd been waiting for, since the dark is my element. The sense of danger around me just served to heighten my senses. They were near. Yes, they were coming for me. But this time, I was ready for them. The desire to avenge the death of my loved ones was coursing through me. The desire to rip those men open and maul them was an extremely heady sensation.

I moved stealthily across the plains towards them. I could hear voices in the distance, I could smell their exhaustion. They were about to camp for the night. This time around, I think to myself, "the element of surprise lies in my favour".

My nose twitches, my tail swishes. It flicks back and forth as I unsheath my claws. I look down upon my prey who lie around intoxicated. The desire for revenge is a fervor now, a lust that spurs me into action.

I stalk my prey silently, waiting for the right moment to strike. For, I, the mighty leopard will not hurry into an attack.

I wait and when the time is right, I ambush.

This story has been cross posted at The Novelette. To vote, please click here.

Hyper parenting a.k.a Helicopter parenting

2010-12-09T13:24:00.003+08:00

(Image courtesy : collegeedge.typepad.com via Google)

Ever heard of the term "hyper parenting" ?

We watched a documentary yesterday night on hyper parenting and in more ways than one, it proved to be an eye opener. The main question that the documentary raised was this : Are hyper parents actually giving their kids an advantage in terms of their academic life, social life and other facets of life or are they creating problems for their children which will probably last a lifetime.

The documentary, as the definition of "hyper parenting" suggests, focused on "helicopter parenting".

I, could relate to most of what was being said in the documentary because being in the teaching profession, I see, come across and come into contact with hyper parents day in and day out. Parents who push their children towards "excellence", parents who choose whom their child is going to be friends with, parents who keep their kids cloistered and protected from the evils of the outside world, parents who pack their children's weekends with classes of all sorts - all in an effort to give them that shade of advantage when it's time for the child to compete with the outside world.

I, for one, have to deal with my share of hyper parents on a regular basis. There are parents who insist that they decide on the seating arrangement of their child in class, parents who insist that they will decide on what needs to be taught and what doesn't - and this is just the tip of the iceberg. I've had teenage students who are escorted to their classes and back by their parents. I've had parents who call their children on their mobile phones during class hours, to keep tabs on them or to tell them what exactly to do next.

The education industry has indeed cashed in big time on this trend of over parenting. One sees all sorts of classes now - baby ballet, baby swimming, baby dance, baby phonics - the list is endless. The other day while on my way to work, I remember seeing flyers being distributed for something called "prenatal reading and phonics classes". Amazing, is it not ? Yet again, it makes me wonder as to how much of this can be attributed to "social pressure".

The question that rises to the fore is whether we are actually helping our kids or in effect, making them weak. Are we trying to make our kids independent (which, according to me should be one of the main aims of parenting) or is hyper parenting creating a generation of kids, for whom, being dependent on their parents is the norm - because that's what they've done all their life.

Earlier on, maybe around our own childhood days, the concept of a joint family system was still a prevalent one. There were bound to be many children growing up together. Children would play together, they would fight, there would be fall-outs, there would be make-ups. Some children would be bossy, some would be meek. Either way, some sort of balance would be struck over a period of time. The important thing, however, was the fact that in just interacting with each other without too much of parental intervention, children learn their own set of social skills.

Children fall down, get hurt but in the process, they learn. They either learn to be more careful the next time or to keep going at something until they master it. Children learn that if they fall down, they need to get up, dust themselves and keep going at something all over again. But with hyper parenting, the exposure that children get to the outside world, is very controlled. It is censored by the parents. These children are brought up being told that they will not fall down and even if they stumble, their parents would be right there for them, holding out a soft mat so that the fall does not hurt. How good is this for the child ? How will children learn from their mistakes if they are never allowed to make mistakes in the first place ?

Fact remains that all of us, as parents do exert a certain amount of control on our childrens' lives. Fact remains that there are times when each and every one of us has had to stand up for our children in different situations, under different circumstances. But the important thing, the lesson for parents to take away from all of this is not to overdo things. The balance between protecting and over protecting is indeed very fine. The line is very thin. As parents, we may occasionally end up crossing that line but again, as parents it is a learning process for us too. And learn, we must.

It is important that we, as parents, learn to let go. I think that's what it boils down to. Letting go. I've said this in many of my previous posts and yet again, when watching that documentary yesterday, that was what struck me the most. The root cause of hyper parenting seems to be the inability to let go. As a parent, the innate nature screams and says "protect your child". But again, I guess we have to learn how and where to draw the line. It is important. Not just for us, as parents but more so for our children, as individuals with their own identities. More importantly, I think by "letting go" (age appropriately), the message that parents send out to their kids is that they trust them. This is so very important because trust is a factor which works both ways. It cannot and never will be a one way street.

One question that was raised in the documentary did get me thinking. There will come a time when this set of "hyper parented" kids become parents themselves. What then ? What will they do ? Will there be a whole new generation of hyper-hyper parents or would they realize the drawbacks somewhere along the way and decide to cut loose when it comes to parenting their own children.

There was another question raised by the documentary : How well would these children cope when they finally have to venture out into the world on their own ? Will they have their coping mechanisms in place ? Will they be able to handle the pressures of the outside world without hanging on to their parents' coat tails ?

Like so many other things in life - I guess this too boils down to a single word "balance". Children do need parental help at times but at others, they have to be left alone to fight their own battles. What is needed is a generous helping of trust and confidence in our children, in being able to let them cope on their own without giving in to that innate urge to step in and pave the way for them.

Like Sloan Wilson once said

"The hardest part of raising a child is teaching them to ride bicycles. A shaky child on a bicycle for the first time needs both support and freedom. The realization that this is what the child will always need can hit hard."

Happy Birthday, Aparna :-)

2010-11-30T05:42:00.000+08:00

(Image Courtesy : zazzle.com via Google)

“Because time itself is like a spiral, something special happens on your birthday each year: The same energy that God invested in you at birth is present once again.” — Menachem Mendel Schneerson

My dear Saggi dot, ;-)

As I drum up this post, there are just a few hours to midnight and never have I been more aware of the fact than at this very moment that you will soon turn twelve. Eleven years ago, you made your grand entrance into our lives and changed it totally – all beginning with that one loud, indignant, belligerent bawl. Eleven years somehow, at this moment, seems like a very short span of time :-).

Funnily enough, I now realize that as children grow up, the images that parents cling to are the ones from their baby days, their early childhood. I am no exception to that rule. Even now, at this given moment, I just have to close my eyes and images float as though they have a life of their own, as though they have a will of their own, as though they have a mind of their own.

Even though I’m only too aware of the fact that you stand almost as tall as me today (almost – you’re not there yet !!) the images in my head are of that little baby who used to chew on our shoes, that little baby who used to give us hell and leave us clinging on the edge of pure insanity before going off to sleep, that little baby who used to frighten the lives out of us by walking around the house at night believing that she was a TeleTubby, that little baby who used to revolve and swivel so gracefully to the tunes of Maine payal hai jhankayi, that little baby whose laugh used to sound like a whole chorus of tinkling stars. That is a sound I still hear when I close my eyes, that is a sound that never failed to lift my spirits then and that is a sound that never fails to lift my spirits now.

Twelve – does that officially make you a pre-teen ? :-))

I haven’t really told you this over the past few months but now is as good a time as any to tell you that I’m simply loving watching you change. When you hit your teens, I might, in all probability, use different adjectives to describe my feelings towards the changes in you but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now, I’m loving watching you change and metamorphose into a confident young lady. Yes, young lady !! :-)

We saw you take your first steps into secondary school just a few months back. Little did we know that it would make you evolve so quickly. The changes that were rather uncertain over the first few weeks are now so palpable, so blatantly visible. Those first hesitant steps into secondary school have now turned into sounds of confident footsteps – footsteps which speak volumes, footsteps which say they know where they are going.

