The kids seriously are having the last laugh!

I've learnt a terrible truth the hard way- that as I get older the next generation is getting smarter and smarter in ways that I just cannot keep up with. If I thought I was the boss of this house ( atleast, isn't that what we women like to think) all such illusions have run away after the entry of Junior John. These days, this ageing mother humbly takes orders from a 2 year old. So if I tell my kid that I have pain in my hand, he comes over, whacks me and says ' MY hand painu OK?????' And as if the way he says 'OK' wasn't already  intimidating enough, he likes to repeat it again, only this time with more emphasis! So rule number one in this house- only kiddo is allowed to express pain of any kind and as a reward even gets a free massage from his poor mother who is the actual victim. :-(

So, while I was moping about the fact that I have missed the final episodes of Masterchef USA, Star World enlivens my dismal mood with trailers of the all new American Idol and Glee Season 2 which are slated to entertain me this month. Since I had nothing better to do, I thought I'd bring a smile of happiness to the brains behind Junior Masterchef Australia, because let's face it- who really wants to see kids cook? (not when there's an even more entertaining program where a dumb blonde and a dumb guy have a very important global  decision to make- who should they eventually marry from 25 suitors? Don't believe me? Then simply watch the Bachelor and the Bachelorette anytime you feel like laughing at the ridiculous shows people take great pains to participate in!) Anyways, back to the subject. So like I said, kids being confident enough to cook on tv must have a few laughs up its sleeve. But as I realised the hard way, the joke was completely on me!

These kids were simply phenomenal when it came to cooking anything! Their desserts were so top class that my eyes couldn't believe it. Even more confusing was the way the kids so easily dished up French cuisine,  made a gooey choco lava cake perfectly gooey and the confidence with which they pronounced seriously hard words. Oh I forgot, why should that be a surprise? After all most of them have been cooking since the age of four!

 They knew how to work with more difficult ingredients like fish and could even tell parsley apart from coriander ( at 28, I still confuse one for the other). As if, it wasn't humiliating enough to see kids as young as 8 years of age cooking up a storm and then displaying it so beautifully; I was even compelled to shed a tear when 6 kids were eliminated from the competition. This cruel cruel world! When asked why they liked cooking, one kid replied ' I find it very relaxing. It really helps calm me down.' I was thinking eh? Ah just wait sweetie, wait till you're married and you're doing it every day of your life! I liked the reply a very cheeky kid gave instead ' I like cooking because I get to eat the dish at the end.' Now there's a kid after my own heart. I knew that hogging wasn't a talent that ended with my generation!

So I know how my mum feels whenever my kid sister asks her something perfectly out of the way which leaves my poor mum scratching her head in confusion.  (like 'Mum did you hear Alicia Key's last song or do you know who Fergie is- to which dear mum confidently replied' Yes, she is the Duchess of York'.)  ' Oh, you're soo last century ma' is my sister's usual diagnosis or ' Mum, you are so outdated!'. But my mum isn't one to give up a fight. She screams' Don't you dare say am outdated. Did you see that polka dots are back in fashion? Did you know that polka dots were in fashion in the 60's and I used to only wear such nice fashionable clothes?' So while Nikki is royally laughing at mum's outburst ( I mean seriously how are Fergie and polka dots related??), I took a step back and was just analysing the situation.

 Someday there could be a serious role reversal where my kid asks me some bizarre question and because I don't want him to think that his mother is only a bookworm (hell, he'll think that anyways!!), I can see myself justifying my lack of knowledge about all things yo and cool, too. And if he dares enter my kitchen and cooks up a feast all by himself at the humble age of 8, I think I'll probably need  a psychiatrist then. I think it's time I sat down and became more in tune with what the next generation is already upto. And if that includes buying an I Pad and an I Phone, then I really don't mind. But if it involves sitting through teenage flicks like Twilight then maybe a little ignorance isn't such a bad thing after all!

