Have a Bad Day...
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
No, I am not doing a Daniel Pewter here. It is just a summation of the stinker of the day I had. It got off to a bad start when I decided to dust the cobwebs off my tummy trimmer thingummyjig and actually use it. Bad idea! It was propped up tight against the exercise bike (which I use to dry clothes mainly) and when I tugged it hard, it shot out and hit me on my soft head hard enough that I saw stars. I tell ya - exercising is bad for health!
I pootled off to work with the sore head and this screechy woman rings me barely five minutes after I've sat down. I wanted to wring her neck! Now I really was feeling what they meant when they said 'hammer & tongs' - I was all set to lie down and weep by lunch time. That was when I decided to get a drink and wouldn't you know it, barely has the first drop gone down my throat when I choke on it and go into paroxysms of cough. Jeez!
Just when I was wondering if my day could be any worse, like Ross, I learnt that some eager beaver at work has taken my name off the company rolls, a full month before I am scheduled to leave. *sigh*
Come on, Daniel, sing with me - you've had a bad day...
Posted by DesiGirl 8:38 pm 1 comments
Labels: Bad Day
Catwalk Mishaps
Sunday, June 03, 2007
The things you learn during your daily web trawl! I was just going through my daily fix of blogs when I came to know of this arresting fact: Miss USA took a toss down slippery catwalk as she sashayed down it, during the Miss Universe pageant. After the first couple of sniggers, watching the clip on YouTube, I decided to go a step further and see if I can come up with a few more.
I needn't have worried my pretty head about it - the following came in the mix automatically!
First, catch the Little Miss Humpty Dumpty in action:
At least she recovered well!
Next bit of ha ha comes when a Miss Universe contestant's outfit comes apart:
As if to prove that this isn't a one-off and strictly pageants only, here's what happens when a model wears columns of material held together by string, instead of clothes:
Posted by DesiGirl 5:08 pm 3 comments
Labels: Misc
When A Child Goes Missing...
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
The UK media has been flooded with images and news reports of four-year old Madeline McCann, who disappeared from the Algarve, Portugal, more than three weeks ago. She was holidaying in Portugal along with her parents and twin younger siblings. On May 3, 2007, she disappeared from the family's holiday apartment at the Pria de Luz, even as her parents dined at a restaurant right opposite. They had checked in on her barely thirty minutes back.
She hasn't been seen ever since.
This is every parent's worst nightmare come to life; being a mum of a toddler myself, I cannot even begin to imagine what the poor McCanns must be going through every single second. Not a day goes by without them seeking some form of sustenance in the form of prayers and visits to sacred churches, to pray for the safe return of their daughter.
They have vowed to find their missing child at all costs. Public funds have been set up to aid in the search and celebrities like J K Rowling and Simon Cowell, amongst others, have contributed to this. The McCanns are hoping the toddler's distinct right eye, where the iris bleeds into the pupil, would prove to be a valuable tool in the search.
Here's hoping the child is returned safe and sound to her parents' soon. 
When people go missing, it somehow feels worse than death. At least with death, you get to say goodbye, you grieve for your loss and you try to pick the pieces. When a loved one goes missing, how does one bear it? There is no news of what has happened, a constant state of 'are they well? how/where/in what condition are they?' that goes through the family and friends' minds non-stop.
I once read this novel of Mary Higgins Clark, where a child is abducted and sold to a couple who cannot have children. The childless couple bring her as their own and she lacks nothing. She doesn't know she isn't biologically theirs till she is almost thirty and that too, by sheer accident. Meanwhile, her birth family goes through sheer hell - her mother's mission in life is tracing her lost daughter and she neglects her husband and older son; the parents get divorced and the brother grows up somehow, with the ghost of his missing sister constantly there. I remember reading it and thinking 'how ghastly'. The mum in me shuddered at the turmoil her family lives through.
I now hope and pray for the well being of these children, and the hundreds of missing loved ones the world over. I hope the parents' search is over soon and the children find their way back home, safe and sound.
Edited to add: I am really saddened to note that Kiran's lost his life in a freak accident while trekking in the Yosemite with friends. According to news reports, he slipped and fell into the whitewater. His body was found Tuesday, May 29, ten days after he went missing. My sincere condolences to his family and friends.
Madeline McCann is still missing.
Posted by DesiGirl 9:10 pm 3 comments
Labels: Missing
Wanted: Swayamwaram Applicants
I was chatting with a blogging mate of mine about the stuff that life's generally made of - Bill Bryson, DC writers with a penchant for ignoring rules, assorted idiots who cannot read / absorb the clear Comments policy, Bangalore weather v Chennai, relative merits of LinkedIn, Orkut, Tagged etc when the topic arrived, some how, at girls. Well, this isn't such a shocking concept considering I am a card carrying member of the species but in this instance, it is the lack of eligible bachelorettes that was causing said mate some problems.
Birthdays arriving thick and fast, with no suitable girl sending a gushing Val's day card has proved to be the bane of his mum's life and she has recently given up dropping subtle hints in favour of actively jabbing him with the fork during meal times, in an effort to make him get the skates on and get on with the job of getting her a daughter in law, like NOW.
In this enlightened day and age, us being blogoholics and all that, what better way to kick start this modern day head hunt than, well, blog about it? Rather like the matrimonial version of The Apprentice, we are now inviting applicants for the enviable role of a permanent partner of Mr K. Of course, there are a few stipulations: that the applicant must be a girl, is an obvious one. She must also belong to the enviable TamBram community of South India, in order to please the senior cast member.
Interested applicants leave a message in the comments and await our call eagerly.
Posted by DesiGirl 6:32 pm 9 comments
Labels: Matchmaking
TAG: Indian Writing
We all know what an impossible soul dear ole Ams is. She never does anything by halves. So she's gone and listed an impressive array of tomes in her Indian authors/books. I have as much chance as the proverbial snowball's chance in hell of coming up with one half so impressive. So I decided to go my way and make it short n' sweet.
So here is my list of Indian authors / books I have read or would love to read:
1. Ashok Banker's Seige of Mithila - Second book in his very impressive Ramayana series. Can't wait to lay my hands on it. It was Dee who relentlessly badgered me into reading the first one and like Ams, I wasn't really hooked onto it from the start. The twins calling one another 'Shot' and 'Luck' sounded more Hardy Boys-ish than anything. But once I passed those, it was pure heaven. A must-read.
2. Kalki's Ponniyin Selvan - I have read parts of it when it was serialised but for a long time now, have been meaning to read it in its entirety. Mean to get my mitts on my mum's copy when I visit the folks later in this year. Ooh!
