Category: Uncategorized

Lost and found Mitochondria

Rapid pinging on the Hike messenger made me wash my hands and take a break from my cooking. 

I opened the family “Home Talkies”

“Mama! Don’t freak out!”

I messaged back, “?????”

“I think I have lost my watch!”

The very responsible Doctor of the family was at Prayagraj Kumbh Mela. She was there on duty. She and her team had been put up at the eye camp. She shared her “room” with three other people. We all had been apprehensive about her going and roughing it out at the eye camp there. But she had been very pleased with all the arrangements made by the Organisers. Lovely warm tents; great attached bathrooms and the most important thing four square meals a day with lots of snacks, tea and coffee thrown in. True they had to work hard, but they had fixed timings, so it was a kind of break from the slavery that they had to face at college!

I sighed and thought, “Why did she have to get my bad genes?”. But like me I knew she would find it. I was the famous “lost and found” specialist of the family!

I messaged back, “You will find it!”

Father noticed the conversation sometime later and said, “No you won’t”

“Tell me when you last saw it”, I asked

“Well! I think I left it on the bed before I went for my bath.”

“It will be there, amongst the bedclothes”, I insisted

“Have searched!”, came the terse reply

“Maybe it’s time for a new watch!”, came another rejoinder

“You will find it”, I signed off.


There was discussion in the house about whether or not it would be found. Well all my life, I had lost things (Specially keys and money!); given up hope of ever finding them; found them definitely. This time around I was sure my mitochondria would find it!

After three days an abashed message, “Found my watch!”

“Where was it?”, three people messaged back simultaneously

“It was with my undies in the undies bag”

I never said, “I told you so!”

The next day I overslept as I hadn’t been keeping too well. I woke up to hear the face time app ringing.

I clicked on it to see the teary-eyed baby of the family, six thousand kilometres away in Chicago.

Of course, I panicked! But I am the parent, cannot show it!

“Mama! I have lost all my immigration papers!”

“No, you cannot have, I am sure you will find it”, I said reassuringly not feeling reassuring at all!

Lord and master took the I pad from me (he could see I was panicking)

“Where did you last see it?”, he asked

She had just returned from a business trip.

“Did you take it with you to Ohio?”, I asked

“No, I did not”, came the tearful rebuttal

“Where did you last see it?” repeated Dad

“Well, I kept very carefully. They are in a thick folder. When I came back from India, I first kept it on my bedside table, then I use to sleep with it every day…”

“Then?”, prompted Dad.

All this while my mind was going haywire thinking of where she could have kept it.

“Then once my bed got all dirty, so I kept it on the floor… for safe keeping you know”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Was that the last you saw it?” Dad said, a little frustration creeping into his voice.

“What about your passport?”

“Passport is fine I always keep it in this bag”, the bag was displayed to us.

I sighed, “You can get all the other papers from the university, right?”

“I suppose so, but it will take time and I need to submit the documents tomorrow!”, wailed my baby

I doubted my mitochondria for a second! I never left things for the last moment. That must be from her father, I comforted myself.

“Take me around the places you could have kept it. What about the suitcase?”, I asked tentatively, sure I would get an impatient answer in response.

“That was the first place I looked for!”, was the snappy reply

“Do it again, just to please me”, I wheedled

The suitcase was got out, I saw her hands going all over it.

“No, its not there!”, she wailed

I got up to leave the I pad. My mitochondria had failed! I was mutely looking at my better half for some reassurance.

“Hell!” the young one exclaimed

“I think its here! But I don’t know how to get it out!”

I was frozen!

Lots of noise from the iPad, I did not dare look into it.

“Got it!”, said the triumphant voice

There she was, with  the teary-eyed smile (Which by the way her father loves), the absconding folder in her hand!

I could have given her a whack and hug at the same time.

Well don’t need DNA testing for these two, they definitely have my mitochondria!



The Dal*Story

It all started with the newbie adult asking on the family group chat “How to make dal?” appended along with a picture of a vessel with “I think this is a pressure cooker?”! (All the way from Chicago!)


Somewhere along the way I had failed to train the baby of the house with the basic rudiments of cooking!

Before I could respond to this, her sibling, the doctor of the family in Rishikesh gave clear cut instructions:

1.Dry heat, dal first, till u get smell
2. Then put water, salt and haldi* n 3 whistles.

