There's no place like Home!

No, really, there is, quite literally no place like India. The land of so much colour, contrast and some incredible people.
Let's start off the journey with God's Own Country, shall we - Kerala.

Yes, this is how people travel in the monsoons, one handed bicycle riding is quite the rage

Oh. you were expecting something more conventional? Like beaches and backwaters? Fear not! we have that too!

yes, yes, three very excited children at the beach...

...which they had all to themselves. Almost

More beach

and backwaters. 

Did I mention Fort Kochi? That is a different animal altogether. We decided to travel by the Kerala Water Transport (Arun having long ago decided that the rickshawallahs were bleeding us dry and he was having none of it)

who knew? Graffiti filled walls in a communist state

The chinese fishing nets strictly serve the function of  tourist attraction. The actual fishing is done by that guy crouching below it with a string in his hand

In the barges, all manner of vehicles and people abound. I'm surprised it didn't have people hanging off the rails. 

My favourite bit was this though- in our balcony. These little sun birds building their nest.

Incredibly shy things. Had to stay well hidden to capture them in action.

I also happened to spend a few days in Mumbai *sigh*. Not long enough. Never long enough. Although I had more than enough of the death-wish laden traffic.

ONLY in Mumbai will you find posters that were made by posh people for posh people, never mind that the aam-aadmi is never going to get the LoTR* reference (*a friend kindly helped me correct my literary reference. I had erroneously attributed the quote to GoT. Thank you, Amruta!) 

soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur...

Re-use! Re-cycle! even if it's an old wheelchair and the man is using it as a balloon stand. 

In a country where cricket is a religion, seems a fitting monument to the God.

morning walkers

This, is NOT a haunted house. This is, in fact a dear friend's office space. I am happy to report, they are still alive as we publish this.

Bombay was not all concrete jungle. there were patches of hope.

Naturally, no trip to India can be complete without the festivals, and we had our fair share - Raksha Bandhan, Gokulashtami, Ganesh Chathurthy and Onam!

No onam is complete without a Pookalam, is is?

Our clay Ganpati. home-made and prayed. And immersed. Pudhchya Varshi Lavkar yaa!!

That is not Pickwick turning suddenly brave. That is a very life-like Elephant Mannequin all decked up for Onam  

There were of course, the incredible contrasts, from beauty being appreciated on the ramp to being neglected on the road...

...from pets being lovingly brought up to animals being cruelly imprisoned...

... but most of all, it is the sum of the people that make up incredible, inimitable India! Until next time, I will miss you.

Gee-Whizz

Yesterday morning started like just another sunday. Late. With the kids having to drag you out of bed.
When we finally cracked our eye open, we were greeted to a glorious, sunny day (well deserved, after a week of miserable wetness) and the roar, yes, roar of planes whizzing overhead.
Now, normally. I'm not much of a motorhead. Planes and speeds and engine stats do not roll off my tongue. But when you have planes overhead doing this, you have to stand and gawp.

These were the Baltic bees. They were performing at the Bucharest International Air show 2014

 and they made such pretty shapes in the sky!!

Then we witnessed a whole host of other planes doing this: (If you expect me to spew names, you are looking at the wrong person. I leave that in the capable hands of the baa-lamb. I just went, 'ooh! pretty!!')

I still can't believe we were lucky enough to witness this from out balcony. It was like our own, private Air-show. Towards the close of play, we got back from dinner just in time for the Piece de Resistance:

Look at that formation! I can't even...

We had a whole host of jumpers, with the final one unfurling the Romanian flag!

Good show, Romania! Can't wait for what this country shows us next!

Have kids? Must travel!

The hubby and I love travelling.  When we first met, we used to take off practically every weekend, when my job allowed it (my job involved a lot of travel as well. I thought it was one of the coolest parts of the job). Then we had a kid. And another. (Don’t worry, we’ve stopped now). But we still love travelling. And the question I hear most often from friends is “How do you do it?” Well, it’s largely on a hope and a prayer, and yes, a teeny tiny bit of advance planning. Otherwise, for the most part, travelling remains a much-loved family activity. Along the way, we’ve managed to learn a few things that make the vacation stress-free (for me) and (hence) enjoyable for the family. 