3. Vikram Seth's An Equal Music - yeah yeah I own up to not having read this till now. I have borrowed it now from the library so should get cracking on it soon!
4. David Davidar's House of Blue Mangoes - heard / read good things about this one. When I heard he is the Mad Momma's uncle, I am determined to read it!!! (Call me shallow!)
5. Jawahara Saidulla's Burden of Foreknowledge - Sujatha Bagal of Blogpourri has said such lovely things about this book that I am compelled to put it on my 'must read' list. Added to it, the fact that she is a Desicritic makes her work unmissable!
6. Saavi's Washingtonil Thirumanam - absolutely hilarious! Made me long for the traditional Tambram weddings of yore. 'Shhhiver bath' is a phrase you would not forget!
Phew! Time to pass the baton to Apu, Dee, Suj, Premalatha, Dubukku and my fellow mummy bloggers MM, Tharini, Itchy and Boo.
Big thanks to the Mad Momma and Dubukku for responding to the tag. Their spectacular efforts have made me hang my head in shame to see such impressive lists of Indian authors / books.
Posted by DesiGirl 8:57 am 11 comments
Labels: books, Indian authors
Overheard on the train
Friday, May 25, 2007
Man: (on his phone) Hello? I should be there by 11:35 PM. Could you come and pick me up?
....
Man: Ok, after you finish watching the Weather then.
...
Man: I'll wait, no, no, I..
....
Man: (sigh) Tell you what, you watch the Weather and I'll walk home.
(Click.)
Posted by DesiGirl 2:43 pm 0 comments
Labels: Random musings
Hand of God!
Took this pic last week at Blackpool. It was rather glum and all of a sudden, the clouds shifted and this clear shaft of light broke through. Amazing!
Posted by DesiGirl 1:09 pm 5 comments
Confidence, Nekked and National TV: Gruesome Threesome
Sunday, May 20, 2007
S and I were watching this programme on the telly Wednesday night, just a moving background to the monotonous DIY work we were doing at that moment. The programme was called 'How To Look Good Naked' and involved a nervy, newish mum, not really comfy with her body shape and as such, not very confident. How the gay presenter got over her fears and ultimately, made her enough confident within herself that she sashayed down the catwalk in her pink matching bra and pants.
Now, as an Indian watching the show, there were many, many points during this that I gasped and squirmed. At the end of the programme, I was left with this question: how is parading semi-naked in front of millions a fitting test of confidence? I am not saying it takes immense guts to do so but why the hell is that even a requisite to ooze confidence? This is where the show left me flummoxed. Seemed to me, it was a drastic way to prove that someone is the epitome of confidence.
I had always thought that I was a fairly confident soul, capable of speaking my mind and generally able to get me from one day to another without greatly injuring myself. But no way on earth would I ever do any of that the woman did on the show last night. For starters, she had to see herself in the mirror, clad only in her undergarments (do you see a recurring theme here?) - why the heck would I do that on national TV? Confidence or not, is unnecessary. WHY would I parade my bloated, saggy self to the whole of Great Britain to choke over their dinner?
Before you go on the 'Ohmigosh, she's a prude', let me stop you right there. I ain't no prude but I firmly draw the line at going through the following things - shivering like a leaf in my undies, having a bloke (gay or not) poke and prod me in various places to show me what I've got, baring my 'bedroom secrets' to the whole world and its wife and to top it all, have the bloke helpfully slot some boob uplightment device inside my bra. No, no, no, N-O!
Forgive me for being so boring / naive, if I was suffering from some serious body issues post baby (who am I kidding? that's a permanent state of mind where I am concerned!) I'd rather work on it by doing something - anything - else. Join the gym (which the woman did, after the bloke chose some hip track suits), sign up for some mummy-toddler club, get a personal shopper to help buy clothes that fit you, rope in your mates to give you some quality, non-mumsy time.... anything other than having to pose about in the buff. Drastic, methinks.
I went through some crippling bouts of depression, post-baby (and the MIL visit!) that wasn't helped by the fact that I didn't have any decent friend or family around me to prop me up. So I slowly confined myself to the four walls of our house, wearing some absolute eye-sores and generally feeling sorry for myself. Had I been home, surrounded by friends and family (which this woman no doubt was), I would have been dragged willy-nilly out into the Big Bad World and made to face it. I don't know why this woman's friends and family were standing around, wringing their hands, in a rather helpless fashion. What the hell was the hubby doing anyways? Why wasn't he wooing the daylights of his wife till she felt sexy again?
If you think ranting about a bit of an undie show is a bit much, even for me, the best was yet to come. The once shaky now yummy mummy posed in the buff ('the shots will be extremely tasteful') prior to walking down the ramp wearing nothing but her undergarments. And her mum and mate in the audience went 'ooh! she is soo confident!'
Good grief!
I felt like banging my head at this point. We talk about women's lib, suffragette and Girl Power and then say parading about half-naked on national telly epitomises confidence. Maybe I am a prude, after all. A prude tightly holding on to her clothes.
Posted by DesiGirl 3:39 pm 2 comments
Visiting Cambridge
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
When I was in college, I used to dream of studying at Magdelene College, Cambridge. Along with my mate, I used to pore over the British Council literature, IELTS forms and spin dreams of 'when we get to Magdelene...'. Of course none of them materialised but I was certainly left with a dream of atleast visiting the college to get a feel of it.
Luckily enough, Cambridge isn't too far from Brentwood and on one late summer morning, we set off quite early and found ourselves on the motorway without too many speed demons spoiling our pleasure. Thanks to the light traffic, we reached our destination well before 10.00 AM and after parking our car in the monstrously expensive parking lot, we set about exploring the town.
In my family, getting lost is a pre-requisite and it is how we explore new and exciting places. Letting ourselves loose in the pre-congestion charged London, we drove round and round this old city and ooh-ed and aah-ed over the various beautiful buildings. Cambridge was no exception - within minutes of exiting the car park, we were lost and walked around like a bunch of drunks in the middle of a desert before we ended, quite by chance, at the marketplace. The stalls were full of old books (which I made a beeline for), lovely fruits and vegetables from nearby farms as well as, incongrously, hot bhajis and samosas! After breakfasting on a hot samosa followed by fresh strawberries and cream, we set about trying to see what this old city was all about.
After reading the map correctly for once, we reached River Cam and the punting starting point well before the place got inundated by tourists. Choosing ourselves a lovely punt and a gorgeous French punter, we set off on a slow and relaxed note. The area surrounding this end of River Cam was really beautiful - lush, green, Weeping Willows lined the banks on either side followed by a profusion of gorse bushes on the park, on the opposite side. The bridge overhead was devoid of vehicular traffic and all in all, it was a pleasantly serene air that enveloped us.