I love that confidence you exhibit in yourself - that confidence, which had taken a beating in the last three years of primary school. You’ve seen shades of life, shades of pain rather early in life. I know that some of your friends hurt you in a multitude of ways and we hurt for you then. We also watched warily as you struggled to find your footing amidst what had turned into a very slippery slope. We watched it erode your self-confidence, your self-worth and your self-esteem. We did all we could to shore up your defences mentally and emotionally but end of the day, we knew within our heart of hearts that those final few steps had to be taken by you. You had to restore that faith in yourself, within your heart. You had to find the strength to believe in friendship again. I know that was how badly you had been left scarred by all that emotional and social bullying you endured.

And you did. In the process, we saw you grow, we saw you mature further in your thoughts and actions.

All along, many people have told us how lucky we are to have you as our daughter. I’ve had many people point out to me that you are such a sweet child, a very responsible child, a very caring child. Many people, many different people have pointed this out to me. There have been many instances where we’ve seen these and much more for ourselves. That ability which you have in you – that ability to empathise – is indeed very precious in the world of today. I don’t need to tell you to hold on to that quality in you – because I know you will. Simply put, that’s how you are, that’s who you are.

There’s been another thing I’ve been wanting to tell you all along. But I’ve always felt that the timing was not be right. Now, somehow, I know you can handle what I’m about to tell you. I know that you are sensible and mature enough to understand it in depth now. Through my growing years, I had never been a risk taker. Never ever. If my school years were quiet, my college years were dead silent. Now, looking back, I can recall numerous instances when I wanted to be a part of something but I never did actually take that one final step – simply because I was afraid to take risks, simply because I feared failure. I feared the pain that failure would bring alongwith it. Today, I regret not having had the gumption to take risks then. For, I have realized that failure brings with it pain that is brief whereas that feeling of regret, of not having taken that one final step, of not having gone that one extra mile, stays lifelong.

Don’t do that to yourself. Go ahead, take risks, be a risk taker. If you don’t take that bend around the corner, you will probably never know what awaits you beyond that bend. It could be a venture that brings success, it could be a venture that brings failure. But trust me when I say that even if taking a risk along the way brings you face to face with failure, that pain is short-lived, it is momentary. That feeling of lamenting over not having taken a chance then, lasts a long long time.

I know it is scary to step into the unknown. There will be a part of you that says “Go get that. The opportunity awaits” while there will be another part of you that says “Don’t chance it. You might get hurt”. But if there is one thing I have noticed in you over these past few years, if there is one quality in you that has made itself evident, it is tenacity, persistence, resolve. As of now, you need anger to spur you on in a project that evades you. Once that anger gets its grip on you, you push yourself to test your own limits and always come out on top. I admire that obstinacy in you, that streak of “I will not stop until I do this”. As is the case with anything new, you are bound to make mistakes. That is the way we learn. Making mistakes is perfectly normal. What is important is to try your hand at your dream.

I have told you this before but I do feel the need to say it again. I love the way you write. The way you play around with words, the way you build up your stories, your descriptive narratives. I know that there are a lot of other things which demand your time and attention, now that you’re in middle school. But, to be honest, I do hope that you will nurture that talent in yourself. If, at any point of time, your heart says “Write”, do indulge in your heart’s whims and fancies. I, for one, would love to read what you pen.

To be honest, it is so bittersweet to watch you grow up. At the same time, I am thankful for the fact that we are the only ones who are still privy to watch that little child in you, even now. I know those times when you indulge that inner child in you are becoming more and more infrequent. Where I used to see a little girl about a year back, I now see shades of a young lady. While part of me puffs with pride at what I see, a part of me does turn rather reflective. I know, that this is a part of the “growing up” process – for you, as well as for us, as parents.

I do see quite a bit of “attitude” in you now. I know it is a part and parcel of growing up. But it is that very attitude that tells my instincts time and again that we are probably going to see quite a few of those fireworks at home in the coming few years. You know what tickles me pink ?? The fact that nature possesses an awesome sense of humor. How else would you explain the fact that I am, in all probability, going to be hitting menopause around the same time that you hit your teens :-)))). Forget stepping on each others’ toes – we are, in all probability, going to be dancing on each others’ feet !!! The real fun part lies in the fact that the boys at home won’t know what hit them then. They won’t have a clue !!!! Did I not say that Mother Nature does have an awesome sense of humor ??

On that note, young lady, here’s to you, here’s to that laughter in you which livens up an entire room, here’s to the inner beauty which you possess in abundance, here’s to that streak of mental strength that runs through you, here’s to those “rabbit” smiles, here’s to your dreams, here’s to the faith that you have invested in us, here’s to a lifetime of experiences with you.

If you want to know exactly how and what I’m feeling right now .... here goes ....

You are a part of me, you are a part of me
And that you will always be, that you will always be.
As you grow up, just as your own life is about to start
No matter how old you get, you’ll always be a part of my heart

All of a sudden, Oh ! All of a sudden
You’re growing so fast that it almost seems brazen
The way I see the changes in you unfurl
Make me ask myself “Where’s my little girl ?”

Time will fly, years will pass by so quickly
For the next few years, growth will seemingly have no boundary
There will be lots of laughter and joy with your peers
And quite possibly a small measure of tears

As you step into life, as a young lady, there is something you should know
You will always be our core of pride, whatever you do, wherever you go
So hold your head up high, be proud of what you are
The future beckons, with its doors ajar

When in doubt, remember to turn to that light which guides the Universe
No matter how diverse, into The Creator, things always converge
With our love in your heart and God’s hand on your head
Take things as they come, give it your best, no matter what lies ahead.

Here’s wishing you a very Happy Birthday, precious and here’s to a lifetime of growing together.

Love, hugs and then some,

Mom

Yet another writing prompt ...

2010-11-26T13:44:00.000+08:00

(Image courtesy : darton.edu via Google)

"Grampa, Grampa", floated the sweet little voices, dripping with mischief. Those voices could only belong to little ones, the mischief laced with innocence, both virtues blending into each other, creating a concoction from which there never is an escape. "Grampa, Grampa ... Look at us" squeal the little voices, dripping with delight at having discovered something.

I shake the stupor which had been dragging me down, lulling me into a nap. At my age, my limbs tired and heavy, a stupor settles over me rather too willingly, I muse. I cannot help but smile at the little ones as they delight in the strong breeze that is blowing across the plains.

I was so little too once, I tell myself. I cannot help but tumble down memory lane. I cannot help but think of the wonderful times we had together as a family. Memories which still bring hints of pain alongwith them. But memories, as I’ve learnt over the past few years, are to be treasured, memories are to be valued and cherished – for memories are all that I have left.

I roll back to my baby days. It brings a smile to my face. Babies are such tiny creatures, I think – resilient and supple. Tender, yet strong. I used to have a whole horde of cousins back then. We were natural playmates. It was such a carefree time, hours of basking in the sun, soaking up the bounty that that ball of fire in the sky had to offer. As little children, we always turned our faces up to the sun - to feel its warmth, to feel the flickers of its fiery tendrils play peek a boo with us. There is something so cheerful about the sun, something that lights up something within your heart and makes you want to sing out aloud. I remember dancing to my heart's content on sunny days when I was young. As you grow older, nature makes you stronger but at the same time makes you less supple.　