Obviously with such instruction I was not surprised to see the following messages.

“ON what heat? High, Medium or low?

“MEDIUM”

“How much dal to put? A CUP OR LESS?”

“Small cup. not coffee cup!  ½ of coffee cup” insisted the Sibling

“Well I have measuring cups, 1 cup of that?” asked the newbie

“That might be too much!”

“DAMN”

“U can always store it!”

“Ok, ok!”

This followed by a picture of a cup of dry dal.

“It will fit in the pressure cooker, no? It won’t overflow?”, asked the diffident chef

As this was directed specifically at me, I replied that it won’t.

“1 cup or ½ cup or ¼ cup?”

“HELP!”

To this I gave very strict instruction: for 1 cup add 4 cups of water

“But do I want 1 cup or less?”, still hadn’t left her penchant for metaphysical questions!

I sighed,” half cup would be good”.

This was followed by an animated jumping teddy bear, which drives me nuts, so I replied with a “ No “ sticker!

The doctor sniggered in the background!

“Dry heat for how long? 2 cups of water then?” incessant enquiries!

The ever-helpful elder sibling answered all the questions at the same time: “SMELL WILL COME, keep tossing it, 3 to 4 cups.”

The struggling adult said, “IT BURNT!”

“TOSS TOSS”, followed by “THROW THAT” when a picture of the burnt dal came on line!

“NOW RESTART”
“LOW HEAT”

“OK”, acquiesced the troubled newbie, followed by, “Mama said 4 cups water for 1 cup dal, I am making half cup so half water, no?”

“OK” grunted the Master chef

“Yes or no?”

“YES!”

“KK, what should I add now?”


A cartoon sticker of smell followed by a question mark…..
A ROFL penguin sticker followed by,” it smells burnt from previous batch” said the baby

“Ok, add water. And then Salt and haldi* 1 tsp or so”

“Before closing lid?”

“Obviously!”, said the exasperated older sister
“And mix it?”

“YES MAAM!”

This is when I decided that I must write a blog on this!

Further Instruction …..
“Then close the lid and lock it. Make sure the top knob (the weight ) is there too!
“LOW HEAT!”
“Don’t fiddle with the cooker once closed!”
“Let it whistle for 3 times n leave it for 10 to 15 mins”

Rapid fire directions!


“This much heat or more?” (followed with a picture of the gas burner)

“YES that’s fine”

“Don’t know how to put lid!”, complained the wannabe cook

Exhausted sticker followed this statement!

“Twist and…..” began the Doctor

“This isn’t twisting, it needs to go under the perimeter..”, interrupted the newbie

“…Sideways in and then turn….”, continued the sibling

“Then locked.. ya that’s what I did” interrupted again

“….Like handle 90 degrees to other handle..”

“But it will touch dal when I take it out”, protested the newbie-wannabe chef

“,,,Plus 90 degrees on Z axis.” Patiently continued the Doctor

“Oh! that’s ok”

Now Man of the house enters the fray (Mumbai)

“4 to 5 whistles in Chicago and slightly burnt, gives nice flavour” advised the super chef. (He tells everyone, who cares to hear, that he taught me how to cook!)

“Well I threw out the burnt one… OMG its going to POOO soon I can hear sizzling.”

“ONE DONE!”

“OMG! Can’t keep calm!”, I could visualise the super excited baby of mine jumping up and down with excitement.

This is followed by one zillion stickers to show the various emotions all participants were going through!

“Three done what to do now?” enquired the adult

“One more for good luck!”, advised the Doctor

“House smells like turmeric now!”

“Fourth whistle sounds like train!”


Audio clip follows this chat

“LIKE PAPA’S train “says Baby

 “PUT IT OFF”, Screams the Advisor

“DONE!”

Lots of hilarious instruction of how to open the cooker follows.

Father intervenes “1/6th spoon haldi* ,Ma always puts too much!”

“But I am good”, says the newbie

“What if it isn’t soft?”, a worried rumble

“REBOIL!”, yells the sibling

“How to season it?” sighs the sous-chef

Plenty of simultaneous instruction on how to do that by three different people!

The four cell phones in different corners of the world went haywire with pings.