King's College and Chapel
Slowly, we glided past the colleges. Called The Backs, as they back onto the river, St John's College, Queen's College, King's, Trinity, Trinity Hall and Clare, looked so beautiful with their sweeping lawns and sprawling grounds. Tales of Kings and Queens of yore, as well as of wars and scheming courtiers were narrated by Jacques, our punter. Looking across the expanse of King's college, I could almost hear the distant cannons of the First World War. The chapel of King's College, when it came into view, was gloriously regal - apparently, the stained glass window panes were preserved carefully during the Wars to protect them from becoming casualties and one is thankful of all that hard work, as the windows look amazing.
St John's frontage - where Harry says 'UP' to his broom!
The front of St John's was covered in flaming red ivy and seemed oddly familiar. When I queried him, Jacques told us that it was there, in the front lawns, that a scene from the first Harry Potter movie was shot - precisely, the scene where Harry first learns to fly on a broom. The building is called a Wedding Cake, apparently, as it looks somewhat like a lavishly tiered wedding cake. We also passed the Bridge of Sighs, modelled along the lines of the one in venice.
Mathematical Bridge
One thing to be said re the punters/guides - no one told us to take what they say with a pinch of salt. Like a pair of lemons, we swallowed his spiel and found it was all tosh when we arrived home and Googled for it. For example, he told us this wonderful story of the Mathematical Bridge - how it was built without the use of any nails or other fasteners and according to the lore, how some college boys decide to take it apart after a night of drunken merriment, found to their dismay that they couldn't do so and had to resort to the use of nails and screws, much like the rest of us lesser mortals. All hogwash, says the authentic Cambridge guide.
Magdalene Street
We finished up at Magdalene College corner, where the original Cam Bridge was. (Bridge across the river Cam - hence Cambridge, says Jacques.) I spent more than a few minutes gazing at the building, thinking 'if only....'.
Once back on terra firma, we explored the rest of the town on foot. There are so many colleges around you, chock full of history, you literally don't know what to go for. For a small fee, one can experience the pleasure of wandering through the buildings and grounds of these colleges. As it was the closest I could ever come to actually be inside a Cambridge University college, I felt £5 was a small price to pay and happily parted with it so I could wander about King's College and its awesome chapel. According to the University rules, if one wishes to get married in this sumptuous Chapel, either the bride or the groom must have been a student of King's! What an exclusive place!
Trinity College
Across town, in Trinity, we were pointed in the direction of the rooms once inhabited by Sir Isaac Newton. Just outside the windows, on the front lawn, was a scrawny apple tree said to be the offspring of the apple tree that was instrumental to the whole theory of gravity. Whether it was fact or just another urban legend, I couldn't help feeling buzzed about standing there, next to the great grand child of the tree that helped formulate one of the fundamental theories of life.
Newton's apple tree with his old rooms in the background
The town is rather quaint and apart from the numerous University buildings, has vast expanses of beautifully laid out parks, swimming pools, a well-appointed theatre and a great many other things to interest the average tourist. Situated around 50 miles from London, Cambridge is so full of history that walking around the colleges, on the grounds where monarchs and great inventors once walked, one feels oddly humbled. If you are ever in this neck of the woods, do add Cambridge to your tour itenerary. It is definately a trip well worth in memories. One word of caution though - the parking fee is rather steep; so if you are driving to the place, you could do well to park it in one of the Park & Ride areas and taking the buses into town. Then you are free to spend as much time as you like ambling away, rather than worry about the parking fee awaiting your pleasure on your return!
Posted by DesiGirl 9:58 pm 1 comments
Strange, but true!
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Have you gone days without actually spending a penny but the minute you draw some money out of your account, seen it disappear in five minutes?
Have you ever sat twiddling your thumbs in a traffic snarl, bumper to bumper with all the other road ragers on Monday morning, and fumed at the idiots speeding away in the opposite direction?
Have you ever listened to the weather forecast, paid heed and gone out in summer clothes, only to show up at work in your favourite drowned rat get up? Or how about the next time you show the weather girl a finger and gone out in proper cold weather attire, only to look like a mug as the sun shines brightly all day?
Have you stood in the queue for a long time, waiting patiently for your turn to catch your favourite musical, only to go in and sit behind a pillar? Or sat next to the bloke who's behind a pillar, who makes his annoyance known to the world and its wife?
Or is it just me?
Posted by DesiGirl 11:26 am 2 comments
God Is In The Details
Friday, May 04, 2007
We did not get off to a good start this morning. We were stuck behind the garbage truck, as they do their weekly collection round. Even as I was impatiently twiddling my thumbs behind the monster truck, I couldn't help noticing the flies - or lack of them, buzzing around the garbage like they should do. I am not saying the firang refuse smelled of sweet perfume, but they didn't make me want to gag my intestines out. There was no unsightly bits hanging about or littered around the half mile radius, sort of like a billboard announcement as to the activity that took place there recently.
And of course, as one does normally in such situations, I started thinking, When would we get to such a state in India, where a garbage truck did not get a huge crowd of flies and other buzzards circling it? It is a small thing and I know the ONYX is doing a brilliant job it is such a small thing, isn't it? Doing a job well. But small thing doesn't mean it is simply done.
If you are familiar with Chennai during the summer months, then the water tanker lorries would be a familiar sight as well. For those who aren't, these are blue, rectanglular sided lorries, with METRO WATER emblazoned on all sides. There is no mistaking the contents as the water would be sloshing off the top of the lorry and generally bathe the scooter following it. At times of acute water shortage, when the precious commodity would be rationed, it was disturbing to see huge rivulets of water running down the streets, marking the path of the lorries. I remember a Class IX physics lesson about centre of gravity and my teacher took the example of the water tanks and how unsound their structure is, as they have a highly unstable centre of gravity. So why wasn't a power that be making sure that we had friendlier water carriers, that did not waste it?
What about our roads? Why is it that anarchy reigns supreme on them? Why haven't we got something simple like a codebook for drivers?
Other general matters of etiquette like queuing, holding the door open for the person coming behind you rather than slamming it on their noses, personal space, personal hygeine, respecting others' freedom are all abstract concepts.
We are all busy patting ourselves on our backs about the big things - technological advancement, getting more and more MNCs to invest in our country, increasing GDP etc but IMHO, we are losing sight of the small things, things that will elevate us from also rans to a true-blue advancing country. After all, God is in the details and until we realise that, all-round development will be a foreign concept.