We used to love it too when the skies opened up and unleashed their might and fury upon all the beings on earth. I remember the way rain used to lash down and the way me and my cousins used to huddle together – giggling, happy and blithe. The rain used to pelt down on us and it would just be a matter of a few minutes before we got drenched. We soaked up the rain like thirsty desert travelers sighting an oasis. There was and still is something so cleansing about the rain, something so pure, something so magical. It starts out as tiny droplets which seem almost hesitant to start their journey from their mansions in the fluffy clouds all the way down to the hard, mud streaked planes. How must the raindrop feel, I wonder – as it comes crashing down towards earth like a meteor. Does it fear its dissipation as it hits ground or does the raindrop feel the burgeoning excitement – pretty much like a bungee jumper about to free fall into the Grand Canyon. I've always wondered, I've always dreamed.

My limbs feel heavy all at once. "Middle age shows on your middle" goes the saying. Well, it sure was true with me. Age was definitely making its presence felt around my middle. Yet, I felt strong. There is a lot of strength in the heart. The strength of a survivor. Yes, I have been through a holocaust of sorts rather early in life. It was a massacre that left me bereft, without family or friends. But survive, I did.

Little giggles, warm, cheerful spirals of delighted sounds float up to my old ears and warm my heart. I look down upon the little ones merrily indulging in some of their favourite childhood pastimes. "Grow, little ones, grow" says my heart.

My eyes have been used to the flat brown plain land for far too long. These old eyes now yearn to see the valleys bathed in the lush green of leaves. My feathered friends settle upon me and chirp merry tunes, the little saplings around me indulge in life like only children can - cheery, untroubled, with a happy-go-lucky attitude.

Life goes on for me, the old oak tree. Yes, I am a tree, the only one that withstood the might of the humans who came at us with axes, machetes and saws, to quench their greed.

"Grow, little ones, grow" says my heart as my limbs feel droopy and heavy with sleep. Even in stupor my heart floods with delight at the very thought of watching a carpet of lush green which is sure to embrace these valleys very soon.

Trees are poems that earth writes upon the sky,

We fell them down and turn them into paper,

That we may record our emptiness.

~Kahlil Gibran

P.S : This was, once again, a writing prompt which simply said "Write from the point of view of a lone tree in a huge deforested valley."

Moooooooooo Mooooooooooooo

2010-11-19T09:50:00.003+08:00

Image courtesy : clipartof.com via Google

I’ve written a lot many times that I’m, of late, unable to keep pace with Pecan’s questions. The questions are no longer straight and simple. For that matter, they are anything but simple. He has this tendency to get hooked by some subject or the other and he would then go in depth into that subject till he's all but wrung it dry.

Also, until a few months back, his forays and explorations into a particular subject were pretty much limited to the realm of books and his unsuspecting parents. Life was a lot simpler then. Now, with the world wide web having opened its arms and welcomed Pecan in, he has discovered a whole new world. A world which not only gives him the answers he seeks but also feeds that fertile mind with fresh questions. For every answer he finds on the internet, he also comes back with a couple of fresh questions upon which he unleashes his skills of investigation.

All in all, Pecan’s jurisdiction is no longer restricted to one subject of interest. He now believes in multiples. His parents, whose grey cells can probably run a steeplechase before saying “OK – that’s it for the day” are now being made to run two or three marathons in a day. At this rate, Pecan’s parents are soon going to develop rather muscular grey cells – what with all the exercise which Pecan makes their grey cells undertake !!

Pecan’s current sphere of interest includes geography/maps/atlas, World War II, Volcanoes and of late, much to my panic, if I may add, the vast world of human anatomy. Why panic ? Because this is Pecan we are talking about. The questions that come our way are direct and rather pointed. There is no question of side stepping the questions nor is there any possibility of working around the question and leading him nowhere. It simply fetches me a rather impatient and weary look from him which speaks volumes – that is to say “Do you really think I’m going to buy that answer ?”or “Maybe you could fool a baby with that one. Not me.”Pecan simply zips from one topic of interest to another with the ease of monkeys swinging from branches in the Amazonian jungle. Keeping pace with this movement from one topic to another leaves me feeling dizzy at times. Very often, I'm left wondering why I am still on the platform after the train has long left.

This interest in the human anatomy started with the fact that they had this as a Unit of Enquiry at school last year. The interest really caught on after he saw that episode on America’s Funniest Videos one Saturday. AFV does not know that they have unwittingly unleashed a Sherlock Holmes who currently seems to have decided that not enough survey has been done on that part of the human anatomy called the breasts. By surveys, I do not mean staring or ogling. A survey, in Pecanese, means scientific investigation, questions (on How and Why and When and of course, the Why nots), a research driven survey to determine statistics. Fortunately for us, he is, as yet, totally clinical in his approach towards the said survey.

A few days back, he had a lot of queries on breastfeeding. As usual, there was a barrage of puzzled Why’s, mystified How’s – basically, the whole works !! Being a good parent and all that, not wanting to sidestep the issue (gah ! it does not work with him), his mom had answered all his questions – looking all the while like a lamb being led to the slaughterhouse.

Today morning, while helping him shower before he headed off to school, I was, as always, facing a whole barrage of questions. Suddenly he lapsed into silence while I could hear those wheels clanking and turning at full speed. It reminded me of that scene from Titanic (ok – that was a pun so not intended) where the whole machinery is turning at full speed and then it stops and reverses. You get the picture, right ?

“Mummy, you said that babies are breastfed, right ?” asked Pecan. "Yes, not all. But many are", I said, giving him a long answer, not wanting to disturb the database which he was sure to have collected. If I'd simply said "Yes", I'm pretty sure he would have pounced on that little discrepancy. "But how do the breasts know that they have to make milk ?" queried Pecan, looking totally befuddled. "Nature takes care of it". I said. "Remember what happens to turtles when they hatch. They somehow know that they have to get across the sand and into the water if they are to survive. How do they know that ? Simply because nature programs it into living beings. This too, is similar." I said, not wanting to lead him into the convoluted world of hormones and the like. That would have been akin to waving a red flag in front of an enraged bull. Only difference being that Pecan would have been absolutely delighted to have a fresh hormonal topic to investigate.

Pecan fell silent for a few seconds as he mulled over something. As clinical as ever, a few seconds later, his investigation apparently having been deemed complete and his conclusions drawn, Pecan declared "OK. So that means when the babies are small, the mummies are the cows."

A whole litany of Mooooooooooo Moooooooooooos sounding inside my head, I could not help but burst out laughing at that little face which was staring at me with mischief dancing in those eyes.

Did I not say he is clinical in his approach ?

A tad too much, me thinks !!

To be honest, I'm not sure whether women would find it funny to be called bovine. I did, maybe because Pecan is my ~~calf~~ .... err .... child, I mean.

Do you hear any Moooooooooooooo Moooooooooooos or is it just me ??

Diwali Nostalgia ...

2010-11-04T13:47:00.001+08:00

Most of the excitement lay in the preparation and the events leading up to the main occasion. Questions would be aplenty. Some questions would be answered, some not. As each day progressed, the excitement would mount, the air would fill with the fragrances of sugar, cloves, cardamom and saffron. The pans would sizzle with hot oil and goodies would appear from the pans, as though by magic. The buildup to Diwali, during my childhood days, used to be magical.

One could actually feel the festive air, so much so that the celebratory air was almost palpable. It was almost as if one could just reach out into thin air and touch that feeling of cheer and joy. It was everywhere. It surrounded things, it encapsulated feelings and encompassed one and all. People could be seen visibly caught up in the festive atmosphere as the cheer lay claim to minds – young and old alike.