... Read on here

Of spontaneous picnics and such

Summers. I love summers. It’s the time of sunshine, happy faces, picnics and pollen (the last part isn’t what I love about summers, but it is what it is). So last Sunday the hubby suggests we go for a picnic. Out of the blue. And here’s what followed... (read on http://www.yowoto.com/posts/what-a-spontaneous-picnic-looks-like-in-a-parents-world)

Bulgarian Adventure

Taking advantage of the long-ish weekend, we decided to head on over to Bulgaria, deciding it was time to sun ourselves at the seaside. And so we booked ourselves at sunny beach. Only, we forgot to book in the sun as well. So there we were at Sunny beach, which is the only bit of 'sunny' we got at this beach. We had perhaps jumped the gun a bit and had arrived just before the start of the season. Hence we were greeted by rows of shut shops, eateries that taunted us with 'open non-stop' signs, when they opened. Also rows and rows of abandoned parasols on a rather windy beach. All rather sorry looking. But the upside was that we had some fantastic views all to ourselves.

The baa-lamb (after getting slightly apoplexic about finding the hotel wi-fi completely useless) rooted through the web and discovered that we were just a stone's throw from a UNESCO heritage site and that's when we decided the head off to Nesebar. (I knew there was a reason I still love the man)
I think I was slightly tempted to buy property in this place from the millions I am going to win at the Euromillions lottery. It would still leave behind enough for the place in Bruges. :)

Here, we spotted a few shops that were open, but were slightly apologetic about it.

They also had slightly strange welcome signs on sale.

The kids had a blast too. They visited a shore made completely of shells, and spotted their first jellyfish (the sea was full of them. Jellyfish and seaweed. Just the thing one needs while wading in the sea. Why, in a spa you'd be forking out hundreds of pounds to anoint yourself with these things. You got these here absolutely free!)

We even had a surprise visit from a school of Dolphins. I was so excited to see them, I completely forgot to click any photographs until it was too late, and all I got was this teeny shot.

All in all, good trip. Definitely worth a visit once again, this time when the shops are actually open, please. :)

CSAAM 2014 -Making the internet safe for kids

*image: www.tangischools.org

‘Mummeeee… Can I please go online? I need to find out something for my history homework…’ lines I’m beginning to dread more and more as my son grows older. With the onslaught of the world wide web, suddenly, I am no longer in control of what information is seen, received, and even sent out by my child. What is even more worrisome is that it isn’t long before he goes on social networking sites and I’m not really sure if he’s ready for that. I definitely am not.

But, I have resigned myself to the fact that this is one of those necessary evils one has to accept and the best way to protect my baby is to ensure he – and more importantly I am made aware of the perils of the internet.

Having researched the net (where else?) and hunted down leads, here’s what I’ve found:

• There are plenty of government organisations and Quasi- government organisations and NGOs happy to give us information about using the internet safely.
• Hardly any of them are from India.

This despite India having the world’s third largest internet-using population[1].  The ones that do exist often have information that is confusing, hardly easy to read, let alone understand and implement. There are, of course a few brilliant ones, like McAfee Cybermum India, but these are proving more the exception than the rule.

How, then, do you keep your child safe from the big, bad world of internet-abusing strangers? Well, like in the real world, I suppose with a bit of common sense along with a lot of awareness.  But before we go further, ensure that your child knows to come to you if something does go wrong when they are online. They need to come to you if they are worried or even curious about something they’ve seen or heard online. That’s something that can’t be stressed enough. You don’t want a child who is hiding bigger problems from you for fear of being punished or chided.