Finally, the finished product picture is put up and Madam eats the whole thing off like a bowl of soup!

We heard the satisfied burp from 12939 km away!

This was followed by profuse thanks!

We didn’t do such a bad job in bringing up these two brats!

This is the new world that we live in! Even with the internet and the YOUtube videos it is so much more fun to cook the family way!

Legends
·       Dal= Lentil
·       Haldi = Turmeric

The Transient “Forever”



“Hey that’s the life I want!” I am sure my family is tired of this statement but are too polite to say so! This happens each time I see a caravan on the road.

Well! Most people would say that my whole life has been a nomadic one, so who am I to desire something more? Except for two stints in my life, I have never stayed longer than four years at a place. Even there I have shifted three houses!

So, what’s this fascination with caravans?

As a child we moved so frequently that I hardly had time to make friends. Remember there was no internet, so no WhatsApp, emails, or cell phones- the only way you could keep in touch was through snail mails. Though I tried my best, the other end was too lazy to reply regularly, and I lost interest. My best friends were books. I loved Enid Blyton, and in all her children book series she has incidents inter spaced within her narratives where the main characters go in a caravan. You park where you want; cook in the outdoors; sleep with the stars above and mange the tiny caravan! It was so fascinating that I have read the famous five series at least thrice and once very recently!

Every time we moved to a new place, I take it as a “Forever” place; I do it up as well as I can, get things set up as if I am going to stay there for the rest of my life. As we travel very frequently for holidays and live in Hotels for a night or two, I set up the hotel room as if it was my home! (A lasting joke in the family- Aah mama is setting up home!) I designate space for suitcase and shoes and always make it a point to set up the toiletries neatly!


Recently the little Doc of the family left home for her further studies. When we Face time, I ask her to show me what changes she has made in her room (I had helped set up her room). One very tiring day (for her) She said she is not too bothered as this is a temporary accommodation! Then I gave her this tiny lecture about how every residence is to be treated as forever. Also, it is when I decided to write this for everyone who are tired of moving from one place to another.

I was brought up on road trips with a Father who loved to travel, and I have been very fortunate to have a husband who loves them as well! These trips let me foray into the dream nomadic life and has kept me satiated until now. As I grow older, I realize, there will be a time when I may not be able to be as active as I am now. I wonder how I will be able to stay in one place “forever”? when I see ninety-year-old tourists happily trekking along with us, it gives me hope; when I see the differently abled people in their wheelchairs enjoying the lovely sunset on the cliff, I have hope; when I see the young parents with prams braving the chilly wind to visit some destination, I wallow in hope!

I have had a few army friends who moved at least every three years. As I compare the outlook of these families with normal civilians I realize how rich moving makes us. Not financially but culturally! They are able to accept change so easily and adapt so easily to diverse ways of life, it is commendable!

This life, after all is temporary, but I think that I must live it to the fullest as if there is no tomorrow! Time and space is so relative that I believe that movement is the only constant and we will realise our full potential if we appreciate and develop this non-permanency that stares at us at every turn!

CUTTING CHAI






Under the dim street lamp, at ten in the night, he was busy with his business. People walked past with intent and purpose. Horns blared intermittently, autos swerved inches away from each other and children sold books, toys, flowers… the Instagram images swirls and mixes in my consciousness and I remember I had sighed that day.

It was almost twelve years back when we were to relocate to the busy city of Mumbai from the smaller city of Hyderabad. I was leaving a settled life, leaving behind the security of the umbrella of known faces, friends and social life.

 Don’t get me wrong, I love moving to new places! The excitement of a new place always gives me a high. This time it was major move with two growing children and an “older tending towards inflexibility”-mind.


We had come house hunting. From a lovely sprawling bungalow with greenery all around we were looking at tiny flats at exorbitant rates. Where would my furniture fit in?  where would I park my car? My plants! My mind shrieked at me. I was new to the world of brokers. How they would show you the worst flats first and then take you to better flats if you were not satisfied. I could write a book on house hunting in Mumbai! It is a tortuous and torturous!

This was the third day in the city. We were waiting for the broker to show us another house. We had already seen thirty houses! (I am not exaggerating) I had walked up countless stairways and trundled over million lifts. Looked at supposed “Views”, heard about the accessibility of the area, and the cool evening breeze. It was pre-monsoon and at ten in the night I was drenched in sweat. The breeze was there but was filled with the smell of dried fish.

