D

Disasters, when they happen, do have a tendency to happen in my vicinity. My last outing was no exception.

After a week of spending day in and day out at Pickwick's bedside, until he was pretty much sick of my face, I decided both my son and I needed a break. So, entrusting him in the care of good ol' poppy and mommy, I decided to use the services of the car to step out for a few books for self and son as I would have to continue the long vigil by his bedside. Now before I stepped out, Poppy gave me the number of the driver- a chap called Rajesh. Considering Poppy had about 15 -odd entries under the title 'driver', I have no clue, how he was unerringly able to pick out this particular chap's number, but I supposed he must have some kinda system worked out.

Things started out tamely enough, and after battling the usual 'schumis-in-training' style driving and other sundry folk with a death wish calmly crossing the road at arbitrary points, thus ensuring a steady stream of patients being treated by the local physiotherapists for whiplash, we arrived at or chosen dest. - the local roadside bookshop.

Now the driver, having discovered that the whole of Kochi had suddenly decided to become bookworms, couldn't find a parking spot anywhere close to the venue. Thus it was decided between his broken English and my broken Malayalam and some rudimentary sign language, that he'd be hovering around somewhere, circling the area and when I'd finished, I just needed to call him up, and he'd whizz along to pick me up (thank you mobiles!).

It took me all of fifteen minutes to browse, haggle (having thus brought the price of my purchases down by a princely 10 rupees) and bag my loot. Patting myself on a job well done, I was feeling refreshed, all set to face another week at the Hosp. All that was left was to summon the car and hop in.

Two calls later, the driver wasn't answering. Maybe he's battling traffic, I though. Lord knows you need all you wits about you in this city. I gave it one more shot.

On the fifth ring I hear ' 'Allo?'

Me:Ah. Erm... Yes, It's me. Come along then.

silence. Then ' yaaru aana? '

My rudimentary understanding of the language led me to say ' Now is not the time to start babbling about elephants, man. Is there some kind of procession out on the street? Hop to it! I'm waiting in the middle of the road. You can't miss me. I look exactly the same as I did half an hour ago'

More silence. Followed by some panicked mumbling and the phone being handed over to someone, who I hoped would have a bit more sense. ' 'Allo?' Here we go again...

Me: Ah. yes. This car you're in. It needs to pick me up from where the chappie's dropped me.'

The other voice: No, no! this car is now someone else!

Now this made no sense (unless you were in a transformer movie). I was assuming he meant it was now going to pick someone else up. But who? The grandparents were safely ensconced by Pickwik's bedside in charge of amusing the fella. This only meant that the chappie was doing 'nuther pick up on the job. NOT a good day to pull a double shift on the sly!

'Now listen here, Rajesh,' I say sternly, in my best 'naughy Pickiwck' voice, 'that's my car you're driving.' well, OK, so it was Dad's car, but we don't want to confuse the fella by getting into semantics now. 'You just turn right around and get back here. I'm standing opposite 'sea lord' hotel. You can't miss me.' (yes, 'Sea Lord'. and yes, it did have a picture of a merman. Can we please stop giggling and concentrate on the matter at hand, people? We may have a potential car -jacking in progress!)

'Okay! Okay!! we come now, madam!' says the panicked aide-de-Rajesh.

Much better. I think to myself. You gotta be stern with these sorts. There no point in... thoughts interrupted by urgent ringing of phone. It was dad. 'Hey Pops!' I say. 'You'd never believe...'

Pops: Nevermind all that, sense. This driver, Rajesh

me: yes, yes, I know. would you believe it?

pops: you do? but how, dash it? and erm.. HOW?

me: Pops, calm down! I've got it under control. I told him to come pick me up right away, see?