Posted by DesiGirl 8:15 pm 1 comments
To Aid The AIDS Victims
Thursday, May 03, 2007
There's a WHO report floated about the place that states that India has the highest number of AIDS sufferers in the world. One in seven Indians are HIV-positive, reads another scary report. But the one thing everyone is harping on now, is the smackeroo Richard Gere planted on Shilpa Shetty's cheeks. The media went to town with it; so did some idiots who decided to make a bonfire out of some effigies in honour of the occasion; la Shetty managed to get more than a few sound bytes in Indian and British media while quite a few bloggers made their feelings known on their blogs for all the world to see. That pesky little thing called AIDS awareness, the actual reason why Gere was in India had, by now, slipped out of most people's minds completely.
But there was something happening quietly in the background, that has made me sit up and take notice. Hopefully, this will make people realise what a bunch of silly fools we are and get down to the matters at hand instead.
I am talking about the launch of the Condom Bar, in Chandigarh. What a brilliant idea! Here, at last, is some positive action. Instead of taking the usual route of sweeping things under the carpet and pretending nothing is amiss, here are some people who are actively looking to counteract the rising levels of HIV in the country. And I, for one, salute them and their spirit.
The Condom Bar is a novel initiative to increase AIDS awareness in the country. It is a proper bar, serving drinks and what nots but instead of stopping there, it also does its bit in helping promote the use of condom to its patrons. Firmly believing in going the extra mile, it also has place mats offering some well-meaning advice blurbs like "Enjoy safely" and "Don't just get on. Get it on! Protect yourself, protect others". Instead of the useless chunk of mint you'd find in the saucers along with loose change, at the Condom Bar, you would find a few colourful condoms instead.
What is most commendable about this venture is that this is wholly government backed. Chandigarh Industrial & Tourism Corporation (Citco) is the driving force behind this enterprise and in order to keep the place affordable and accessible to the aam junta, the bar is doing to be run as a "non-profit operation with low-priced drinks and wholesome vegetarian food at cost prices." I am well impressed! The idea that the local government is tackling this awful issue of steadily increasing HIV victims in an informed and progressive way is refreshing and real welcome.
According to news reports, the club was opened by Pooja Thakur, a young mother and president of a voluntary counselling group for people living with HIV and AIDS. When the whole world is going hammer and tongs at amassing wealth, it is rather humbling to hear the club owner say, "Our earnings will be the awareness and the message we will help spread".
I am all for new and novel ways of finding solutions to problems. A few weeks back I saw a programme on the telly where the host Davina McCall was walking about the streets of Amsterdam's Red Light district and talking to teachers there about sex education. Why? Because teen pregnancy is on the rise in Britain and everyone wants to figure out a way to curb that.
Likewise, HIV and AIDS are on a steady incline and the more we see innovative initiatives such as the Condom bar and the better chance we have at combating such issues. I hope they succeed and we are able to see Condom Clubs across the country, promoting safe sex and AIDS awareness.
Posted by DesiGirl 6:21 pm 1 comments
Labels: AIDS
Heve(r) Ho!
Thursday, April 12, 2007
The sun shone brightly in the blue, cloudless sky. Birds were twittering, there was a slight breeze that cooled our brows and it was lushly green as far as our eyes could see. As I stood next to the lapping water, I so wished I could just lay down here, for ever and never be taken away from this beautiful vista surrounding me.
I was at Hever Castle, in Kent, England, childhood home of Anne Boleyn, the mother of Queen Elizabeth I. I can honestly say that it was one of the most beautiful places I have ever been in. Whichever direction I turned, there were picture postcard perfect scenes. Tall, shadowy trees, stood whispering through the skies. Despite the screaming children and the milling families, there was a sense of calm and serenity in the air.
The castle started its life as an ordinary farmhouse in 1270 AD. When its owner, Geoffrey Bullen (Anne's great grandfather), was made the Lord Mayor of London, the house was upgraded to a manor house, as befitted a Lord Mayor. From 1505, the castle was the home of Sir Thomas Boleyn, the 1st Earl of Wiltshire and 1st Earl of Ormonde and Anne's father. Though it is unclear if Anne was born here, there are loads of references to suggest that Anne, along with her siblings Mary and George, spent her childhood years here. Upon her death, the castle became the property of her husband, King Henry VIII, who gave it to his fourth wife, Anne of Cleves, as a part of her divorce settlement. 
The castle then changed hands a few times, fell into disrepair and was finally bought by the rich American family of William Waldorf Astor. When Astor moved to England, he bought the dilapidated castle and upgraded it to an extremely high standard. He constructed the famous "Tudor Village" to accommodate guests and built the gardens and the lake.
The current owners bought the castle in 1983 and opened it up to the general public. There are some magnificient 16th century portraits on display, as well as Anne Boleyn's prayer books and some scenes from her life. The main draw, however, are the splendid gardens. Astor expanded the existing garden to include the Italian Garden, to house his collection of Italian sculptures. There is also a beautiful Rose Garden, touted to house more than 3,000 plants. Astor also got the lake constructed, which took 748 labourers to dig and two whole years before it was ready. The latest owners are credited with the Millennium Fountain and the hugely popular Water Maze.
Situated around 30 miles from London, this is a local favourite. On a clear sunny day, it makes for a fantastic picnic spot. With acres of flowers, boating facilities on the lake and three mazes, the castle offers something for every member of the family. Entrance is priced at a modest £10.40 and is well worth every penny.
Posted by DesiGirl 1:00 am 9 comments
Labels: anne boleyn, hever castle
Feminism in a desi setting
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Fellow blogger and one of my oldest mates, apu tagged me on this. And she says we have good ole Ams to thank for it. As it is a tag, I'd like to tag my fellow fem bloggers - Suj, Dee, Premalatha as well as my fellow mommy bloggers - Mad Momma and Tharini, as well as Kishore to take the baton from me.
Right, now let's get started. What is feminism, exactly? According to the dictionary, feminism is the doctrine advocating social, political, and all other rights of women equal to those of men. Feminism in an Indian (or desi) context is a wierd thing. It is like Antartica - everyone knows what it is but no one wants to go there. To most, life goes on as it always had, as if feminism never existed.
Like I mentioned in one of my previous posts, I realised what feminism truly is and that I am a feminist only after I started blogging actively. Till then, I was going along with the Antartic effect. Having been brought up to be fiercely independent, I did not question my right to do things my way. I always thought that that was mostly thanks to my folks' outlook towards most things concerning self and sibling. But I realise now, it is thanks to them being feminists (in their own setting) that they could go with the choices they made, which in turn made it easy for me to go with my choices, my way.
But to many, this is not the case. I have heard of many, many cases where the girls were so 'protected' that many had hardly ventured into the Big Bad World on their own. S frequently jokes that I had a lot more freedom growing up than he did!