My Little Boss at Home

I took a good look at my little boy the other day and realised with a pang that he was growing up so fast. What is it about motherhood, that you long for your child to become more independent and give you some breathing space, and when he does just that; you begin to long for him to 'need' you again. Personally, I was the happiest person in the house when I enrolled him in day care, simply because I was near exploding point myself what with the writing for clients, cooking, cleaning and a 100 other things that just have to get done. On top of that, the pressure cooker would be singing its own tune, a Barney video would be switched on the whole day, I discovered the existence of a highly irritating train called Thomas( why my kid adores him, I don't know) and I even began to hum the theme songs of all his favourite cartoons! That's when I decided that enough was enough and it was high time I got some  un Barney infested silence to listen to now and then.

Here are a few star sentences he now says around the house. Keep in mind that he is  a firm believer in the hippie tradition of addressing his parents purely on first name basis.-


- Shanjoo are you ok? ( no darling, most of the times am not!)
- Mama, is it painu? ( Once he saw me rubbing sunscreen on my arms and assumed I was in pain; the little sweetehart)

- Can you see this? ( He said this sentences just once)
- I don't wan it. ( This is said atleast 5 times during meal times and milk drinking sessions, every single day)
- I wan....( Kiddo always wan's a hundred different things everyday and insists he gets it pronto, unless I want to be punished with my ears ringing with his screaming)
- Hmm, its a tasty snack..( my kid is a true connoisseur of good food. You should hear him slurp and make loud sounds when he likes something he eats.. I sometimes think I too should take a page from his book and loudly show my appreciation of good food in a non verbal way)
- Oh-oh, ------ fell down. Baby is crying.. Mama, doggy is boiken.

I like the fact that my kid is so certain of his own individuality. He insists on having his own fork, spoon and plate, and no he doesn't want the bib because Shanjoo isn't wearing one. If we were to, then he MAY consider doing the same! He even plonks himself on the sofa and screams- MY chair, MY doggy, MY mama.

If you thought that kids were all about sweetness and honey and all that, let me tell you how wrong you are. They are by far much more intelligent, smarter and manipulative than we give them credit for. I've understood that they play us in their own way and allow us to think that we have the last say! For instance, when correcting kiddo and instructing him on behavior that is deemed proper by society; he will suddenly develop a 'painu' in his hand, toe or head. Concerned mother hen that I'am I used to fuss over his imaginary pain and completely forget what the conversation was about. And all the while, my little kid is smiling away to glory- in the end acting skills have clearly overshadowed crazy mum's lecture. I grew wise to his ways when I realised what was happening. And for a while, kiddo reluctantly subjected himself to my wisdom and mannerisms filled lectures again. Till he hit upon idea number 2.

And idea number 2 is a clear super-champion in comparison to tactic no , because he plays on something I have in excess- emotion! Just before he gets a dose or after getting one, he comes running and says- ' Mama, hug.' So while I'm trying to maintain my angry face, needless to say, it gets completely wiped out whenever I feel his small arms tightly hug my legs. And so ladies and gentlemen, I completely give in and I humbly state that I'm unable to do any further disciplining after that. I don't know if there's anything that gets to your heart directly the way a child's hug and kiss do. You really need to have a heart of stone, if that one innocent move doesn't melt you. I know it does me, and I have no clue for how many years, the hugs are going to keep coming; so it makes sense to enjoy them now.

I I have of course planned my revenge- hopefully kid no 2 will be a daughter who will have my crazy curls, my utterly unruly behaviour, will have stockpiles of confidence combined with stubborness and in other words- be a fantastic replica of her mother!!! But like a friend warned me- ' Don't plan so much. You may have another son instead.' That was enough for me to put all my enticing dreams back in the box and shut the lid. :-(

Anyways.. This blog post was supposed to be about my little guy.... Like any other parent, I have so many wants for him. And I'm learning another painful essential about parenthood- letting go one bit at a time. So, although I dread the day already when my kid will get even more independent and learn how to make an omelette by myself; I love him with a firm protective love that only a mother can give and with the hope that he'll always have a hug for me..

Birthdays and the Best Part- Presents!!!!