Pops: Told who? From where?

me: (cue much eye rolling and accepting the fact that pops might be hitting senility a tad early) Rajesh. From where I'm standing.

pops: But you couldn't have. You don't have his number

me: (doing a quick mental check on symptoms : memory loss, gibbering... maybe a brain scan was in order) You gave me the number, Pops, remember? I called him up. The Chap was acting funny at first, but I gave him a proper talking to. He'll be down here in no time.

pops: Ah. Er. Sense... see that number I gave you, well, it's for Rajesh alright, but this Rajesh isn't the right Rajesh. This is another Rajesh who isn't exactly driving our car at the mo'. In short, it's the wrong Rajesh.

The head swam. I tottered. I needed to sit down. I waited for the chorus of Right Rajesh and Wrong Rajesh to die down.

'So the poor sod...' I whispered...

But Poppy wasn't through yet...

pops: but don't worry poppet - I've spoken to the right Rajesh - the one who's actually driving our car, not the wrong Rajesh, who's probably in someone else's car... and he's on his way to pick you up. Right-ho, then. Pip-pip.

and just on cue, 'Right -Rajesh' arrives with the vehicle.

I meekly got into the vehicle and drove to the hospital in silence. I wasn't coming out again until sanity had returned to the world. And parents stopped naming their offspring Rajesh.

In the meanwhile, somewhere out there is a Rajesh, who's undergoing counselling coz he quivers uncontrollably everytime the phone rings.

Lessons from child to mother

Lessons that Pickwick's taught me in the past month:

• Life throws a curve ball at you when you least expect it. If you're not ready, it's apt to hit you in the face, and you might end up with a broken nose - or a broken femur as the case may be.
• Having failed to catch said curve ball, get back up on your feet real quick. That's the only way you'll know if you're fine or, when you collapse in a heap, unable to support yourself - you need to get professional help.
• Now that you're at the doc's, learn to swallow the bitter pill. Just coz you haven't seen the x-ray, doesn't mean the bone isn't broken. It will need need mending.
• Time is relative. It can always be measured as the space between chocolate breaks
• Your real family is the one that calls you/ writes to you/ sends you a hand made get-well-soon card that you can always go back to when there's nothing good on the telly.
• Your phone's pretty useless unless it has at least 2 games and 6 of your favourite songs
• There's no such thing as listening to a favourite song too many times. And however often you listen to it, it'll still have the power to cheer you up.
• If some one objects to listening to a song one more time, he can always listen to your personal rendition of the song. Listening to the original might suddenly become a whole lot less objectionable.
• Life is a battle of wits between you and your oppressors. Every time they think of ways of making your life miserable, or immobile (apparently for your own good), you need to think of new ways of outsmarting them by contorting your body into impossible positions.
• There's always a silver lining. The number of days you're tied down in bed is directly proportionate to the number of chocolates you'll receive, and be allowed to consume by guilt - ridden adults.

Pick -asso

That's Pickwick's first recognisable work of art. It's a doggie, in case you couldn't figure out what it was... it's got 2 eyes, a nose, and mouth and 2 legs... *sigh* my son's a genius!

Que Sera Sera

If Pickwick’s antics could give any indication of future careers, he’d be…

A Politician: Coz whenever the Baa-lamb comes over for a cuddle, he plays the part of the Moral Police.

An Actor : Coz he’ll do just about anything for a round of applause.

A Chef: Coz he loves to stir things (up)

A Banker: Coz he knows the currency of chocolate is flattery

An Engineer: You should see the delight he has in stacking up towers – and the greater delight when it all comes tumbling down

A Singer: He SO love the sound of his own voice

A Star: Coz he loves playing dress- up (yes, the bindis, the bangles, the hair bands – the works!)

An Activist: He goes on strike every time the channel forgets to air his favourite ads (‘baby, you can’t control what goes on air…’ is met with a ‘not-yet-but-just-you-wait’ look)

An Astronaut: Coz everytime we ask him where he wants to go, he looks up and says ‘Moon’! (Apart from the occasional, rainbow, and for some strange reason, Bruges)

A Sports Star: If jumping from high places without a parachute could ever become a sport

An Artist: coz he’ll draw a tiny squiggle and launch into an elaborate explanation as to how that’s a plane flying through a cloud and the shadow of the bird on that plane.