One of the main highlights of Diwali during my childhood days used to be the Kandil. There was no string of lights then. It used to be a paper lantern which could be folded up once the Diwali festivities were over. Indian Origami at its best !! I remember waiting with bated breath for my dad to climb into the loft and take out the kandil. It would be taken out of the loft, safely encased in its plastic bag. Dust would still have managed to seep in through those layers of plastic onto the kandil. I would wait, ready with a cloth in hand, to restore the kandil to its pristine condition. Once the kandil – all nooks and crevices of it included – was dusted and fresh, my dad would climb up on a long stool and first attach the bulb holder to the nearest plug point. He would then attach the bulb to the holder the test it. Then came the piece de resistance – he would open the kandil and it would unfurl itself in a blizzard of colors. The strings tied, I would have the honor of switching on the light which would herald the beginning of the Diwali festivities.

It used to be the same kandil year after year. If I remember right, we used the same kandil for more than 9 years. But the beauty lay in the fact that no one ever tired of seeing the same kandil year after year. It was a star shaped kandil which used to twinkle rather merrily (or so I thought then) at its onlookers. Me and my friends used to walk around the building, taking note of the houses where the kandils had already been put up and wait impatiently for the other errant households (or so we thought then) to put up their kandils soon.

I distinctly remember the mouth watering aromas that would begin to filter and waft through home and fill the whole house with its fragrance – tantalizing the taste buds, teasing the olfactory senses, tempting and alluring those fingers into attempting a steal from the dishes before the whole dish even got done, tormenting those brain cells which would, by then, be firing away in a rather manic manner, knowing very well that a whole load of goodies lay in store.

Mom would be busy in the kitchen, her face all scrunched up in concentration so as to ensure the right consistency of the sugar syrup which would ensure absolutely delicious laddoos. Or she would be found stirring very systematically and analytically, that heavenly mixture of besan, sugar and ghee – which, under her careful ministration and nurture, would eventually turn into those wonderful “melt in the mouth” Mysore Pak. There would be the savories too. Those hands would twirl in merry abandon as they twisted and teased mounds of dough into crispy twirled murukkus. Those fingers would go “Pat a cake pat a cake bakers man” whilst flattening the spicy dough onto a piece of cloth, which would later ensure a whole dabba full of spicy thattais. A perfect complement to all those dabbas overflowing with sweets. The smell of rose essence would waft through the kitchen and find its way into my nostrils, thus signaling towards the fact that hot jalebis were imminent.

My mom, I’m sure, was blissfully unaware of the kind of provocation these culinary masterpieces evoked. It would send all five senses into a frenzy, the smells would cause a tumult while the almost palpable taste would drive one to the depths of despair until and unless one got a sampling of the goodies being made in the kitchen, right then and there.

I don’t remember a single Diwali day when the sky was not dark when I awoke. That customary ritual of an oil bath early in the morning would evoke none of the usual complaints from me as I would crane my neck as much as possible without twisting it into some weird angle, trying to peep at the new clothes which would be laid out in front of the prayer shelf. My dad would have a bucket of warm water ready in the bathroom for me to finish my oil bath. Maybe it was my imagination but that oil bath on Diwali day was like none other. It had that special something to it. Once the oil bath was done, my grandma would smear a little bit of turmeric powder onto the edges of my new Diwali clothes and with much elaboration and flourish, hand them to me.

New clothes donned, crackers in hand, I would rush out to meet my friends and from then on it would all be a flurry of sounds and colors. There were times when we would literally jump out of our skins when one of the cracker bombs went off but in no way would that dampen or hamper our little coterie of friends. By the end of it all, our hands would be smeared with gunpowder from the crackers and they would look as though we had been digging through a coal mine of sorts. Yet, it was all a part of that charm, that appeal and allure that the festival brought along with it. Diwali had its own charisma, it weaved its own magic and never failed to fascinate us kids, year after year after year after year. It was an enchantress of sorts, totally mesmerizing us kids and captivating us. In the very simplicity of the festival then, lay its appeal. In the very simplicity of the festival then, lay its pull, its attraction, its magnetism that drew one and all into a cosy embrace of love, oneness, friendship and camaraderie.

As I grew older, that penchant for crackers slowly gave way to the more sedate aspects of Diwali. Soaking the clay diyas in water a few days before Diwali and laying them out to dry would be the beginning. Then would begin a creative frenzy as I would paint the diyas with poster colors. Each one would have a pattern, a certain design to it. Very soon those colors and their tints and hues would spiral me out into a totally different world as those brushes produced miniature swirls and twirls on the diyas which would eddy my senses into a vortex filled with blues and greens and golds, bringing along with them a deep sense of satisfaction and contentment.

I remember those days when I would spread the earthy base onto the verandah at home. A square or a rectangle or a circle, as my imagination deemed fit right then. Onto it my fingers would automatically weave thin patterns with white rangoli powder. Once the basic design was done, would begin the absolutely delightful task of filling the rangoli colors in. It was an enchanting process, one that I hold very dear and close to my heart even today.

(Image Courtesy : shreeyoginfo.com via Google)

Asato Ma Sadgamayah

Tamaso Ma Jyotirgamayah

Mrutyor Ma Amrutamgamayah

So this Diwali, dear readers, as nostalgia takes me rolling down memory lanes, the entire nutty family at Tiny Tidbits wishes you and yours a very Happy, Peaceful, Prosperous Diwali filled with cheer, good health, love and happiness.

It's that time of the morning .....

2010-11-03T13:55:00.000+08:00

(Picture Courtesy : clipartof.com via Google)

It's that time of the morning.

That time of the morning when the rays of the sun are yet to break through the thick blanket of fluffy white clouds in the sky.

That time of the morning when even the birds seem reluctant to break out of their slumber, fluff their wings and chirp away, heralding a rather energetic beginning of a new day.

That time of the morning when stupor seems supreme, the dreams seem never ending and that wonderful state of being in a daze and trance seem unrivaled, absolutely beyond compare .

That time of the morning when there seem to be a lot of unseen shackles which prevent one from flinging back the covers and springing out of bed.

That time of the morning when one longs to snuggle under the cosy warmth of the quilt for "just another two minutes".

That time of the morning when one feels terribly optimistic in longing for “those two minutes” to stretch out into a time span of around two hours.

That time of the morning when one feels the need to ask exactly who in their right senses invented that blessed contraption called the alarm clock.

That time of the morning when sleep unfurls itself and threatens to take over every time one has enough will power to drag ones eyelids open.

That time of the morning when sleep coats and drapes itself on one with a rather feline, catlike grace, leaving one feeling totally languorous and indolent, lazy and lethargic. A lethargy that has an elegant grace to it unlike other times when laziness seems clumsy and ungainly.

That time of the morning when one envies animals who have a program called hibernation programmed into their genes by Mother Nature.

That time of the morning when the sun rays have just about begun to play peek a boo with the fluffy white clouds in the sky.

That time of the morning when the sun rays paint the whole horizon in that beautiful shade of orange pink which an artist finds virtually impossible to duplicate on a canvass.

That time of the morning when, in apparent desperation, two alarm clocks start going off intermittently, knowing fully well that they have an uphill task ahead of them.

That time of the morning when the resident terrapin with an attitude seems more irritated by the alarm clock than oneself.

That time of the morning when one drags oneself out of bed and is confronted with the sight of the rest of the household (pets included) comfortably and cozily tucked under their respective quilts, snoring away into oblivion with what, right then, sounds very much like contended sighs.

That time of the morning when one is still in the clutches of sleep as one trudges over to brush ones teeth and finds that one has put handcream on the toothbrush instead of the predictable toothpaste.

'Twas indeed that kind of a morning for Yours Truly today. ‘Tis indeed that kind of a morning for Yours Truly all throughout winter.

I simply don’t feel like waking up so early in the morning during winter.

That’s all I was trying to say, actually.