I remember when I was a kid; I would have a birthday party each year. In fact to me, that was the only good thing about growing a year older- a party which meant I was likely to get many good presents. The present a friend got me was enough to make or break a friendship! I remember telling one of my class-mates who got me a set of 6 cocktail glasses ( hardly a gift that a 10 year old can play with) on my birthday that we weren't friends anymore because of the sort of gift she gave me. Then there was this other classmate who I didn't like but who scored huge brownie points in my book because she got me not one but TWO presents neatly wrapped together. A person who gives such nice gifts must be a very good friend to have, so the classmate who I rarely spoke to got upgraded to a new 'friend' status. Very mature I know.

Anyways, as luck would have it; by the time we came back to India my parents decided that I was all grown up now and there was no need for parties. Of course, I tried to argue with them saying that nobody is ever too old for a party, but I think they had mentally given up on planning such a stressful event. My sister seems to have done a lot better in that department. Skillful mediator and planner that she is, she still manages to get not just one but two presents from each parent every year. Sometimes I think she teaches better lessons in negotiation and self-marketing than 2 years of MBA did!!

So, this year as I was fiddling around with my list and wondering what to get myself; I decided that I would be my own fairy and make a childhood wish come true. Instead of having to choose one gift like an adult, why not gift myself a few things I love a lot? So, I gifted myself 3 bags, 10 books which were a mix of fiction and non-fiction as well as a whole goodie bag of beauty products from Body Shop.  So, birthday treat to self is a huge success and birthday girl is thrilled!!

Every year, there's one other person who dreads my birthday specifically for selfish reasons of accelerated ageing, just like me. That's my mom. Before she can wish me on my birthday; my mom will crib about how ME growing a year older means that SHE is getting older and ME getting closer to 30 means that SHE is getting closer to now owning a head full of white hair! This year however, I reminded her that she was now a grand mother and that meant she was already old. I know; very pathetic of me but then again I'm battling my own hallucinations about turning 30, all by myself. I mean I have a number of hasn'ts, doesn'ts and did-nots in my list such as ' still doesn't have Julia Robert's figure' or ' hasn't travelled the world yet' or even ' Did not get back to working at a day job'. So, I think it's wiser that mom faces up to the fact that a head full of white hair is just around the corner, while I try cajoling my mind into believing that 30 a'int all that bad. I mean, after that, 40, 50, 60 and maybe 70 await????

On Getting Inked

What a relief to be back in a familiar place that I know and love. If you must know, it’s only 4:30 am on a Saturday morning and I have broken my own rule of not getting up till its 9:00 am. The very thought of putting ideas and meanderings to words made my muse very excited. And, so I thought to myself, ‘What the heck’ll? If you are itching to write, then it’s time to wake up sleepy Dell too.’ [In case you’re wondering what the word ‘ Heck’ll’ means and you are very keen on looking it up in the dictionary, seriously don’t bother because this word is nothing more than a mere production of my ever hyper imagination. J And my sister made a teeny weeny contribution too. We couldn’t decide if we liked the phrase What the hell or What the heck, better. Spoilt brats that we are, we then decided to get the best of both worlds by simply combining both!]

Anyways..Where was I? Right- about to begin on the subject of tattoos. So, recently two pals of mine got individual tattoos done on their arms- one got the king of hearts and the other got a very serene outline of the Buddha; which led to another event-

No 1- That set me thinking on what I would like my tattoo to look like. And yes, although, the mere sight of the tattoo instruments are enough to make me want to cry; if I could survive a caesarean operation (although I must be fair to my doc and truthfully say that I was given anaesthesia. Point to note here is that, once you give birth; any other episode involving pain mostly always fades away in comparison.) So, the only other option is to do what a certain Angelina Jolie did. She merely walked into a tattoo parlour blissfully sloshed, dropped her pants and woke up the next day with a tattoo of a funny dragon on her hip. ‘Funny’ she calls her dragon in her own words because apparently it has a blue tongue. Fear not, we can always ask Brad to confirm.