A Marketeer: Coz he’ll do his best to convince you that he’s a good boy for eating all his chocolate and politely asking for more from your share.

An IT guy: He’s managed to crash 2 systems, pluck out 3 keys from the key board and ruin 1 mouse in his short lifespan. I’m sure he’s not through yet.

A Doctor: Coz he loves giving people ‘Medicine’ for ‘Owwie’ (never mind that he’s the reason for the ‘Owwie’)

A Mathematician: Coz he thinks, logically, three- teen should precede fourteen, and nineteen ought to be followed by twen-teen

A Vet: Coz he loves to use Great Danes like his own personal Pony, and wants to pet the spider, the pigeon, the tiger, the bear, the fox, the ladybird…

Whatever the future may hold, I know what I'm going to be:
The Proud Mommy: who'll be standing behind him, egging him on, shouting herself hoarse, sporting prematurely greying hair, having the first-aid kit on standby and the emergency room number on speed dial.

resolutions, then and now

What a difference a decade makes...

Then: this year, i shall NOT get drunk.
Now: This year I'm hoping to go to a party which serves drinks that are Not in a spill-proof cup

Then: This year, I shall meet my prince Charming
Now: This year, i hope the Prince still remains charming

Then: Greatest Achievements: radical new building design
now: Greatest Achievements: potty training Pickwick

Then: Most often heard singing: Comfortably Numb
Now: Most often heard singing: Do Re Mi

Then: Ambition: Aga Khan Award for Architectural Excellence
Now: Ambition: Making it home before Pickwick's asleep

Then: idea of a Fun night out: Noisy Disco getting pickled
now: Idea of a fun night out: Any Night out is fun, as long as it's a. Child friendly
b. resistant to breakage
c. lets you get back home without any trips to A & E

Then: fun adventure – para gliding in Goa
Now: fun adventure – a guilty trip to the movies minus Pickwick

Then: happiest when – alone with work and music
Now: happiest when – alone with Pickwick and Music

Then: late nights – back home at four, nap, shower and out of the house at seven
Now: late nights – back home at eleven, sing baby to sleep, load dishwasher, load washing machine, do three sentences of quiet reading, and just as your head touches the pillow, it's morning again – as happily pointed out by a Gleeful Pickwick bouncing on your tummy

Then: Tummy – flat and meant for flaunting
Now: tummy – soft and meant for supporting little (and not-so-little)heads while sleeping

Then: pencil test – passed with flying colours
Now: wont even pass a rolling pin test

Then: when buying clothes, make sure they fit, and the rest is taken care of by mommy
Now: when buying, make sure they're stain resistant, crease resistant and drool resistant. And oh – wait for the sales.

Then: choosy about food – I'm not putting that into my mouth
Now: food? As long as I'm not cooking, who cares?

Then: idea of a good house – fit for the architectural digest
Now: idea of a good house – one where Pickwick wont manage to cause major harm to either himself or the furniture

Then: Idea of travel - 2 pair of jeans and plenty of clean undies, trusty SLR
Now: Idea of travel - 2 pairs of jeans, plenty of clean undies, baby buggy, six pairs of spare clothing, healthy snacky food, juice, sunhat, first aid kit... and baa lamb if there's space

Then: Nothing cheers you up like good food and the company of good friends
NOw: Nothing cheers you up like good food and the company of good friends

Glad to know some things never change...

My Day in Pictures

Just so you know, my life in the parallel universe is occupying far too much of time. Travel time has doubled thanks to a switch in office premises (with no relocation or disturbance allowance, I might add), so I though I should let you in on my day (stop yawning already! i haven't even begun!!)

Buskers - The firang version of our train singers. A lot of them are very talented - much like our home grown variety, and of course we have a fair bit of Godawful screechers as well - again, much like home. The difference? it's all in the presentation, baby!