My traumatized mind was spiralling its way downwards and I wanted to rush back home and cover myself with the blanket and squirrel down into a world of comfort and security. But reality is a great warning bell, I knew I had to accept change and in it lies movement and growth. But at that moment twelve or so years back I was in turmoil.

As we waited, my worse half got me a glass of hot tea from the man under the street light.

If there is heaven inside hell then this was it! It was hot and sweet and it was like half a glass, but the energy and enthusiasm it put inside me is a marvel I still cannot explain!

To cut a long story short we found our dream house and moved in and have lived in this city till now except for a short stint of two years when we had moved out.

I don’t know about the city, but I have changed a lot in the time I have spent here. There are a lot of negatives but the positives outweigh them. The traffic and flyovers have multiplied, but the children selling stuff at signal lights continue. Plenty of slum rehabilitation going on but plenty of new slums mushrooming. The traffic police carry Wi-Fi credit card accepters to get fines but the stealthily rolled hundred rupee notes still works! I have come to accept the warmth of the people here. Despite all the politicians fuelling tension amongst community and races, if you need help, someone will help. I have twice fractured my ankle in this city (Due to the rotten road work!) but both times I have been helped by strangers to get back home. I have come to appreciate the vast variety of people who call this there home. I have talked to a lot of migrants who come to work here. The hope and desire that this city fuels are amazing.

There is nothing you cannot get here. There is a perpetual shortage of time but even in this chaos someone will give you a little time. The city never sleeps. Every time I come back here from a holiday I am disappointed at the dirt, crowd and noise but I wonder at this machine of humanity which goes on in spite of itself.

I do not love the city. I always long for my mountains and a noiseless world. But as we go to pick up our daughter from her class I look forward to having that glass of “Cutting Chai” (half glass of hot sweet tea!) and I feel that life is all about this cutting chai. I think I am now a veteran “cutting chai” taster. I have had it from Nariman point in the south to Thane in the north. (The best one is near the station in Dadar).


In this decade of watching Mumbai change from Bombay (From the side-lines of course!) I have found my comfort in this glass of pep talk which no psychiatrist could ever give me.

The Secret Garden




“I have some bad news for you!”, said the doctor.


After a lethargic two years, with sporadic health problems, this was not something I was expecting! But I knew deep inside that I deserved this wake-up call. This was followed by millions of tests, medicines were juggled and the most dreaded thing – I was put on a diet. How I hated this! No sugar in my tea or coffee (I have never been able to have sugar free drinks!) And gentle exercise to start with (Walks).

Deeply depressed I went about trying to change my lifestyle (I have a very supporting family so it wasn’t that difficult) The problem- of separate food was always there, so it continued. Only I had to stop eating normal spicy, oily food and my elevenses of coke and chips! I had to get out from my “Rapunzel Tower” and go for walks. The doc forbade me to use my Exercycle at home!

After two days of dilly-dallying (I will start from tomorrow…) I started my walk on a Monday (I promised myself that Monday to Friday are work days, so walks for forty mins- but Saturday and Sunday are off) Of course the diet must be there every day for the next six months. I stole a headphone from the head of the family, filled my cell phone with upbeat music, took a bottle of water, put on my walking shoes and walked out to the beautiful garden down the road.




It was downhill to the well-planned space, so I literally skipped and jumped down to the pretty garden and started on my rounds. It was exciting when my App lady said that I had completed one Kilometer at a great rate of five km/hr. My music pushed me ahead and I had a good time till I completed the two kilometer mark. Suddenly I realized that taking each step was like pulling a ton of bricks. I knew I had to go home. This was easier said than done. Remember I said “walked downhill” when I started… well to get back I had to walk uphill! My body protested, my bones creaked and muscles groaned. I swear I saw people looking at me with pity. The music was driving me nuts and the water bottle seemed like I had a tanker in my pocket. I was surrounded on all sides with people coming back from work- young and energetic. Age caught up with me and joined gravity in trying to topple me over. I almost stumbled over a sleeping dog and managed to reach the lift. It was full! (Otherwise I would have just collapsed on the floor!)