*Image: www.thekindtips.com

Internet safety for children (these are wonderfully practical tips I found on www.getsafeonline.org )

Advice if your child is under 5 years old

•  I’d start by setting limits for the amount of time they can spend on the computer/ tablet
• Kids are smarter than we give them credit for. Set up passwords/ PINs for machines or programmes you don’t want your child to have access to.
•  On machines they do have access to, please set parental controls that ensure that your child can view only appropriate content.  There are many software programmes available at various prices that work in different ways.  If there’s a family computer in use, ensure that the homepage is set to a safe and trusted website.
•  When buying or downloading apps or games for your child, check if the age ratings are appropriate for your child. Please ensure that the grandparents/ baby sitters or other primary carers for your child are given a list of what programmes/ games your child is permitted to watch or play in your absence.
•  When using public Wi-Fi at a café or the airport or a hotel, remember that they do not include parental controls.  I’d be a bit wary about handing over your mobile or tablet (still connected to the internet) to your little ones, it may result in them watching/ accessing inappropriate content.

If your child is aged 6 to 9 years old

•  All the rules that are mentioned above would pretty much apply to this age group as well. In addition, sit with your child and agree upon a list of websites your child is allowed to visit.
•  Ensure that they do not reveal personal information about themselves and the family online, such as your home address, school, etc.
•  Keep all devices that connect to the internet (computers/ gaming consoles) in a family space, so if your child stumbles across something inappropriate, you are immediately aware of it.
•  You’ll need to have a chat with your older children on what they should or should not be sharing with/ showing their younger brothers or sisters on the internet and in the games.
•  You might need to have a chat with other parents in your child’s school and circle of friends as to what age they’re buys devices for the children that connect to the internet, but form your own opinion. Don’t succumb to ‘But ABC’s mother allows him/her…’ if you think your child isn’t quite ready yet.

Advice if your child is aged 10 to 12

• At this age, most children get their first connected device, so it’s best to lay down the rules for usage and put in the age-appropriate settings before they have it. The internet does not guarantee anonymity. The best advice would be to tell them to not do or say anything they wouldn’t be comfortable say or doing face-to-face.
• However much your child is tempted to show off his latest gadget, make them aware of the risk of theft/ loss and attracting unwanted attention in public places.  Phones and other gadgets should be well hidden when they’re not at home.
• Have a chat with your child about online etiquette. Discuss what is safe and appropriate to post or share online. Make them aware that once it’s out there, it’s out there for everyone to see forever. No matter what the security and privacy settings are. Even if they go back and delete it later.
• This is the time when there’s a burgeoning interest in their own changing bodies and those of the opposite sex. They may want to look it up on the internet. You might need to check the content your browser throws up if and when they do want to do these searches. They also need to understand the importance of not sending other – whoever they might be- inappropriate pictures of themselves and/ or of themselves (or anyone else) in the nude.
• Most social networking sites have a minimum age of 13. However these are easy enough to circumvent with the right know-how. It’s important for your child to understand why these age limits exist and that he or she abides by them.

Things to discuss with your child:

• Do you really know everybody on your ‘friends’ list?
•  Do you know how to use and set privacy and security settings? Can you show me how?
•  Do you ever get messages from strangers? If so, how do you handle them?
•  Do you know anyone who has made plans to meet someone offline that they’ve only ever spoken to online?
• Are people in your group of friends ever mean to each other, or to other people, online or on phones? If so, what do they say?
• Has anyone ever been mean to you? Would you tell me about it if they were?
•  Has anyone at your school, or anyone else you know, taken naked or inappropriate photos and sent them to other people, or received photos like that?

Advice if your child is aged 13 or over

• Ah, the wonderful teens. Your child may think he/ she is adult enough and may not want to listen to everything you have to say, but ensure that they know their boundaries. Reinforce the lessons. Even if you think it’s falling on head-phoned ears.
• Now would be a great time to keep yourself updated with technology that you child uses, maybe ask them to teach you, give you a few pointers. Not only would this be a great platform to discuss your concerns with your child, but it also keeps you up to speed with what programmes/ apps are currently being used by your child.
•  Your child may now be old enough to disable/ circumvent the security settings you’ve put in place, so you might be better off having a frank discussion about their body image/ sexuality of themselves and others online. Often the information available online is misleading and sometimes downright dangerous. Discuss and agree with your child in advance what is acceptable online behaviour.
• I may be saying this too often, but there’s no such thing as too much discussion with your child. Have open, non-judgemental discussions about posting harmful, hurtful, untrue comments, online bullying, sexting and webcam usage.
•  If you have a budget of how much a child can spend online/ on gadgets/ apps/ music/ gaming/ talk-time, let them have control of the budget, but access to your credit cards and your financial details should still be a while away. Also ensure your child knows about what is legal to download and what isn’t (pirated software, music, etc.)