In that sense, I feel feminism is linked to your basic freedom as a child. If you, as a girl, are raised as an equal to your male siblings, then you (and your siblings) will grow up to think the same way. If, on the other hand, you are told right from the time you were a child that you must defer to your male siblings or that they come first, then chances of both sexes retaining this and forming a template to their lives, is very high.
So, what has feminism given me. Well, it has given me the right to be me. I can be my own person and not be defined as someone's child or wife or sibling or mother. I can be my own person, in my own right, charting my life the way I want. It lets me be what I want to be. Heck, it gives me the right to make that choice. It puts me in the driving seat of my life.
This basic right is denied loads of women across the country. For them, the alpha male has to make the decision - should they work full-time, do they stay at home,
can they do this or should they do that. Every time a woman is unable to act independently, she is denied the right to freedom.
In my opinion, feminism is synonymous with freedom. And for feminism to truly flourish in a desi setting, it is imperative for not just the women, but the men to become feminists as well.
Read Ams' and Apu's view points.
Posted by DesiGirl 11:08 am 5 comments
Labels: desi, feminism, feminist, india
Restaurant Review: Chilies, Basildon
Thursday, April 05, 2007
There is a rather unfortunate habit amongst us expats to view some things (or most, depending on one’s perspective) with the rather jaundiced viewpoint of ‘oh are they ill-treating me because I am an Indian / non-white?’ Whilst I am not a card-carrying member of this group, I will definitely put my hand up and admit that there have been a few occasions when I have asked myself that. More often than not, the offending situation would resolve itself to make me rethink my views. But some times, certain situations pan out in a certain way that more or less cements my belief that no matter how ‘accepting’ or ‘open’ a society prides itself to be, the reality is often a totally different concept. Last Saturday, something happened to reinforce my thinking and I would be greatly interested to see which way the readers of this post align themselves.
The past couple of weeks, I had been harbouring a hankering for a good margarita. S also kept hinting at the long overdue meet we were planning with a good (fellow Indian) mate of his from work and his wife. Deciding to kill two birds with one stone, I suggested we head for Chilies Restaurant and Bar at Basildon, which was local enough for all of us and which, more importantly, served some amazing cocktails. Plans were made and on ringing the venue, we were told that as long as we were in a group of less than eight members, we would be given a table with minimum fuss and delay. We got one within thirty minutes and I counted ourselves lucky as I recalled a past visit when we visited for a record two hours and forty-five minutes for a table for four (P was two years old then)!
We sat at our table, chatting and managed to come to a reasonably quick decision regarding the menu – made easy by the fact that three of us were vegetarian and we had just two or three mind-bending choices to make. Then we waited.
We talked about our families, which part of the country each of us were from, the languages we each spoke, our colleges, the different cities we each had lived, how we were finding living in the UK and my blogging. Still no sign of a waiter / maitre’d. And we waited.
P was getting impatient and quite a bit peckish. His enthusiasm with the kiddies pack had exhausted itself by now and he had made up his mind about what he wanted to eat. But still, there was no sign of a soul.
The restaurant was full and all around us, the staff were running around taking orders, bringing in the food, generally making sure the people were getting fed. But no one seemed to be paying us a blind bit of notice.
After waiting patiently, we decided enough was enough and we flagged one of the girls down. Who took our orders and we specified that we preferred the drinks, starters and P’s order to come in first. So it did – well, almost. One starter and P’s mains arrived together and we started tucking in, mentally imagining the beautiful pitcher of margarita.
But there was no sign of the ambrosia and we had finished devouring the garlic bread. We were desperately thirsty now and P was beginning to chant for his OJ. Another frantic hand waving resulted in a supremely uninterested girl plonking some side plates and cutlery in the middle of the table and vanishing into thin air the next minute.
This was the first time any of us had been to a proper restaurant and ended up doing part of the staff’s job ourselves. Joints like Nando’s pride themselves on their casual approach but as other patrons had had the luxury of the staff setting the table for them, we had assumed, foolishly, the same would be available to us too.
After a colossal thirty minutes, when we saw our neighbours finish their meal and exit the restaurant, we got our drinks – a pitcher of margarita, with some beer glasses. We first thought they had made a mistake. When we pointed out the fact that we were missing cocktail glasses, the girl who brought our drinks coolly explained they had run out of glasses and we had to make do.
By now, we were getting a few degrees ahead of peeved but still were determined to have a good time. So, we gamely drank our delightful margaritas out of beer glasses, imagining the salted rims and the still-absent tostada chips. Some time later, our pitcher was nearing empty, P had finished his dinner and the garlic bread was a distant memory. There was still no sign of our food – the remaining starter or our main courses.
Deciding enough was enough, we asked for a passing waitress if we could speak to the manager. The manager materialised in a few minutes, with the standard ‘hope you are having a good time’. She did not seem too shocked by our ‘no, not really.’ After complaining for a few minutes, our friend finished semi-jovially, ‘I hope you are not making us wait for our food ‘cos we are Indians’.
To which she replied: ‘No, I don’t think so.’
I was gaping at that. Having got used to a PC Britain, where at least in public people put on a politically correct mask, this nonchalance was surprising, to say the very least. The slight matter of a few patrons waiting for their food and of cocktails served in beer glasses didn’t seem to matter much and after some half-hearted platitudes, she went away to investigate. She came back, with our main courses and useless starter, and a laughable explanation of why we had been sitting there for the better part of an hour, twiddling our thumbs. The kind lady, who was ‘in charge’ of our table, was having a bad day and it was all getting a bit too much for her. Enjoy your meal now that you’ve got it.
I could not bite my tongue any more and reamed into her at the disgusting treatment meted out to us. Not once did we get a heartfelt apology or horror at having some seriously irate patrons, complaining away about every single thing.
We ate our food then in silence, most of it turning to ash in our mouths. A promising evening ruined and I couldn’t even enjoy my margarita. That was when a lady we had never seen before put in an appearance. She bustled in, full of apologies and we assured her everything was okay, all the time wondering who the heck she was. She explained that she was so busy that she was unable to pay any attention to us and she felt so close to tears to know how awful we felt.
WTF? This was not the girl who took our orders. Not unless she aged a good decade in the time since we saw her last. This was definitely the lady who was serving our neighbours and now was apologising profusely. This farce was getting ridiculous and after placating the woman we tried to carry on with our food. A few minutes later, the lady materialised one more time, armed with a scoop of ice cream for P, who gobbled it all up.