That night was hell! My body ached so much that I could not sleep. (I am a person who falls asleep at the drop of a hat). Tried sleeping in different locations- the couch, the sofa, and the bed! looked out of the window and counted the stars and then I Woke up bleary eyed and saw the family was awake and ready to leave. I felt guilty. Took a painkiller for my body ache and decided to take a break from my walk.

 But five o’clock came and I was ready, armed with my regalia and down at the open space. This time I took it easy. I wasn’t going to break any records- let me enjoy this process of self-healing. I walked but I looked too. The lovely flowers, the green leaves, the little children playing, the marathon runners practicing, the young mothers strolling, the elderly ladies gossiping and not to forget the young couples searching for hideouts! Each of them a story by itself.

As the week progressed I started recognizing people and groups. It felt warm and comfortable to see the familiar faces. It made the ordeal of my forced exercise a lot more bearable. I was amused at the new parents who had hired photographers to take videos and pictures of their little darlings. The baby had to be made happy before it would give shots. The selfie couples who hid their faces from us but went on taking their own photos! The middle-aged couple who argued all through the walk as I followed them. The wiry elderly gentleman who set a pace for his plump cute tubby wife! The single, slim, ageless woman who walked so fast that I could only gasp! The young boy who ran a sprint and rested and then ran again.




Every day was like opening a new book. A new chapter, a new story and sometimes I had the opportunity to go back and read and relish the scent of an old one. Did I tell you about the dancing lady? Well that’s for another day.

Sometimes life forces you to open strange doors which are filled with demons, but once you battle your way through them, a little paradise awaits you.

Shopping dilemmas and Peaceful learning

“I think the teal set is a good one” the feminine voice was quietly insistent.


“You can get the spatula set to go with it too”

I turned curiously from my browsing, in the store, to look at the daily dramas that go around us all the time.





Mother and a young adult debating on what to buy. I wondered whether it was to set up a new house or just to refurbish mom’s old kitchen.

“What is the skimmer used for? “asked Mom.

“It’s like our Challni, to deep fry puris or to skim things off the surface” was the impatient answer

The attendant sales person was hovering around the duo with helpful comments to edge them to make a sale.





I went off to browse around the crockery department. There were a few “Happiness “cups. I was pondering whether or not I should add to my collection. “nah” I said to myself, “No place to keep the cups and more importantly no people to use them!” This is what the children call my Mall ritual! Every once in a while, I go to my favourite Mall and window shop. I have my favourite shops – electronics, books, home improvement and lastly the bags shop. This is how I keep myself up to date about what is new in the market.

I can the hear the impatient sighs of my readers! The questions like “what is the internet for?”, What about the online shopping sites? “or “the millions of forums”, abound around me. Well! To be honest I have been there and done that, but the heady feeling of being able to touch the soft bed-sheets or the fluffy towels can never be replaced by the all-angle photographs or live videos.

It’s the eternal argument of digital versus the printed books! I love the way, I research on my electronics (Cell phone, laptop or tablet) before I settle for one. I go to at least three to four establishment before I make up my mind to part with my money. I adore flipping through new books (the smell is so nostalgia filled!) and my god! All the bag shop sales person knows me personally! I pick up the bags, feel it, check each zipper then close my eyes and imagine where I would fit what into each of its receptacle. Then shake my head if it doesn’t fit my requirement and move onto the other. I have been looking for the perfect wallet to replace my three-year-old one but Alas! I have yet to find one.

Once upon a time, I window shopped because I lived on a budget with a growing family. Now though there is no budget, there is no necessity either! Irony of life. But the training of window shopping is still a lovely pastime. It is therapeutic, peaceful and indulgent. Not meant for the nine to five hard working young people but if they could squeeze in some time it is worth the effort!

Back to the present! The duo was still at it hammers and tong! Teal versus purple, coated versus plain, and plastic versus wooden (Spoon sets!). The mother was quiet and soft while the young adult-aggressive and a tad offensive and the poor sales person yo-yoing between the two! She wasn’t sure about who was paying and who was buying and so who should she support? She was, I realized, amusedly walking the tight rope between the two.