The teaching chronicles - Part I

2010-11-02T14:37:00.001+08:00

(Image courtesy : hccteachers/wikispace via Google)

Sue of Sunny Days fame set the ball rolling (like she pretty much always does) the other day when she commented on a picture of mine on Facebook. A picture, which, if I may add, is more than 3 years old. She wanted to know if the kids I teach listen to me because I looked cute and like a total pushover in that picture.

Usha of Ageless Bonding also asked the other day if I had chronicled my “teaching experiences”.

The Mad Momma has asked me a couple of times as to how life as a full time working mom is treating me. Shameless me has not yet had the time to reply.

All in all, this post has been long overdue.

No clichés yet again, but fact remains that time does fly. As I drum up this blog post, I am rather acutely aware of the fact that it has been close to two months since I started working full time. It does not feel that long because time has simply been zipping past.

My teaching experience, before I took up this full time opportunity, had been restricted to the local primary and secondary schools. Once I started working full time for a language centre, I did realize that it required a whole different set of skills altogether. Like the saying goes, at every step of the way, there sure is something for each and every one of us to learn, no matter how old we get.

Teaching kindergartners, for instance, takes a lot more out of a teacher physically than does teaching Primary or Secondary students. Teaching Primary students takes a good mix of fun and focus with a healthy amount of disciplining thrown in. Striking a balance between all these factors is of primary importance. With the Secondary students, one has to be on top of the grammatical components that are being taught – because at any given point during the class, questions can be thrown at you. All in all, like I said, it has been a good mix.

When I first started teaching at the language centre, there were quite a few children who were hell bent on testing the waters. Exactly how far can we go with this new teacher ? Exactly how much indiscipline is she going to tolerate ? Exactly how much can we get away with ?. These are “The Three Tenets of New Students”. In any given teaching situation, a teacher is bound to come across students who are really keen on experimenting with these three questions and arriving at their own answers and conclusions. That is a given, irrespective of the age group.

Over the past couple of months, I’ve come across kids who have tried swearing loudly in class, kids who have (on purpose) left their cell phone ringers on, kids who have been outright belligerent, kids who have insisted on speaking in their mother tongue during an English lesson, kids who have insisted on coloring with normal lead pencils, kids who took it upon themselves to decide when a lesson begins and when a lesson ends, kids who howled their heads off, kids who smirked with that “I know it all. So I don’t need to listen to you” expression, kids who have been nothing but well behaved, kids who have shown a lot of focus and dedication towards learning English, kids who are extremely polite and well-behaved.

Like I said before, it has indeed been a very good mix.

During the early few days, as I worked at striking a balance in the classroom, situations did go slightly askew at times. But then again, everything has a phase of adjustment. Likewise, so did we. A teacher – student relationship is never a ready made one. It has to be built and yet again, with passage of time, it has to be consistently moulded and adjusted. Those wavelengths have to be primed to each other.

When I look at the very same classes now, I can see the difference. I can comfortably say now that I know what to expect of each class and the children in each class, definitely know what to expect of me.

Over the past month, there has been a definite shift in a number of children. Children, who, at the beginning of the term in September, came in dragging their faces along the floor are now enthusiastic members of the class. It is indeed a pleasure to see them change, to see them grow and adapt and to see them learning because they want to learn and not because they have to learn.

Over the past two months, I’ve seen a close quarters what a learning disability can do to a child. I’ve seen the erosion of self-confidence, I’ve seen the absolute inability on the part of the parents to come to terms with the fact that a child could have a learning disability. I’ve seen the sheer desperation on the faces of the parents as they cross their fingers, hope and pray that something somewhere will give and that their child will be able to adapt better to the demands of the world. I’ve seen what all of this does to children. It is very painful to watch a child going through something like this. More so, because you know you can work things, work around things for them to the best of your ability, you can give them your all and then some – but sometimes, even that falls a bit short. It simply isn’t enough. You ask yourself, you wonder, you question yourself as to whether there was something else that you could have done, whether there is something else that can be done to help the child. Trust me when I say this, nothing is more painful than a look of sheer anguish in those little eyes. I’ve learnt this only too well in the space of the past two months.

There are, even as of date, some children who treat these classes as some sort of an imposition on them. They did not want to enroll for these classes, their parents simply did it for them. They have reached a stage where they see the enthusiasm building among other kids in the class. Their ego still refuses to give in and they feign indifference, they yawn, they sit around with a defeated look on their faces. But I know it is just a matter of time and I’m prepared to wait.

One such girl in her pre teens was a fine example of the above. She refused to even acknowledge my presence in class initially. I used to have a tough time stifling a little smile. That battle inside her head was quite plain and evident. Over the past three weeks, I’ve seen the ice thaw – literally thaw and the icing on the cake was a couple of weeks bac, when, instead of just walking out of the class like she normally used to before, she waited, fidgeted, adjusted and re-adjusted the books in her bag, opened and closed her water bottle about 6 times and at the end of it all, gave me a rather shy smile, waved and said “Bye”. Last week, I had some paperwork to finish after class and she just sat down to chat after class. Yes !!! One more among the last few polar ice caps had just melted. And at the fag end of the day, it made my day.

Yet again, I would be lying if I did not mention here that there are indeed some days when, due to a wide variety of reasons and factors, I feel compelled to write to dictionary publishers and complain about the fact that the term "head banging" does not appear in the dictionary. It is an extremely pertinent string of words actually "banging your head on the wall" - one that makes the literal "banging of ones head on the nearest concrete wall" seem painless !!

The past two months have brought me face to face with a myriad of situations which have only served to make me so acutely aware of the fact that we have two little gems at home, in Macadamia and Pecan. In a lot of ways, I guess I’ve begun to appreciate them more for what they are, positives and negatives included.

I've said a lot many times that Pecan's questions on a wide range of topics, are getting more and more complicated by the day. They are. But being in the midst of kids day in and day out, I have realized that curiosity is one factor that is fast declining among the present generation. It probably has a lot to do with the pressures and stress of the local schooling system in HK's public schools. Now, everytime Pecan throws a question at me, I am genuinely thrilled instead of flailing around like a fish out of water. I do, many a times, admit to Pecan that the answer to his question is beyond me and that we could check it out on the internet. Curiosity is indeed something that should be treasured in children and in all possible ways, kindled. I do send many silent "Thank You" notes to God Almighty for having blessed us with a child who is forever curious. For, I now realize that curiosity, as a feeling that is appreciated, is fast becoming extinct.

I've said many a times that Macadamia is a very loving and an extremely responsible child and that her mental maturity goes far beyond her chronological age. She cares. Period !! She cares deeply about her family, she cares about the pets at home, she cares about her friends, she cares about the world in general. Caring, yet again, seems to be on the decline. I come across plenty of children nowadays who simply do not care for anything or anybody. Nothing seems to matter, nothing has any effect and there is a visible sense of apathy in many children. Yet again, this has a lot to do with the public schooling system. Everytime I see Macadamia in her "I care about you" mode, it genuinely makes me happy. I used to wonder earlier on, if this very virtue in her would make her more susceptible to hurt later in life. But over the past two months, I've realized what a blessing it is to have a child as caring as Macadamia.

Teaching, as I've realized over the past eleven months or so, is not easy. It probably never has been, but then again, reality hits when one is actually in the teachers' shoes. It is very challenging, but then again, would things not be boring without challenges around ?

To specifically answer Sue's question as to whether I am a pushover in class - the answer is quite simply "No". But then again, neither am I a disciplinarian. To cut a long story short, there are a few quotes which are stuck to the back of my mind whenever I walk into a classroom. These quotes are golden rules for me because I do honestly believe that creating an environment conducive to learning is much more important than the actual learning itself.

All learning begins with the simple phrase "I don't know".

They may forget what you said. But they will never forget how you made them feel.

Treat your students the way you would want to be treated.