Pickwick playing peek-a-boo in my closet. He loves it there. Always unerringly manages to dig out my most embarassing Fashion faux Pas

The Picadilly line. My route to office. Takes blooming ages!

Ah! Poems on the underground. An endless source of amusement.

Men at work. A much better way to amuse myself. :)

I'm not being pessimistic- The Glass IS empty!

On the way back home. It's all a blur by this time

Ironies

Life's little ironies:
Now That I'm working, I have something besides Pickwick to write about. But Now That I'm working, I can think of Nothing but Pickwick worth writing about.

My workplace is the one place which has so many Indians I'll never feel out of place. My work place has so many Indians, there is no place!

Lunch Hour is fun, coz you don't have to bother explaining the contents of your dabba to all and sundry. Lunch hour also means you have to bring enough in your dabba for everyone around you.

An hour for lunch is perfectly fine. An hour post 5:00 pm is also perfectly expected.

Work is challenging, it keeps me on my toes. Work is so challenging, I have to be on my toes.

Now that I'm earning, we'll spend a bit more. What we're spending on is daycare for Pickwick, which hardly leaves anything for spending at all.

Work's a great source for inspired posts. Work's the reason I don't post as often

Pickwick's Gandhian Habits

Croeso i Arddunol Caerdydd

Cardiff Bay

The sculpture outside the Visitors' Centre

View From the Visitors' Centre

Cardiff Castle

The dragon- synonymous with all things 'Cardiff-ean'

The town crest

Cardiff Bay Visitors centre

Pickwick having fun at the millenium centre

Looking up from the castle well

Peahen decided to investigate the food scraps with her chicks

Fort entry

Duck swimming at the bay

Pickwick Capers

Did a few rudimentary toons on strip creator- here they are
MOre to follow post refinement.

Sleepless in Mumbai

*sigh* My son is growing up. Last night was the first night he didn’t want to nurse…until 4 in the morning! That of course didn’t stop me from getting up on auto pilot every couple of hours, and it didn’t stop him from wanting to be rocked back to sleep during my semi-wakeful bouts. Hubby, naturally was blissfully unaware of the turmoil in my mind (Why isn’t he nursing? Is he sick? Maybe he doesn’t like the taste of milk anymore… what if he refuses to drink any more milk? So now my milk is not good enough for him, huh? Just like a man to want something one instant, and the moment he gets it, he loses interest! Ha! ), after a restful nights’ sleep wakes up, smiles pleasantly and asks for coffee. Poor chap. It was the wrong thing to have asked. I nearly bit his head off, and he hurriedly retreated to the bathroom with his morning paper, and refused to emerge until sanity made a comeback.

In the meanwhile, the other man in my life was up and about and smiling sunnily as though he had no hand in driving his poor mother up the wall with worry. Still, I have chosen to look at the bright side of this new development.

1. Longer hours of sleep- translating to black circs. around the eyes retreating to manageable levels. Now I can stop looking like a reality show participant.
2. More time can be spent away from Pickwick- meaning we can now sneak in that odd movie or two.
3. Pickwick will (hopefully) not scream blue murder every time we step out with him coz he wants me to nurse him in the middle of a mall/ restaurant/ train/ wedding/ funeral and other public places with absolutely no privacy
4. My bust can now return to normal proportions, and (again, hopefully) head northwards again.
   
   I was just beginning to cheer up again, when Pickwick looks at me, gives me a killer smile (complete with just one tooth) and promptly settles down on my lap to nurse.
   OK. So maybe it isn’t just time yet for point four. But we’re getting there. In the meanwhile, I’m planning a killer wardrobe to be worn at the beach, all in my head.