“The stone finish is better, beta”, the mother offered tentatively

“But the coated ones use less oil”, argued the ‘on-the-overweight’ side off-spring

“Not really”, murmured the experienced Mum, “they spoil much faster”

“Let them”, the belligerent voice rasped back, “I don’t plan to use it for more than two years!”

“Then buy the cheaper ones, use them and throw them”, advised the mater

“It won’t go with the deco, Ma!”

“Beta, why don’t you decide with the help of this young lady here? I need to pick up aroma candles for Mita Aunty. Give me a call when you are done”

Lovely lesson for every mother with a new adult in the family! Give your advice- it’s your duty as a mother but whether it’s taken or not should be left to the newly decisive person. It’s like voting we can only voice our opinion we cannot force someone to vote for our beliefs.

Curbing my impulse to intervene, I walked away. There was mixed feeling within me. I understood both their point of view. The one with the experience did not want her child to make mistakes, the other one wanted to make his own decision, make his mistakes and learn from them (Hopefully!)

But what cheered me up considerably was the gender of the young adult- A young man who was setting up his pad. He was planning to cook and live by himself and an Indian mother who was encouraging this. There is still hope for this country filled with gruesome gender figure ratios and female foeticide and dowry harassment! He might belong to 0.0025% of this huge population but it is a huge step nevertheless.

All of you who have criticized my worthless window shopping experience, know now that each time I go, I am a witness to small cameos of life which have the capacity to cheer me up and know that this is not the end of the world. Faith and hope will push us ahead despite ……. 

The other woman!

It all started with Apple! Siri was the root cause of all my problems! I never had been an apple fan (half my family is though!) particularly “the still in the teen” one. But from the time I was exposed to the I phones and macs I had a tendency to criticize all their limitations. The only product I liked was the I pad. To cut a long story short while the rest of the family dabbled in “Apple” I stubbornly stuck to my HP computers and Samsung phones. (I still do).

I must confess though, that I was intrigued with SIRI when it was introduced in 2011/12. I did grow up with the idea of robots and this interactive voice module was as close as possible to this. When I was alone I would ask all sort of silly questions and abuse Siri when she didn’t get it right! I always got a reprimand over using foul language but that was the fun in the whole exercise!

One thing I have always been very good at is remembering directions. I do have a virtual compass in my brain and could and can find my way anywhere. But this was an instinctive thing, unaided by gadgets. So once in a while it would fail. I called this “My GPS is unplugged phase” We would then ask the nearest available human, “bhai where is XYZ located?” and we would most of the time be directed through many right, left and straight and would reach our destination safely.


When we started travelling abroad, especially in non-English speaking countries ,it became a little difficult. My GPS did not have any feeds, though we had the printed maps and we did manage somehow. The dénouement entered our travelogues when Google maps was introduced into our phones! Life became so easy! We could drive anywhere on our own, we could find Indian restaurants along with feed backs (Staying for prolonged periods without Indian food is rather challenging!) The mobile bills were rather challenging too but we put it under travel expenses to erase the guilt!

In the convenience of the moment I allowed the “Camel” to poke its nose into my tent. I fed the snake with milk of kindness! My importance as an instrument of travel was slowly diminishing, I still was the family navigator- (go right after 100 meters)- awake and alert I directed everyone everywhere. I did not see the impending doom!

Soon after Siri, google introduced the voice direction on Google maps (hence my blaming Siri!) and my services were terminated! The phone was conveniently placed in its holder and it could go on giving directions without falling asleep or getting distracted by the cows in the meadows! I still had not been able to see the shadow of apocalypse, as this allowed me to nap when I was not driving and gave me good confidence when I was.

Lately I suddenly realized that this voice is omnipresent whenever we go out. We have been living in Mumbai for almost ten years. We have shifted to different localities, but this has only enhanced my map feeds and I know most of the alleys and shortcuts. The head of the family never had a head for directions! Most of the time he was dependent on me and this made me feel needed!

My eyes opened to a new development in our married life. My husband was in love! He confessed it to the children and indirectly to me. “I never go out without her!” he had said  this umpteen times before I realized that a third entity had entered the sacred portal of our marriage vows! Some experienced matron had advised me when I had got married – that never let an unmarried girl get too friendly with your husband and never invite them home! I had, after twenty-five years fallen into this trap!