And the most important rule :

"Challenge of the day : Find something good in everyone."

The Spoon

2010-10-05T13:26:00.000+08:00

(Image courtesy : charlestonsamplers.com via Google)

“Sometimes we struggle through a tasteless cup of coffee till the last sip, then we find sugar lying at the bottom… THAT’s LIFE…. Sweetened.. but not Stirred well.”

said this quote from my cousin, J. She also said in her email that this quote had been shared by a friend.

This was indeed a very pithy quote, one so apt that I did forward the quote to many of my friends too. Before doing so, I just had one thing to add to this quote.

“Life is indeed Sweetened …. but not Stirred well …… but we’ve got to admit one thing ….. The One Above does give us the spoon.”

J wrote back asking what exactly I’d had in mind when I put forth that perspective in saying that The One Above does give us the spoon.

Life, as I’ve said before, is indeed a great teacher. Unknown to us, it teaches us a lot of things in a rather sublime manner. We may not realize it immediately but it seeps into our consciousness over a period of time, rather unobtrusively.

When I said “The One Above does give us the spoon”, what I meant by “the spoon” was nothing else but our attitude to any given situation. Life, in its own inimitable way, presents or lays before us, countless situations - some good, some not so good and some downright terrible. Each and every one of us has been through, is going through and will encounter these crossroads through the span of our life. That is a given. So then, what is it that makes a difference to these situations ? End of the day, what will be, will be. The Que Sera Sera principle does hold good. But what can make the journey towards a destination different is simple – Our Attitude.

I’ve never written about this before, nor have I spoken in depth about this to anyone. Two years back, around July/August 2008, my father was diagnosed with ALS – a degenerative nerve disorder which has no cure and which progressively affects the motor neurons in the body. We went over to India in December 2008 and that was when I truly understood the difference between physical and mental agony. Physical pain has some means of release. Mental agony, seemingly, has none.

Through my childhood and my growing years, I’d always seen my father active and on the move – with something or the other. Either he would be taking care of work that was his own or he would be on the move, helping others with something. I could not, for the life of me, remember even one instance wherein my father had been sitting around idle, doing nothing. He simply was like that. He could not sit idle. Imagine a person like that losing control of his arm movements. Imagine a person like that having his speech affected. Imagine a person like that needing help, being dependent on someone else for something even as basic as feeding himself. I could not even begin to imagine what it must have been doing to him. Simply put, I could not bear to watch him going through that ordeal, as the nerves in his body degenerated bit by bit. He said as much one day when there was no one else at home. His speech was slurred but I still remember that look in his eyes when he asked me “What sort of a life is this ? I’ve had enough. I don’t want to live like this anymore.” That was when I realized that though he was physically in our midst, mentally – he had checked out a long time back.

As is the fallibility of human nature, one evening, after having finished my prayers, I could not check myself and I do remember asking God that question he must have heard countless number of times from countless number of people.

“Why ?” “What has my father done to deserve something like this ?”

I waited for that flash of inspiration, for that subliminal instinct to give me an answer of some sort, to guide my thought processes in some way. I waited. Nothing happened. I mulled over this for a few days, waiting for some sign of an answer but there was nothing.

In the meanwhile, we came back to Hong Kong and upon reaching home, we called home in Bombay to let our mothers know that we had reached HK safe and sound. That was when we were given to understand that my father’s condition had deteriorated overnight and that he was critical and had to be hospitalized. We flew back to Bombay in a space of five days.

If I had found it difficult watching him cope with his failing body at home, it was excruciatingly painful to watch him in the hospital – hooked to a respirator and countless other tubes running in and out of his body. Over a week, just as he seemed to be improving ever so slightly, one night, his body simply gave up and crashed.

I remember Vic calling from the hospital at around 3.30 in the morning. The next few days passed in a daze. But through it all, through all that fog, there seemed to be a calm, there seemed to be a clarity. We knew that we had lost a physical presence. I knew that physically, I would never be able to see my father in that body again. But a tiny voice in our heads and hearts gave us solace by asking us to look at the situation from my father’s point of view rather than from our point of view. We knew that wherever he was right then, he was in a much happier place that he would have been, in that physical shell which had held him captive for over six months. He was in a much happier place than he would have been, within a body that refused to listen to his mind.

That was when the penny dropped. Pain, they say, hurts but it also has the tendency to heal. The mental and physical agony which had washed over my father as he suffered and that very mental agony which we went through, helplessly watching him suffer, had, in effect, guided our attitudes in the right direction. It helped us look at things from my father’s perspective, from his point of view. It helped us change our attitude towards his passing away. It helped us shed some of our selfishness away. And with that change in attitude, came a sense of peace. With that sense of peace, began the process of healing.

It was after my father passed away that I realized how fortifying just a few words can be. Friends who called up, friends who visited – words and hugs proved to be a huge strength. In Bombay too, cousins and friends who visited, the neighbors who had been such an immense source of strength and support – all of them were a blessing. There is such immense power in reaching out and there is such an immeasurable sense of solace in it, too.

Memories used to wash over me, even a couple of months after my father passed away. Initially, these were simply too painful to deal with and I did what humans instinctively do with pain – I tried to block these memories away. Much to my dismay, I found that there was no respite. The pain was still there and so were the memories. Nothing I did could make the memories go away and right then, the memories brought nothing along with them but pain.

Over a period of time, the memories did not stop washing up into my conscious memory. I realized that the memories were just going to keep surfacing. They were not going to stop. I realized that I would have to change the way I looked at the memories. In the process, what did change, was my attitude towards the memories. Instead of looking at them as something that brought with them, immense pain, I began to let those memories wash over me, as a reminder of the good times during my childhood. So many finer details began to emerge, little things which my conscious mind did not even remember but apparently, my unconscious mind did. It is memories which eventually helped take the edge and rawness off the pain. Even today, it is these memories that I hold close to my heart.

Even until about a decade back, I used to fret about being an only child. It used to bother me – the fact that I had no one to call “my own” after my parents. There used to be a lot of melodrama over this inside my own head. Over the past couple of years, however, I’ve realized that this is no longer the case. I have friends all over the globe who really care, some of them who are very close. Like I’ve said before, I have a lovely family who mean the world to me and I’m fortunate to be at the receiving end of the abundant love, warmth and affection that they shower upon me. I bask in that warmth day in and day out. Over the past couple of years, we cousins have reconnected too – after having lost touch for the past couple of decades or so. It was not just the kids who had a whale of a time when Shiva Chitappa and Vidya Chitthi visited in June. We all had such a lovely time together. In the light of such love, warmth and affection around, I’ve realized that I no more miss a biological sibling. I choose to be a part of that unseen circle that is automatically created amongst people all over the globe, where love, affection, warmth and a deep sense of caring are all that are needed as links. I choose not to fret, worry, despair and agonize over the fact that I do not have a biological sibling.

Yet again, I realize, it is nothing but a change in attitude. But that change in attitude has helped me beyond measure. That sense of peace that pervades with a change in attitude, is inestimable, is priceless.

Like I always say, it is His job to put a glass half filled with water in front of us. Whether we interpret that glass as half full or half empty, is totally up to us.

Like Winston Churchill once said

“Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference.”

Mr.Helpful

2010-09-29T13:46:00.002+08:00

(Image courtesy : localadpix.com via Google)

Pecan seems to be in the Mr.Helpful mode these days. At school, if I may please be specific here. He is intent on being Mr.Helpful at school. It is indeed a different story at home but then again, that is material enough for another post. So let’s not go into that right now.

The other day he was looking all pleased with himself and was grinning like a Cheshire cat which had just swallowed a whole bucketful of cream, when I got home from work in the evening. He looked as though he was about to burst out and spill the reason as to why he was flashing his pearly whites around. “I helped two people at school today, Mummy.” he said, looking pleased as punch with himself.