The bill, I must say, arrived without any delay and we found our delightful experience was not cheap by half. Though I wasn’t betting on it, I had thought that the management would have had the courtesy to deduct some bit off our bill, as a goodwill gesture. Well, it was obvious that goodwill was in short supply that night, especially when we were at the receiving end of it.
The only thrill we got was walking off without tipping them for treating us so nicely and making the evening a memorable one.
To think I told a friend last week that Chilies was my favourite restaurant in Britain. How things can change in the span of a few days! I think the joint should do what I suggested and put up a big board stating in no uncertain terms that folks of our sort were not welcome to partake food there. Do not start being a hypocrite at this late hour, Chilies and stick to your guns like you did last Saturday night and display the same nonchalant spirit in showing everyone what you stand for. At least this way, your august establishments will not be soiled and your staff, needlessly overworked.
Posted by DesiGirl 12:11 am 8 comments
Labels: basildon, chilies, food, racist, restaurant
Driving Us Crazy
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
No, this is not the sequel to the much-acclaimed Driving Miss Daisy. This, my dear Chennaivasis, is the story of the battle we wage every day – on our roads. I am not talking only about their condition. I am, of course, talking about our road sense – or lack of it.
Though our country can never ever say with pride that its citizens are good drivers, I think gradually the standard has degenerated into absolutely appalling levels that these days it is a wonder if you can set foot outside home and come back unscathed. A casual bang to the side of your vehicle, courtesy a whizzing scooter is the norm.
While driving, we are supposed to look out for each other. Bah humbug, say the drivers. It is one mad dash to get from one point to another. To quote a popular holiday website, the traffic lights in India resemble the start of a grand prix race, with each vehicle vying for pole position. If only our roads were as good as the ones in Monaco! No wonder there is an increase in the number of people interested in becoming Formula 1 drivers. After all, they get practice every day!
One can’t put all the blame on Chennai drivers alone. The roads play a major role in this mess. And a right mess would describe the city roads perfectly. Huge craters in the middle and massive trenches along the sides are so yesterday. The latest accessories to the Chennai road are iron girders – and lots of them! Thick, long iron girders are plunged in the middle of the road, with the trench being strategically placed to make it unfit for traffic to pass in either direction. Add the monsoon (Thank you, Lord Varuna, for your bounty!) and you have one big water feature.
Of course, the usual adornments such as the Veeranam pipe, smaller pipes, random wires and posts, vast quantities of dug-up mud, chunks of tar road and the ever popular garbage sundries all make our road a thing of beauty indeed! One wonders what must go through the minds of the Onyx workers each night, as they toil to clean these excuse of our roads.
I guess therein lies the problem – the Onyx cleaners do their bit while we are sleeping. Come morning, we see the clean roads and our hands just itch to start throwing things! We do have to give something for the poor guys to clean every night, don’t we? We don’t want to deprive them of their likelihood!
You know something? I have always wondered at the volume of mud that lies surrounding the road trench. Even after they are covered, there is still a 2 feet surplus sitting all around it, making it a mini hillock. What puzzles me is that 2 feet surplus. Where did it come from? I mean, it was dug out of the same place and the lovely corporation guys have put it all back in, haven’t they? So where did the extra bit come from, the bit that sits atop like a crown on the head? Did they dig somewhere else to get that bit? Is there an unidentified crater somewhere that has contributed to this trench?
Ok, now I am digressing.
We have identified the problems – bad roads, worse drivers. So, let us all take a moment and think. Road users – we have to stop battling one another. We all have to get from Point A to Point B. There is no point in going like a bat out of hell, only to be caught at the next signal. We might as well go slower – and safer.
Do move to Sholavaram if the spirit moves you. Bullock cart men, please exercise your pets when the city has gone to sleep.
Meanwhile, corporation Annas, please don’t wait till the roadways department lays the road to start digging. Feel free to get in there, be first! And can the wizard who sunk in 8 feet of iron girder into the middle of T Nagar’s Dr Nair Road please put up his hand and explain the mystery behind it?
Brothers and sisters of Onyx, in addition to night shift, please do work on occasional day shifts too. Then you can actually catch us red-handed, making a missile of a banana peel and missing the bin by a mile.
Lastly, can somebody please stop all the timer clocks at the signals? Even Michael Schumacher doesn’t race everyday!
[First published under 'Desi Diaries' at ChennaiOnline on Nov 9, 2004.]
Posted by DesiGirl 9:31 am 2 comments
Labels: cars, chennaionline, driving, road sense, vehicle
Most Wanted
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Before I proceed any further, I would like to clarify that I am not desperate or anything so wierdos and wackos out there, walk away now!
Let me explain the title: Most Wanted. I should actually expand it to 'Most Wanted: A friend', preferabl a gal pal. Why am I doing a chum version of shaadi.com? A long and relentless search for one, that's what.
You need a mate to hang out with, just to chill, right? Well, that's where I am drawing a blank. The ones I bump into are all okay at the outset but a little bit of digging turns up some majorly iffy characterstics.
So what the hell sort of a friend am I looking for then? Well, for starters, one that is fun. Who likes movies, music, the theatre, is a mild foodie but not a big glutton, has a healthy sense if not wicked sense of humour, loves reading, knows that blogging has nothing to do with clogged drains, doesn't think having a glass of Archers will make me Mata Hari's evil twin and most of all, this is v important, doesn't confuse being the good wife to being fused at the hip with the spouse. Oh, let's not forget, it would help if the said person was in the rough vicinity so real hanging out can happen!
This is my biggest problem. I do go out with S and our little one but at the same time, I would love to go out with a friend too, you know. But the proper shaadi-shudh desi womenfolk seem to think that once you are married, thou shalt not set foot beyond the line drawn by the hubby. That drives me nuts. And I get looked at like I am a harlot for putting such thoughts into their heads. *sigh*
You would think, in this day and age, it would be easy to find some like-minded people. Natch! And the only like minded folks I know are either spread far and wide or are virtual. I know, I know. *sigh*
I rather feel like Siddharth and co in Shankar's Boys, belting out enakkoru girlfriend venumada all over Chennai, as I sit typing this post. I know how you feel, Sid ole boy! Though not for the same reasons, mind you. (Lest the parents fear I am coming out of the closet in a rather roundabout fashion!)
So what say?
Posted by DesiGirl 8:53 am 5 comments
Labels: friendship
The Constant Companion
Monday, April 02, 2007
Anita could still remember the day clearly as if it were only yesterday. She was five years old and along with the rest of her Year 1 classmates, had been to the Theosophical Society in Besant Nagar for their school field trip. She remembered looking up at the huge trees in awe and felt tiny in comparison.
At the end of the trip, a surprise lay in store for Year 1. The lovely people at the Society had packed a sapling of a banyan tree for each of the children, a lasting memento of the day. There were gasps of excitement when the presents were handed out.