So when I read about that incident; I mentally switched places with Ms Jolie and wondered what would happen if I had done the same. Imagine me walking into a tattoo parlour completely drunk, dropping my pants and then telling a biceped tattoo artist- ‘Eye vud laik eeyu tu lhet eyourr emaijeenashun go viiiiild (I would like you to let your imagination go wild).’ Dear readers, since I’m not Ms Jolie and I have anything but a wild reputation preceding me; I can imagine waking up next day having spent the night on the pavement outside and most likely finding the words- ‘ Don’t come back again’ or ‘ Warning- can cause blindness’ tattooed on my hip instead!!

But seriously! When I was in college, I actually used to talk about getting a full length dragon tattooed on my leg. Thank goodness, I was too chicken to actually go ahead with it. A few caesarean stitches are painful enough, do I really want to wake up to a dragon breathing fire, every single day? A tattoo is something that ought to be personal and attractive at the same time. Why does Ms Jolie have mantras tattooed on her skin? I have always wondered if she reads aloud from them during meditation, perhaps? (writer scratches head)

I would love to get a tattoo of my muse. Only problem being that I still haven’t figured what she looks like. I mean, I know she is a figment of my imagination and all, but I am still in the editing mode with regard to her final features. I definitely want her to be a fairy, with nice big wings, maybe holding a long feather in her hand and writing in a book? Should she be sitting, kneeling or sitting on a crescent the way the Dreamworks Animation kid does? Then again, maybe I better make her a half-angel. BUT, I would really like another tattoo of a little cherub, a pierced heart and maybe even a small orangutan. See, that’s just the problem. I like so many images and if tattooing wasn’t such a painful procedure, I might have even gotten small tattoos done of my contact lenses and my darling Dell laptop, too!! After all, I can’t get through a day without them.. So many things that are dear to me.

I have actually stopped being judgemental about people who walk around with tattoo covered bodies. Seriously, how do you decide what you like best and settle on just one tattoo to live with for life? It’s like somebody said- ‘My body is a temple of art.’  Sure, WHATEVER. So, who knows, someday I may actually show some guts and stubbornness and actually get a tattoo done (probably after driving the artist insane with my inability to decide what I want) . But then what if the tattoo actually makes my body a ruin of art??

On a Concert Night

So, yesterday was an important day, because of three things-

- It was my parent's 29th anniversary. To be honest, I hate the fact that their anniversary comes a month before my birthday. So every year, I'm reminded of my age one month earlier and moan about the fact that I'm one year closer to 30. Once I hit 30, I'll then start panicking about 40 and so on..            

- It was India's Independence Day. And am sorry to say that I forgot to think about my favourite freedom fighters and instead as I was scrubbing my kitchen and moping the floors; thinking about how much 'freedom' I could have if a full time maid gave me some 'independence' from house-work!!                

- Shreya Ghoshal ( yes that fab voice behind Zoobie Doobie and Devdas) was in town and I had one ticket for the concert. And no, I love being by myself, and don't miss not having company.

So, house work complete and a bath later, I was all set to go for the grand concert. Of course hubby cribbed about me not being around and all that jazz, but I firmly said goodbye. After all, its only when he's not around that I get to strut around in my heels. ( yeah yeah, this 5 feet 10 inches me has HEELS!) so what, even models own hundreds!!

When I landed at the venue, the first instinct I had was to run away from there. People were decked up in such fine stylish wear and yours truly had gone in her trademark kurta and jeans. I mean, people had seriously put thought into what they were going to be seen in and all I did was pick up whatever was already ironed. So, all my enthu about hearing Shreya vanished. I firmly decided that I was going to pick up some expensive designer wear next trip to Cochin and I'll be damned if I don't have any people looking enviously at me. The next thing I noticed was that I was in a sea of Indians. I mean INDIANS!!!! Of course you see Indians all the time when you're in Singapore, but how often do you get to see just Indians minus any other nationality??? When you're abroad like me, believe me, even the sight of one Indian does strange things to you. And here were plenty of them speaking in a number of languages, all come to have a good time.