Most of all, I’d say, use your common sense. If something doesn’t feel right, err on the side of caution.  I’d rather be the overprotective, over reacting mother that my child hates than the ‘cool mum’ who ignored the warning signs. Happy surfing!

Other Useful links:

http://www.childnet.com/parents-and-carers

http://www.digizen.org/digicentral/roleplay-scenarios.aspx

http://www.saferinternet.org.uk/advice-and-resources/parents-and-carers/parents-guide-to-technology

---

[1] Source: Wikipedia 

Romania in Focus: through the lenses of expat women

So. if you want to know what I've been to while being holed away in Romania, part of the time was spent doing this:

Photo credit: Mihai Constantineanu

This book and a photo exhibition featuring some of that photographs from the book was launched at the Crowne Plaza hotel, Bucharest last evening. Apart from being so much fun, being part of this lovely group of expat women who happen to share a common love for photography, what really stands out is the dedication of the ladies who want to give back something to this beautiful country.

Photo credit: Mihai Constantineanu

The proceeds from the sales of this book as well as from the prints (which are also on sale) will go to six worthy charities in Romania. This is the 5th Year of the project, but my first, and hopefully, not the last.
I'll try and post the pictures soon, of all the photographs, so you can order prints if you'd like (they'll look great adorning your office space or wall at home), and what the hey, I'll try and get it signed for you by the photographer :) . Also, the book makes great gifts (besides making you feel really good that you're helping out some really worthy causes), so let me know if you'd like some copies.

Photo credit: Mihai Constantineanu

Cheers!
R

There are no Zombies

I've never attempted this genre before, although I'm an avid reader. So, when the writing group I belong to set the exercise of 'spooky', I though I'd give it a decent bash.  It's a short story. Very very short. But as they say, baby steps. I do hope you like it.

THERE ARE NO ZOMBIES

“But Amma, it’s true! Raj Mamoo said so.” Insisted Arnav. Like that should end all arguments to the contrary.

“Raj mamu was pulling your leg, Arnav. Zombies will NOT be out roaming the streets today because it happens to be a full moon.” Insisted amma as she stirred her subzee.  There was a wonderful aroma coming from the kadhai, and normally Arnav would have been curious enough to peer into the kadhai to find out what he’d be having for dinner, but this was far more important. It wasn’t just any full moon, it was Friday the 13^th. Which meant come night time it was going to be Zombie central. And Amma and Appa just wouldn’t believe him. Well, what did they know? He’d seen it happen in that ‘thriller´ video that mamu had shown him. And it was best to be prepared.

Arnav grabbed the phone on his was up and dialled a number as he shut the door of his room. “Hello? Mamu? How do we kill Zombies?”  Arnav listened intently to the instructions being given.

“Oh. So salt? Any salt? You throw it at them?” … “But how can you get them to eat it?” “Right, so you’ll call me as soon as you figure it out? Pucca? Okay bye.” So mamu hadn’t quite gotten that bit sorted yet. Maybe he should think about it too.  What if you put a fake body and put some salt on it and the zombies eat it thinking its real? That could work. But where would you get a fake body? And would they fall for it? Were zombies also stupid?

He was still mulling over this problem when amma called him for dinner. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but if he didn’t head down now, he’d have another 30 lines added to his punishment. That would take his tally up to 50 this week. Not something he wanted to spend his weekend doing.

“Anu, there’s no salt in this subzee” complained appa. Appa was busy on his iPad, and only occasionally glanced up as if to reassure himself that he was still on planet earth. “Nonsense, Sree. You’re permanently wanting more salt in everything. You really should cut down on it. Bad for your heart” 

“This lady will suck the flavour out of everything!” mumbled dad as he reached for the shaker and liberally doused his subzee with salt. Mum glared at dad and then looked at Arnav. “Babu, amma has to go out tonight for some work. Will you be a good boy and go to bed on your own?”