Anita couldn't wait to get home! As soon as the school bus dropped her off in the corner of her street, she raced off with the frail sapling held fast in her little hands.
'Mom! Mom!!' she screamed as she ran in.
'Don't scream Ani, you will wake the baby up. Your mother just managed to put him down for his nap.' said her grandmother.
'Ok, granny' answered Anita and tiptoed to find her mother.
Her mother was there in their room, holding her brother. Anil had just turned two and was such a terror. He took ages to fall asleep and even then, he woke up screaming at the top of his lungs if you made the teeniest noise.
Her mother turned around as soon as Anita opened the door and smiled at her daughter. 'Sh' she motioned with her finger on her lips and slowly put Anil on his cot and stepped out of the room. By the time her mother came out of the room, Anita was hopping from one foot to another in barely controlled delight. 'Mum, look what I've got' she blurted out, shoving the bag up her mother's face. Mother managed to grab hold of the bag with its precious contents and examine it herself, before her daughter did any serious damage.
'Do you know what this is, Ani?' she asked.
'Yes, mum, I do. It is a baby banyan tree. I learned about it today. Can we plant it please?'
'Well, alright Ani but you have to promise something first' said Mother.
'Yes mum anything' interjected an eager Anita.
'You must take good care of your baby tree. It will be like your baby from now on. You must water it, protect it and look after it properly, all by yourself'.
'Yes, mum, of course mum. Can we plant it now, can we can we?' chanted Anita.
Mother laughed her tinkling laugh and off they went into the back garden to find a place for Anita's baby banyan. They finally decided on a spot well away from the main path as well as the compound wall. Mother used an old ladle to dig a hole while Anita lovingly set her tree down it. They both covered the roots with moist soil and sprinkled a little water on it. Mother had to curb Anita's enthusiasm lest she flooded the poor plant on its first day.
Once the deed was done, they both sat back on their haunches to admire their handiwork. Anita had sparkles in her eyes and it gladdened her mother's heart to see her little daughter so taken up by a tree. She thought to herself that the fascination would last about 4 days before she forgot all about it and moved to the next one.
Mother was so wrong, remembered Anita. Anita never broke the promise she made. Every morning before she took her bath, she used to rush down and water her tree. It also got a special wave goodbye as she rushed out of the house on her way to the school. Anita also remembered how her father, on seeing his daughter's interest in her tree, got her a huge book all about trees. It was big and colourful and so full of interesting stuff. He also took her to the local nursery the following Saturday, where they got the proper food for the tree. They had a grand time that weekend, preparing the manure and sprinkling it and generally getting very mucky.
As Anita grew, so did her banyan. Soon, the tree became her friend, her confidant. It was there to listen to her woes after her first big fight with her best friend, in Year 7. It also stood by sagely as Anita sobbed her heart out after she got her heart broken by the boy from the next class. Its leafy branches seemed to hug her like real hands and cheered Anita greatly.
Years went by and the tree grew strong. It became a place of refuge for Anita. She used to run to it when she was told off for fighting with her brother. Once, when she failed History and her father yelled at her for the first ever time, Anita climbed up her tree and sat amidst its comforting branches, drying her tears. When her father came in search of her, he felt oddly poignant to see his daughter getting comfort from her tree.
The tree also patiently comforted Anita when her best friend's father got transferred and they moved away to a different city. It was there when Anita poured her fear of the impending Board exams and how she was afraid she might score very less, disappointing her family. It waved its leaves in glee when Anita scored 90% and hugged its big trunk.
It was also there, listening, when Anita confessed her first ever crush – her new neighbour, who was a real cutie! Anita was sitting right under her tree, engrossed in her M&B, when he popped his head over the wall and said ‘hi’! She almost swallowed her tongue!
Anita thought back to her 18th birthday party. Her parents had arranged for a special treasure hunt and she followed clues all around the house – they had hidden the best gift in the squirrel hole in her tree. In the evening, she had a great party right underneath its huge branches. Father had strung a line of paper lanterns all over the garden and it was like magic!
Her tree – not only did it bring her joy, it gladdened the hearts of her family’s too, with its stoic presence. And now, she has to leave it and go away! The very thought broke her heart. Why did she have to get married, she had no idea. For months now, she had argued with her parents, grandparents and the rest of the family and finally, the fight had gone out of her. Rajeev seemed a good man and was the son of her father’s old friend. Her parents were very pleased with him and even Anil thought he was ‘cool’, which was high praise indeed. Anita didn’t like the idea of being put on display like she was prized cattle and thank god she didn’t have to sing and dance as well! She didn’t know who would have been more embarrassed if she had broken into song, herself or Rajeev! He seemed real soft-spoken and quiet but she assumed it was for her parents’ benefit.
As Rajeev had to report back to work in a fortnight’s time, the preparations for the wedding took place in a frenzy. Mother was permanently out on shopping trips, buying clothes, jewellery or Tupperware. As she watched the things for her piling up, a strange feeling overtook her. As Anil wheeled in her shiny new suitcases, she fled to the sanctuary of her tree.
‘What did I do?’ asked Anil the world in general. ‘I thought she would be pleased!’ Father gave her ten minutes to brood and then came to her. Huffing and puffing, cursing his ripening age, he climbed the tree, wheezing ‘I am getting too old for this, Ani’ and got a grudging smile back.
‘What’s wrong, Ani? I thought you liked Rajeev’, he said.
‘Oh dad! It isn’t that! I wanted to work – get a job, earn pots of money so you and mum can retire and go on a world cruise or something. Get Anil that Tag Heuer watch he craves. I wanted to do something to ease your burden, instead of adding on to it. I don’t know, I wanted to do so many things – now it feels like my time has run out!’ finished Anita in a flood of tears.
‘Oh Ani!’ soothed Father. ‘Is this what is worrying you? I know you wanted to do s many things. It touches my heart to learn you wanted to do so much for us. But your mother and I have our own dreams for you too, Ani. We want to see you married and settled with your own family. Rajeev is a good man. He will help you grow into the person you want to be. Just because you are going to be married, it doesn’t spell the end of everything, you big silly!’
‘Yes, dad – but I haven’t done anything for you’, sobbed Anita. Father could just hold her, helpless to stem his daughter’s tears.
At last, its time. All her bags are packed and placed in the boot of the taxi. Rajeev was joking with Anil about the contents of her suitcases, wondering if she had rocks in there. Anita hugged her mother and could feel her eyes welling.
‘I wish I could stay here with you and be your little girl forever, mummy’ she whispered.