And that's when I realised- 90% of them were Bengalis. It made me smile to hear Bengali being spoken again.  It's been years since I heard that sweet language anywhere close to me. I so wanted to butt in and tell the number of groups I saw yapping together- ' Hey Nomoshkar! Ami Sanjana. ' ( is that even how to introduce myself?? I have completely forgotten) and that made me miss my Bengali friends from MBA so much, my then room mate Mamta who is happily settled somewhere in Canada and  all the love and craziness and deep conversations you can only have with Bengalis. Of course am also very partial to the fact that they have such fantastic writers, produce such good music, are coastal people like us Mallus and can't do without coconut and fish; again like us Mallus.  So while I was thinking of them and wondering what they may be doing this very minute; I spotted a  Sardar complete with turban and all. And of course that set me on a memory trip back in time, where I first met Punjabis while doing my MBA. My best friend is a Punjabi and am thinking of the way they dance ( I swear it, nobody can dance like a Punjabi can, they just have it running in their feet) and the way they LIVE up life. And then I hear somebody speak Hindi and that makes me grin, because now its Mumbai with all its life, squalor and everything else that comes to mind. And of course, am missing the city so much I want to get magically transported there..

That's when it hit me-  not even one South Indian was present. I didn't spot even ONE. And then something else hit me harder- I was the only one who came all by myself. Everybody else came with their families and friends. So, my determination to have a great time is slowly waning away. And then to add more salt to my already sore wounds, I spot another 20 women wearing the same aqua green color as me. Seriously, if I was shorter I might have been crawling on the floor, but thanks to the fact that I tower over half of society in my full 5 feet 10 inches glory, PLUS 2 inch heels; darling do you really think I can escape getting noticed like it or not? And the woman at the restaurant counter took so freakin' long to serve me, that by the time I sat down to gulp through my snack; half the crowd began taking their seats inside the auditorium. And yes, if you must know; everybody was staring. AGAIN.

This time I was beyond caring. Let them stare I thought. Only I know the full potential of my tummy to strike up music at its own whim and will. And everybody has paid to hear Shreya, NOT me. I refuse to give my gastric juices ANY opportunity whatsoever to embarrass me. Silently, am trying to emotionally blackmail my tummy into behaving- as it is, my attire has let me down and so has my poor knowledge of Bengali. my heels and the lack of a familiar face. So, after licking my fingers (yes the chicken burrito was delish), I stumbled in the dark to find my seat.

 And by then, something else that would unravel me in full public view took place. They were showing Incredible India ads. First I thought 'what the hell are they showing these ads for? We're all Indians, and we all have family back there and we're all likely to visit India sometime soon. We don't need an ad to tell us how great our country is.'

And then, as I watched clip after clip of yummy food, a kathakali dancer, an ayurvedic massage, holi and a number of other heart wrenching shots; I completely broke down. Like I said, when you're abroad, anything Indian touches you in a way like no other. You're likely to take a ladoo for granted in India, but if you're offered one when you're living out of the country; you'll most likely kiss it and thank God for it and then sample it. And then also start talking about how you miss laddoos in India, even though that may not even be your favourite sweet. That's just how it is when you're living abroad. Sound weird, but it's a fact. We NRI's even talk about the dirty roads, the slums and all things Indian that we crib about at home with so much LOVE, that it will take your breath away and most likely knock you out. So as my eyes filled with tears at the thought of home and everything homely; I forgot to be self-conscious about where I was. Big Deal. You can add tears to my long list of tonight's other embarrassments. And I realised that you can take an Indian out of India, but never the India out of an Indian.

This post was supposed to be about Shreya and her talent. Well, she is so talented and the whole world knows that. I enjoyed the show, cooed, hooted and clapped harder than anybody else ( inherited Indianness traits!). But it felt wonderful and so patriotic for me that I could get  emotional about my country when I'm living in a supposedly ' more advanced'  place. So, this concert turned out to an eye opener in so many ways because it felt like my soul had been touched.. Incredible India ads, Bollywood music, Indian languages and Indians themselves.. what could have been a better way to celebrate Independence Day? Jai Hind!!