“No, Amma, don’t go! It’s not safe…! “ says Arnav, alarmed. “They will get you too.”

“Who?” Asks appa, setting down the iPad “who is brave enough to face this woman? Especially when she’s in a bad mood?” jokes appa, with a wink.  Why weren’t they taking him seriously? This was so not good.

“Raj has filled his head with some Zombie nonsense. Now he can’t stop thinking about it. There are no such things, Babu” Amma says, snorting.  “Zombies, Arnav?”asks Appa “what do they look like? And why today?”

“They’re dead people, appa, only, they don’t know it, you see. And they eat people, see?” says Arnav, abandoning his roti. He had to make at least one of them see reason.  “So why just today, Arnav? What do they do the rest of the days, and er, nights?”

Arnav thought about it. He started chewing on the roti and subzee again. Dad was right, there really was very little salt in the subzee.  “Maybe it’s something about the combination of Friday, 13^th, and full moon. Maybe you need something powerful like that to make them come alive?” “And maybe they can’t help themselves? They’re hungry after not eating for so long?”

“Can we please stop taking about all this Zombie nonsense now? I’ve had enough of this. Babu, remember, straight up to bed. Right, Appa?”

“Hm.” Says appa and whispers “Don’t worry. We’ll have a little ice-cream before you brush, after amma leaves.” Arnav was now torn between his love for ice-cream and his desire to keep amma off the streets. Amma wasn’t about to listen to him. Might as well have the ice-cream. “But I’m not going to bed until amma returns” he thought to himself.

Four hours later, Arnav was snoring softly with the torch resting on his chest, when something woke him up. He wasn’t sure what the noise was, but he heard a shuffling downstairs. Maybe Amma was home! He crept downstairs and saw a shadowy figure outside the door. Did zombies come in uninvited? Arnav wasn’t sure if it was zombies or vampires that needed an invitation. But he wasn’t taking any chances. “If you’re anyone apart from Amma, you’re not invited” he whispered.  The front door was now being opened, slowly, silently. Arnav's heart was now thudding in his chest. He wanted to run upstairs, but was scared that he might alert the zombie/ intruder to his presence. Oh he could scarcely breathe now... the figures was now inside. He wanted to run upstairs to appa, but it was too late now. The figure continued advancing towards the stairs. The moonlight from the window suddenly threw the figure’s face in sharp relief.

It was Amma! Thank God! “Amma!” cried Arnav as he raced down the stairs. He almost stumbled in his haste to get to her, and hugged her legs tight. Amma’s pallu fell over him like a protective blanket and he felt safe again.

“Did you have a good time, Amma? Who did you meet? Appa went to bed looong ago…” said Arnav as he continued hugging her. “What are you doing, amma, that tickles!” said Arnav as his mum as she nuzzled his neck. “And you’re so cold. It must be freezing outside! Amma, really, stop! Amma, AMMA, AMMA, stop, it’s hurting me, STOP amma, WHY ARE YOU BITING ME, AMMA? NO, AMMA, nooo” screamed Arnav, until he was too weak to scream anymore.  The last thing he remembered was amma’s glazed look and sharp fangs dripping with blood. His blood. Raj mamu was wrong after all, he thought. There are no Zombies out there. It was Vampires.

Sinaia,Romania

Apart from learning the language and finding out that Romanians as a whole are a very friendly bunch, We've been discovering the joy of affordable skiing and skating. Both were attempted for the first time last weekend and I am happy to report no signs of any permanent damage to the family (despite Pickwick and the Bossy Baby's best attempts to drive us round the bend with 163 'are we there yet?'s and the Baa Lamb trying his best to demonstrate that the best way downhill was on your behind).
Also managed to click a few pictures along the way. Enjoy!
I, meanwhile, have to return to doing the laundry and making peace with the fact that we have come home to an empty refrigerator and no chaat walla in sight. *sigh* Also, school runs. *sigh*

The Sun hitting the Carpathian mountains in the morning

Our sleighing slope. We decided to get into the spirit by pretending to be Lugers

No city in Romania is complete without one of these. 