The ‘she’ I realized is the female voice of the google maps! She had taken over my place for directing my non directional husband and he was wallowing in his new found freedom of not being dependent on me! The other woman had entered our lives not during the seven-year itch but during our silver year! I cannot compete with a live feed of millions of people and the satellite that google uses. But once in a while when the signal goes off or the dumb female speaks about some unpronounceable name of the road to confuse us, I have that smug look to comfort myself. I know that I am irreplaceable but this “other woman” is giving me a run for my money!

The Grey Cover!


The greys have been peeping into my silhouette for quite some time. When they first appeared I use to pluck them off (pacified my heart by saying – all that stress!) soon they started showing on the side burns and temples (I can’t be that old!). it wasn’t long before my stylist, very timidly suggested that I could colour my hair. She went into raptures about how the hair would glow and thicken and become healthy. The first time I brushed away her suggestion. A month of vitamin capsules, regular oiling of the hair with judicious plucking would solve the problem or so I thought!
Soon I was pouring over leaflets and books about how to colour. Which was the best brand? Should I just pick up one off the shelf?  After a lot of Hamletian metaphysical self-questioning I bought one at the super market and secretly coloured my hair. No one was told about it. The hair did glow and it looked lovely. I took all the compliments and gave the credits to the vitamins which I had since stopped consuming!
Months passed and my stylist said I should do “a global” as the hair was looking “patchy “and ‘translucent”. By then I was tired of trying to cover my grey secretly.  Imagine having to wait till no one was in the house for at least two hours and then apply it in the bathroom, clean up the mess etc. it was easier at the parlour! So the job migration took place. Though it was a little heavy on my pocket, it took away a lot of my worry. It was timed with my haircut so my secret remained safe!
Years later when I was comfortable with my age, I allowed this secret to be out in the open. By now it was cool to colour, so I tried all sort of different colours and stopped using dark brown. Graduating to using streaks took some more time and the I went all out with blonde, bronze, brown and red streaks. I remember how excited I was. My poor husband did not know what to say! Knowing that the deed was done he complimented me. In my euphoria I never saw the wince in his eyes. The children were also diplomatic and all was fine in my paradise. Since then I have been informed by the lord and master that I looked like a lioness (due to the frizziness caused by bleaching my hair!)
I have been at home for the last two months- not travelling that is. The greys had started creeping up everywhere, I kept postponing the ritual. At a certain level, I thought, I looked kind of distinguished so I deferred it further. Having religiously treated my hair for so many years I had not realized the extent of my greyness! Suddenly I realized that my mind was still twenty but my hair was…. Well you know. I felt depressed, haggard and vulnerable (don’t ask me about vulnerability!) I peered into the mirror and saw a patchy grey haired middle aged woman with dull and spotty skin!
Enough was enough! I made an appointment with my stylist and sailed there with all my usual confidence. She of course ‘tched’ with all her might and said “Global”.

“Yes of course!”, I concurred

For the next two hours I was pampered. Line by line of my hair was taken and tinted. I was then asked to wait for thirty-five minutes, which I did with further pampering – pedicure and manicure!

While I sipped my coffee, I noticed a grey haired man sit down under the guidance of another stylist. He had pepper and salt hair and looked quite handsome in spite of them. “Around forty”, I guessed as I peeped at him. He looked very uncomfortable. The stylist hovered around him with the usual “Can I get you something?” and “what would you like to do today, sir?”
“Well”, a very long drawn out weeeeell, “Actually I would like to colour my hair” still hot under the collar our gentleman.
The catalogue was brought out, while I mused ‘how unfair that men looked good with grey hair’. I could see he was thoroughly confused with all the choice the young girl was pointing out to him.

“Actually can you make it look like my original colour?”

The girl decided that here was no adventurous man and asked, “Black?”

“Black?”, he said that a little loudly

“Papa! Not black, it looks artificial”

I then noticed a young lady having her pedicure done at the chair. She was definitely in her mid-twenties.

All my theories fell flat! This man couldn’t be forty unless he had her at fifteen!

“You see my daughter’s wedding is in two days and she wants me to do this!”