"That’s really nice of you” said Mommy, as was apparently expected of her. You see, if the response from Mommy is not appropriate enough, Pecan has absolutely no qualms about letting Mommy know that he indeed expects better from her. “Whom did you help ?” asked Mommy while Macadamia, sensing entertainment in the offing, actually looked up from her laptop screen. Nowadays, it does take that something extra to make Macadamia unglue her eyes from her laptop and sprinkle some of her attention elsewhere around her. For the most part, in the evenings, she is loaded with so much of homework that she is invariably found with her eyes glued to the laptop.

"There was this little girl on the school playground today. She was all about to cry.” said Pecan, as he paused for sheer dramatic effect. “She was about to have these big big tears roll down her face, OK” said Pecan, drawing the drama out. “Awww – why was she crying ?” asked Mommy. See, Mommy knows exactly how to respond. She has been rather well trained in that department by her children. “I said she was a.b.o.u.t to cry. I did not say she was crying, Mummy” said Pecan, a quiver of admonishment in his voice aimed at Mommy for not having paid attention to the finer details of the statement. "OK. Why was she about to cry ?” asked Mommy, thinking to herself that she would make a fine circus animal – given the effect that the nutty sibs’ training has had on her. She takes her cues very seriously and responds as she is expected to. Perfect characteristics of a circus animal !!

Macadamia, by now, was leaning comfortably against the cushions on the sofa, half sitting, half reclining and she had that familiar gleam in her eyes and that familiar amused look on her face. All that seemed missing from the picture was a bag of popcorn in her hands. Where there is live entertainment, there absolutely has got to be popcorn !!!

"See Mummy, she had this water bottle which just would not open. I mean the lid would not open. It was so hot and she must have been thirsty. She is a Year One student so she did not know whom to ask. So I went up to her and asked her what happened. Then I took her water bottle and opened the lid for her. Ta Da.” said Pecan, looking very pleased and satisfied.

Macadamia was beginning to stifle serious smiles now. A sign that the volcano was beginning to rumble and that it would erupt in a while.

"Now you can take your shoes off and sit down Mummy and then I’ll tell you about the second person I helped” said Pecan, rather generously, since he’d just realized that he was standing very close to the front door and that the Mommy Incarnate was still standing there looking like the vision of obedience and deference, albeit a rather tired one.

Did I say a while ago that a particular volcano was threatening to erupt any moment ? Well, it did – just about then !!

"See Mummy” said Pecan, crossing Mommy’s path in haste and almost causing a pileup in the living room, as he stumbled over Mommy’s shoes and then onto the sofa. Fortunately, no pile up occurred and the bags of grapes and plums that Mommy had just deposited on the ledge too escaped unscathed.

"Then there was this other little Year One girl who was playing during lunchtime and the ball she was playing with almost rolled off the ground. She was staring at the ball in horror instead of running after it. I was just near the edge of the playground so I just stopped the ball before it rolled off the ground and handed it back to her.” said Pecan.

"Was she pretty ?” asked Macadamia, who, by now, was grinning with glee.

"I don’t know. I did not notice all that.” said Pecan, looking rather horrified at the direction in which the conversation was now heading.

"I mean like …. was she like cute and all that ?” asked Macadamia, who was intent on dragging this as far as it would go.

"I said I don’t know. But she had long eyebrows on her eyes” said Pecan.

"Eyebrows on her eyes ??????” repeated Macadamia. That would have made her look like an alien, she said, to add to the dramatic effect. Now I know. This one did not get all those merits at school in her drama lesson for nothing. She’s good at it !!

"She had long long hair on her eyes which made her look like Bambi” said Pecan, looking rather sheepish that his brain had actually managed to store that kind of information.

"Ah Ha !” said Macadamia, who was quite the picture of amusement, with one eyebrow raised and her lips pursed together in sheer amusement.

"Bambi ???” wondered Mommy. She so wanted to tell Pecan “never trust eyelashes that can bat at you like that. They spell BIG trouble. And they are invariably fake !!” She meant the eyelashes, by the way.

There have been numerous such instances over the past few weeks where Pecan has played his role of Mr.Helpful to the hilt.

In the process, he has been forgetting a lot of his stuff at school. Water bottles, snack boxes, lunch boxes …. all of these have been sacrificed at the altar of helpfulness. Of course, over the next couple of days, with much prodding and reminding, he does go over to the Lost and Found cupboard and get his stuff back but in the heat of the moment, while helping others out, fact remains that he forgets where he puts his stuff.

There’s one little thing I’ve noticed though. When it comes to helpfulness, so far his sentences have always had feminine Subject and Object Pronouns in them.

"She needed help. I helped her.” etc. I am yet to see a masculine pronoun being the recipient of the said helpfulness.

Where am I heading with this post ?? Nowhere, actually. Just thought I should put this note down for the future. Because, you see, a few select posts might actually end up as a wedding gift for their respective spouses.

Hmmm …… now that should be fun, don’t you think ???

Ud Ud Dabangg Dabangg Dabangg Dabangg ....

2010-09-28T20:43:00.000+08:00

(Image courtesy : kickstartnews.com via Google)

Ud Ud Dabanng Dabanng Dabanng Dabanng Ud Ud Dabanng Dabanng Dabanng Dabanng …………

It’s almost as if this song is stuck somewhere inside my head, playing in what appears to be an apparently endless loop.

I was at school today, teaching the kids English Grammar and all of a sudden, with no warning whatsoever, this song suddenly starts humming inside my head. Good thing that I’d started the kids on a writing assignment already because I found that my feet had started tapping to the tune in my head, rather automatically. Horror of horrors, this !! Of all the places, in school, with a full class to handle. And my head is full of Hud Hud Dabanng Dabanng …

I had to tell myself rather sternly and in absolutely no uncertain terms to stop thinking about the song. “But you were not consciously thinking about it” argued my sub conscious mind, which apparently, is not so sub conscious when it comes to the soundtracks of Dabanng. With both, my sub conscious and unconscious mind in the grip of these soundtracks, the conscious mind which was full of English Grammar, was indeed finding it a tall order to stay in control. The sub conscious and the unconscious mind were threatening to run riot.

My mind was already conjuring up an image of its own. If, inadvertently, I ended up humming one of the soundtracks which were, by then, racing inside my head at Grand Prix speeds, it would indeed be fun with these kids who are already in the grip of a number called “I want nobody nobody but you” by some Korean group. Imagine a “Munni Badnaam Hui” in the midst of all that. Trust me, all the local munnas and munnis would have been dancing on the tables !!

I found my conscious mind telling its counterparts to stay put until I was safely ensconced in the bus, heading home, before giving in to the mad urge to plug in those earphones and go absolutely D.A.B.A.N.N.GGG !! It did seem like the conscious mind had gained control. The songs, the soundtracks receded and the adverbs and adjectives started prancing around, as they were rightly meant to. It was their playtime inside my head and not Dabanng’s.

All was well until I gave the kids a break for five minutes and they wanted to play Hangman. I was trying to conjure up words for them when a word flashed through my head. “Munni”, said my head. I shook my head to clear it of those last vestiges of the soundtrack which apparently had still been holding on to my mind for dear life. “Chulbul” was the next word that popped into my head. “Oh God !” This is terrible” I thought to myself and totally diverted the kids to playing Hangman with the names of countries on the board. “It will also help you improve your Geography” I said, sounding a lot more confident that Dabanng would not interrupt something as important as playing Hangman with the names of countries at stake.

It did work. By the time we’d finished with the Hangman and moved onto the next assignment for the day, my mind had totally divested itself of all the Dabanng cobwebs. It was running full speed ahead on pure English Grammar fuel.