‘You will always be my little girl, my dear’, replied Mother, planting a kiss on her forehead.
‘Go with our blessings, sweetheart’, said Father. Even Anil suspiciously looked like he was going to cry.
As the taxi slowly moved away, Anita leant out of the car window and waved to her family for all she was worth. The house was getting away from her and then, slowly her beloved tree came into view.
There it was, where she and Mother had planted it, all those years ago. She could see Father’s lounging chair under its shady branches, with the sun glinting off Mother’s reading glasses, which she had once again left on the chair.
Anita could feel the worry in her stomach disappearing slowly. She knew that, though she was leaving her family and going away, her tree would be there, always. It will forever be there in the backyard, giving them shade and breeze on a hot summer’s day. More, it will be always be there with her family, a piece of her, comforting them whenever they needed.
Anita waved for the last time, with a lighter heart. It was going to be alright after all, she thought and gripped Rajeev’s hand warmly.
Posted by DesiGirl 10:05 am 2 comments
Labels: creative, short, story
What Price Friendship?
Quiet giggles in a corner
Shared jokes
Laughter and Yeats over a samosa
Bust-ups and making up
Those were the days when anything went
Angry words soon forgotten
Insults that never stuck
Fights and arguments the norm
But the feelings remained the same
Time passed
People changed
With it, the nature of friendship
Words became barbs
Looks did kill
Patience and love, non-existant.
This isn’t friendship
This isn’t relationship
This
is nothing.
And so,
here we are today,
asking
what price friendship?
Posted by DesiGirl 10:03 am 7 comments
Labels: creative, friendship, poem
Grappling With Bonnets And Fairy Tales
Saturday, March 31, 2007
'Get your Easter bonnets in by Friday, as we will be having the Easter Bonnet Parade later on in the day', stated the missive from the school. Easter bonnet? What the hell! I had visions of P walking up and down his school, looking like Peter Rabbit. Why in God's name would these boys wear bonnets in the first place anyway? After all, this is the land where the tiniest smudge of pink isn’t allowed anywhere near a boy (lest he become traumatised or gay in the future?) and here we are talking about decking them out in bonnets. That was when I was firmly steered in the direction of caps, hats and other manly accessories. No easy way out, then.
Giving in, I asked around work for ideas. 'Make a top hat - make it green so it looks like grass and then put Easter eggs and chickens on it' suggested one colleague. 'Or, you could dress up a baseball cap to make it look like a nest and place the eggs, chicks and things on it', quipped another. Whazisthis? Top hats? Nests with chicks and eggs? When did I die and come back as a Blue Peter presenter?
By now, I was panicking big time and decided to take refuge in that temple of modern materialistic society, Tesco's. And whoop-dee-doo, right at the entrance there was a massive aisle full of Easter-y things. The firang know how to make money, I tell you. Crepe paper, cardboard, balls of cottons, paints, all in a variety of colours, were stockpiled to the ceiling and harried parents were digging into them like they were manna from heaven. I did not have a clue what materials to procure and ended up getting two of everything. Which turned out to be the one smart thing I did.
Once home, the real battle began. I sat with the bag of goodies spread around me, along with other necessities like scissors, sticky tape and baseball cap and realised I did not have any glue. After a long trek for the same, I was now ready to tackle this thing - or so I thought. That was when I realised having ideas is one thing, execution is something else entirely. I sat looking at the pieces of cardboard, felt and the baseball cap alternatively, hoping the spirit of Martha Stewart would come and join me for a while and make the whole thing a doddle. As that did not transpire, I set about trying to tap into hitherto undiscovered, and possibly non-existent, wells of creativity.
As concocting a top hat from pieces of card were beyond my capabilities, especially without a compass to keep me on the curve and narrow, I decided to plump for the baseball cap / nest idea. My thought process ran somewhat as follows: cover the cap with green felt, send some brown felt through the shredder, glue the resultant strips in artistic disarray all over the now-green cap, plonk assorted bits and pieces of junk all over it and hey, bob's your uncle.
Remember what I said about thought and execution? Well, read it once again 'cos, as always, reality and my thoughts had nothing in common. For starters, the green felt refused to stick to the cloth cap, even after I slathered half a gallon of glue on it. I now had an extremely sticky ex-cap and some sodden pieces of green felt. Then, I shoved some brown felt through the shredder, hoping for some lengthy pieces of felt which I could twist to look like twigs. But the shredder decided to make a meal of it and I ended up with some brown felt mince. Pulling my hair out at the roots did not help. Not one bit. So I decided to stop fiddling with technology and cut the darned things into strips using old-fashioned scissors.
That complete, next on the menu was the lawn on which I had to lay my nest. Sticking it didn't work; stitching it proved lot more difficult. I binned the lot and watched 'House' for an hour. Contemplated committing blasphemy during one of the breaks by modelling the nest along the lines of Christ's crown of thorns. Finally, at 11:00 PM, S hit upon the idea of just laying the (spare piece of) green felt on top of the rudimentary circular cardboard crown base I had made, a la a green lawn and just plonking the nest and its assorted bits on top of it. Typically, I wasn't sure any idea of his would actually work. But as I sat plaiting the brown strips and strategically placing coloured feather and balls of cotton all over it, it seemed like a neat one after all. After grappling with it for a long and sleepy half an hour, I finally finished my creation. And boy was I one chuffed mummy or what?
P adored it when he saw it the next morning, thereby making it every bit worthwhile. I also got lots of 'ooh's and 'aah's at work so I think I may have pulled this thing off. I realise now that I got off lucky with the Dressing Up as a Fairy Tale character lark the school sprung on me last month. It was by sheer chance that I realised how seriously the other mums took this when I eavesdropped on a coven of them discussing what their children were going to show up as, the next day. Peter Pan! Tinkerbell!! Dick Whittington!!! Jack (not the Ripper, the other one - him with the Beanstalk)!!!! I would never hear the end of it if I sent my little man to school as his own adorable self. I had a major brainwave when I spotted a white sherwani of his hanging in the cupboard, unused and unloved, and made a golden crown to go with it and sent him off as Prince Charming, armed with a red rose, no less!
When I saw the other mums rolling in with huge bonnets, their girlies fighting their way in through swathes of tissue paper or trying to balance a tray of eggs on their heads, I felt rather proud of myself. I had come through this, hopefully without scarring P for life! And now, I am ready for the next challenge. Produce your own mega serial type saga? Come dressed as an eco-warrier? Discover the cure for AIDS for school science project? Easy peasy!
I am now Super Mummy, P says. I can do anything.
Bring it on!
Posted by DesiGirl 9:10 am 0 comments
Labels: bonnets, easter, mums, parade, school