Back Room Business

I have seen the backs of more restaurants and pubs than I care to remember. Now I know what you’re thinking… get your mind out of the gutter- that’s NOT how Pickwick was conceived. In fact it is precisely because of Pickwick that I have the … er… privilege of visiting these places. Well, it’s either visiting the back room, or flashing unsuspecting customers, making them swallow their soup the wrong way. Very unsettling. And totally bad for business. So in the interest of his regulars, the owners/ managers of these places generally give me a guided tour of their back rooms.

The back rooms Or in some cases glorified broom closets) of these restaurants are mighty interesting places. Not only do you find the occasional odd creatures all limbs intertwined (which makes you immediately want to separate them with a water hose and yell at them while holding Pickwick aloft ‘Exhibit A’) but also the friendly neighborhood spider (who’s NEVER as delectable as the movies), the inquisitive rodent and despicable stars of ‘Joe’s apartment’ (why aren’t they on the endangered list?)

What is interesting to note is you learn a lot about the place and the people who work there from the back rooms. For example, you see a neatly folded trouser and shirt all nicely tucked into a plastic bag, and you KNOW you want that man serving you at the table. You see the carelessly tossed jeans along with the body hugging t-shirt and you can safely surmise that this man is here to fulfill his tinsel town dreams. You see the worn half shirt neatly pressed, and you can imagine the wife faithfully ironing out this chap’s shirts and he trudges off to work. Once you head back to your table it then becomes an interesting game- to put a face to the clothes in the back room. Naturally these are often met with very strange looks- since this is probably the first time any patron will be looking so hard at the waiters and Maitre D’- with a knowing smirk on her face, no less…

You can also hazard a guess if the water’s safe to drink at this place, from the back rooms- I mean one look at where they store their tipple and as Wodehouse would put it- All Is Revealed. You may well wonder where all this is leading to- and I don’t blame you- in this post I have rambled on more than usual (which is like saying that the Mahabharata was just a tad long-ish). At the risk of sounding repetitive, All, as they say, will be Reveled- I’m dabbling with the idea of starting off a restaurant critique from a ‘back-room’ point of view. Just wanted to know if it would pique anyone’s interest or am I the only odd-ball restaurant voyeur in blogdom.

Irwin Lives!

It is just like the Polterigeist, only, in reverse. Somehow, the spirit of Steve Irwin has managed to enter my son thru' the telly! there's no other logical explanation for it...
... I'm not much of a fan of watching creatures behind bars for no fault of theirs, so I tend to avoid most zoos (Also, I have been asked by certain curators to keep a safe distance from the primates, as apparently, I make them nervous). I especially made this a point while I was carrying Pickwick. Neither me nor my husband have ever campaigned for the SPCA, PeTA or any such group- not because we don't feel for the poor things having to share the earth with us humans, but simply because we're really not the campaigning types. I didn't even campaign for my own elections as school captain (I got elected by deafult- all the other contestants fell ill or discovered lurrve- both of which have remarkably similar symptoms, by the way), simply beacuse it involves a lot of, you know...work!

so how else can you explain the fact that my son's favourite method of locomotion resembles that of an Aardvark- as demonstrated bythe previous post. And that's not all- he's taken to making sounds like a pelican (which causes me to go into an instant panic attack and I end up vigorously thumping a surprised Pickwick on his back). Most recently, he's started to practice hopping on our laps like a kangaroo. He never tires of this activity, and he results are evident on all our bruised thighs.
Hence I have concluded that it's the ghost of Irwin that's possessed him, and we have patiently been taking him out in the sun and urging him to 'go towards the light'. Passers-by have not taken kindly to this urging and make hissing sounds- which seems to excite Pickwick all the more. We wish Irwin to be at peace and have erased Animal Planet from the telly favourites. Pickwick in the meanwhile has learn a new word which sounds suspicoiusly like 'bee-u-tee'

P.S. Since publishing this post last night, Pickwick has develeoped strange new symptoms where he creeps up on your unsuspecting hand, and does a complete salt-water croc style stealth attack, including the death roll. Things Seem to be getting worse before the get better(I hope...)