As the kids were busy with the Grammar worksheet I’d set for them, I was walking around the class, quietly monitoring the kids My gaze settled on a bunch of books on the ledge of the classroom. They were in a complete state of disarray. Compulsively, I moved towards the books with every intention to straighten them. “It will also give me an opportunity to see what books are being read in class” I thought to myself.

As I was piling up the books, one little flyer caught my eye. It was an order form for a book called “The Big Bang Theory”. That was it !! My mind immediately equated “The Big Bang” with “The Bang” with what else but “Dabanng”.

“Dabanng ! Dabanng ! Dabanng !”

Well, that was nothing but the sound that was created when I banged my head against the walls at school, in a rather futile attempt to keep those songs at bay !!

It worked !! It did keep the songs at bay. Just until I stepped out of school. Once I did, it was as though my hands had a life and an instruction sheet of their own. Out came the pod, the earphones were plugged and in a matter of seconds, my sub conscious mind was dancing away to the tunes what else but – DABANNG !!!!

Writing Prompt : The Fire Escape

2010-09-22T13:53:00.001+08:00

(Image Courtesy : iStockphoto.com via Google)

"The smoke was all around me. It was all over me. The fire had, by then, spread all over the building like an undulating monster, totally unforgiving, consuming everything in its path. The oxygen tanks that were stored in the building were feeding the fire, for, I could hear the loud “boom” as cylinders exploded in various corners of the building. The smoke, thick, white and billowing, seeped into my body through my nostrils, clogging each and every pore in my body. I had never known such terror in my life before.

But, they say, terror is sometimes the greatest of inspirations. A small voice inside my head told me that there was no point in cowering in a corner in fear. The fire was an enemy that knew no fear, it was an enemy that could not be subdued with knives or guns. It knew just one thing and that was to destroy everything and everyone in its path. By the sheer force of nature, I knew that the fire would only leave a trail of ashes, cinders and human bones behind, if it had its way.

With a newfound sense of purpose, I began to look for some source of water around. When I finally found a water faucet which was working, I managed to wet a couple of thick towels, for I had read somewhere once that smoke is the biggest of dangers in the event of a fire. Having covered my mouth and nose with a wet towel, I gingerly inched through the doorway and across the connecting path which led to the part of the building where the inmates were housed.

There were ten of them, at last count. Most of them were delusional. They had wild dreams and fantasies which they believed were absolutely true. Getting them to leave was going to be a huge effort. But I had to try. I simply could not give up on them.

I got them to line up in a single file, pretty much like they do with kids at school. They were all wide eyed and frightened. Taking advantage of that very fear, I told them in absolutely no uncertain terms that they would have to follow my instructions. If they did, we could all get out of this raging inferno alive.

We began to slowly move towards the fire escape. Progress was slow, for some of the inmates had pulled off the towels from around their mouth and nostrils. Time and again, I had to either remind them to replace the towels or had to put it back in place for them. Delusional as they were, they simply did not understand the gravity of the situation.

Tongues of fire were beginning to flick through the doorways now. Just as I led the way, a part of the window sill came crashing down, narrowly missing me. It took me a couple of seconds to breathe deep and try to slow my heart which was, by now, trying to pound its way out of my chest.

We had just three floors to walk but it seemed like a lifetime. The banisters were beginning to get really hot to the touch. Just as we thought we would all make it out of the building, disaster struck on the first floor. So near and yet so far, I thought to myself as one of the door beams splintered and crashed down, trapping me underneath.

Having decided upon me as their saviour, to see me trapped under that beam was the last straw for the inmates. Their delusions completely took over and I guess they were imagining all sorts of scenarios within their minds. I had to do something before the situation got completely out of hand. The fire, on the other hand, was merrily making its way towards us, much faster than we were moving. I could almost sense the glee as those flames leapt towards us, mocking at our helplessness, gloating over what the fire assumed would be its final victory.

I had to talk a couple of the inmates into helping me get that door beam off me. Else, we were all doomed for sure. It was slow going but I got Smith and Wesson to heave on the door beam with all their might, as the two of them were the strongest of the inmates there. By then, Mrs. Woodpecker, who had apparently taken the towel off her face, fainted without a care in the world.

After much heaving, I had enough room to just squirm out from under the door beam. Once again, in a single file, we made our way cautiously down the last flight of stairs. I had to, by now, carry Mrs. Woodpecker as she was unconscious. Why don’t you carry me too, my handsome prince ? screeched Ada, who, delusional as she was, constantly thought she was Rapunzel and that her prince would one day come and rescue her from this mental asylum, which she assumed was the castle where the ogre had kept her trapped.

My head was pounding, my heart was threatening to jump out of my mouth as I crossed my fingers in the hope that the fire had not beaten us to the main exit, through the other hallway.

I only remember depositing Mrs. Woodpecker into the hands of a waiting fireman and then dragging the other inmates out just as the flames crashed into the main hallway through the very same fire escape that we had taken. Phew !! That had been a mighty close shave. I never knew I had such courage in me but it so turns out that I did. Imagine rescuing ten people out of a building with a fire raging within. That too, ten delusional people whose only pastime was to hallucinate and create fantasy images and mirages of their own. Everything they did were just figments of their imagination. Imagine rescuing ten such people. Not many people could have done that. But I did. ”

The other cab drivers in the office of City Cab Services stared at Sam in awe. Sam, was a young cab driver with City Cab. City Cab had just opened its office in this state and all the cabbies there were new. Strong, healthy and handsome, Sam projected quite the hero image as the other cabbies stared at him in awe. All except Bill and Henry, who looked totally skeptical, with cynicism written all over their faces.

“Yeah Yeah” said Sam to the other cab drivers. Bill and Henry never believe me, ever, mates !” he said, as he walked out of the room with a swagger.

“Why don’t you ever believe him ?” asked the other cabbies. Bill and Henry exchanged looks, then a long sigh. They handed the other cabbies the number of the local telephone information service and told the cabbies to go ahead and call and ask for details about the mental asylum, from where Sam claimed to have rescued ten delusional inmates.

“May I help you, Sir ?” came the cool, collected, poised voice over the telephone. “Yep. Could you give me the number of The Solace please. You know, that’s the mental institution out here. I need the number urgently” said Jason, one of the new cabbies.

A long pause later, the voice on the other end now had a tinge of confusion and uncertainty to it. She sounded rather bewildered as she replied “But Sir, The Solace has been closed down for more than 5 years now. It is no longer a functioning unit. No one lives there any more.”

As a perplexed Jason pressed the disconnect button on the phone, he saw Bill take out his cell phone. Jason and the other cab drivers heard Bill say “We’ve finally located him. It took us over a year, but we’ve finally found him. He now goes by the name of Sam and he’s a cab driver. We know where he lives and we are heading there right away. We will get hold of him and have him back in the asylum by today evening.

Turning to the other cab drivers, Bill said “We are not cab drivers. That was simply our cover. We have been on his trail for quite some time now. It has been a year since he escaped from the mental asylum in the nearby state. He had been undergoing treatment there since he was very highly delusional.”

"Quite apparently, he still is !!” said Henry, as they got up to head towards Sam’s house.

The Prompt : What if you are going to write a story about self-expression with a cab driver as the main character and a fire escape as the main object. ? Set your story in a mental asylum.

(OK. The prompt apparently said "set your story in a funeral home. But my mind started to race once I'd read the first two sentences and me being me, the last sentence simply did not register. It was only after I'd finished writing that I went back to the prompt to append it to the blog post and realized that it read "set your story in a funeral home". But since I'd already set the story in a mental asylum, I decided to post it just the way it was instead of changing the setting to a funeral home.)