Look of understanding dawned on the stylists face and she took the catalogue to the daughter to choose. As they discussed over bronze brown or reddish brown, the man looked at his nails and allowed someone to trim his hair, over the daughter’s “Not too short please!”
It was a kind of quaint experience for me. I am so used to seeing mother-daughter duos in the parlour that to see this father- daughter together was refreshing. The world and society is changing for the better. I had a wonderful father who was always upbraided by my grandmother for treating us like his friends. I see my daughters also have a great father who treats them as equals and here I was seeing this cameo.

I came out – a glossy haired, bright faced young woman- rejuvenated both in mind and body.

Sleep! What a luxury….






Whack! I slapped the pesky mosquito on my face and woke myself up.  The little cog wheels started whirring slowly at first (they are old!) then as usual, the brain and heart started their regular debate, the well-oiled crankshafts went chook chook and the bulbs flashed merrily in the subconscious and boy! Was I ready to begin the day!

The only problem was it was one a.m. in the night and most people were fast asleep. I could see in the dark, as its never totally dark anyway. The lights from the building outside always manage to bypass the security of my thick curtains and dance around anywhere my eyes choose to look at. I patted my brain.

“Hey guy, you know what? the sun is still not up and you do need a shot of vitamin D to wake you up right?”

“not exactly!” said the grim one

“well! You know what, why don’t we count sheep?”

“No!” very short and final

“What about thinking about GOD?”

A snort greeted me on this one.

“let’s play a game”

“which one?”

At least I got his attention!

“I ask the universe a question which has a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ answer’

“Waiting….”

“then I count till fifty”

“Well?”

“the universe has to make the spouse move or snore within that time”

“then?”


“if he does, the answer is yes if he doesn’t, the answer is no”
“Very silly! But if it makes you happy….”

You will be glad to know that most questions were answered with an “yes”

For all the dumb names you can call me for coming up with this game, it does work you know. It keeps the brain occupied (it loves counting you see) for some time and the heart is happy because it gets these affirmative answers. (You can bet your life that spouse will snore or shift during fifty! Sometimes it works with thirty too)


You can fool the brain for some time but not all the time. Sigh!

So it forfeits the game and starts moaning about worry no.1. that means gears and cranks are on full go and any hope that it might shut down is flying out of the window. Heart is all down in the dumps ..

“Why does this always happen with me?” it moans

“You come up with the most far fetched ideas and dreams!” scoffed the master (megalomania)

Hand picks up the cell beside me and it tells me it’s one thirty in the morning. For all the groans and shifts, time isn’t moving too fast. Still four and a half hours to go before I can legitimately wake up. Got to do damage control.

“Hey!”

“WHAT?” snaps the brain.

“whaaat?” squeaks the heart, as if its head was paining!

“Let’s meditate”

“Didn’t I say no GOD?” roared brain

“Quit yelling”, heart with its head in his hands moans.

“First let me tell you meditation is not GOD. It is, what I understand, to put your brain in a kind of suspended animation so that blood can flow into your consciousness in your subconscious mind and rejuvenate it”

“Buddy” said the perky mind, “the question is, do I really need rejuvenation at two in the morning?


Had to admit he got me on that one!

“You have any better idea?” I said sarcastically

“What about planning tomorrow’s menu” asked the timid heart.

The gears clashed on this one and poor heart hurriedly withdrew into the shell.

“Let’s make the body toss and turn and rumple the bed sheet at least. I mean what a waste of a night if you trouble no one!” that wasn’t me speaking it was the wicked grey matter!

“Calm down let’s just close the eyes, stop the dancing lights from distracting you, deaden the traffic noise and listen to the silence”
Easier said than done; Worry no. 1 comes back.

I am determined. I take the shovel and shove it down the grave I created for it. Lot of work and sweat! Bury it, pat the last finishing touches and stamp it with my heels.

“Hello!” pipes the loving heart “what about this?”

I see worry no. 2 slithering in noiselessly as I muscle up to dig another grave, there is tiny no 3 wriggling its head out of the freshly turned mud of no.1 and look there is the centipede of a worry no. 4 sliding majestically into the frame………

Well I haven’t been sleeping too well these last few weeks. I have discovered its futile to intervene in debates and its useless to calm or pacify any altercation between the brain or the heart.
Logic versus emotion is all that it made out to be! The clock still shows it is three o’clock and still at least another three hours to go… Sigh!