Dawn

...and the street lights go off

PS: Also got a book review over the weekend. Might want to check it out here. Until next time, Luni Fericit!

Readings from The Mother of all Books

So apparently, I need to urge people to buy the book. Tempt them (hence the Goodreads contest). Lure them (hence the pictures of various bookshelves on my Facebook page. Yes, I have a Facebook page. You can stop laughing now). Also, apparently (apparent to whom I'd like to ask. Definitely not to me. Or to all six of my blog readers- the number of readers, BTW has practically doubled overnight!), much like films, it needs trailers. Bits and bobs of what's in a book. So that's where these come in.
Have a look. Be intrigued (by the content, please, NOT by the poor editing skills or bad delivery). Then, go forth and BUY!

The First Move

Inane Questions

The Book has Landed!

So, the wait is finally over!! here it is, the book, the one I keep yapping on about, the one I thought would never see the light of day...

And if you'd like to follow Sense's hilarious adventures into motherhood, here's where you can grab a copy:
http://www.infibeam.com/Books/mother-all-books-rajni-arun-kumar/9789380707747.html?utm_term=The+Mother+Of+All+Books_1_1

And if you'd like to know exactly how long it took for this book to finally get to the stores, this should give you a clue:

Travellers tales

Now I don't know if I told you this before, but the hubby is an incurable traveller. And ofcourse he loves for us to partake in his misery journey. So every few years or so, we up sticks and make like the proverbial arab and dissapear silently into the night, tent and all.
This time, when we threw darts bildfolded at the map (that's the ONLY way to decide our next move, don't you know?), it landed on Bucharest. so that's where we're headed.
Moving with kids comes with its own set of complications, though. There's term times and holidays to consider which narrows the window for the move drastically. There's also the new school address to consider - if the school's in the remotest corner of the city, then, sadly, that's where our new house will be, because beating traffic (driving on the wrong side of the road) every morning while getting two groggy-eye children into the back of the car is not how I want to spend my mornings.
But this post is not about the wonders of an expat lifestyle. Oh no. That'll need a whole blog and a new therapist.
This post is about my luck (or lack thereof) when it comes to travelling. It's ironic for someone who travels so much to have such rubbish luck with travel. Especially with air travel. The Gods of Air Travel must have a special bone to pick with me.
It all started ordinarily enough yesterday at Heathrow. Self, Hubby, two kids, the Mum-in-law, car seat and about 10 pieces of assorted luggage had safely made their way into the airport with just a minor wobble when our taxi wallah threatened to take us to the wrong terminal. Hubby, champion backseat driver, jumped to the rescue and we safely made it back to our original destination.
Okay, like I said, minor wobbles. Much like the suspicious counter staff at the airport counter who didn't know the rules about entry into Bucharest if you didn't have a Europeans passport. All that required as a quick call to the Romanian embassy to clarify what had been put on their website. After all, who can blame the guys on the counter? he'd heard of people coming in from Romania to the UK. But this whole bucking the trend thing had addled his brains.
Right. check in now done, I'd begun to relax a little bit now, and got on the phone to say our final goodbyes. The Mum-in-Law in the meanwhile decided to head off to the toilets, and the Holy Terror, following in her brother's footsteps and continuing the fascination with public toilets, follows her gran.
Half an hour later, no sign of Holy Terror or MIL. hmm. I have now been promptly sent off on an errand to check toilets for missing MIL & HT. Picture this scene: Toilets in the busiest airport in the world on one of the busiest days of the year. A steady stream of tourists, all being greeted with the sight of me wailing 'Ammmmaaaaaaaaaaaaa????' while knocking on each cubicle and checking under doors. Five minutes of this and I knew I was in serious danger of being arrested before I left the shores of the blighty.
Naturally by this time the airline had announced that they we closing the boarding of our flight. Baa-lamb's decided enough of this tomfoolery and takes charge.
"Right. You head off to the departure gates and stall them with Pickwick while I find Airport Security" he says as he jogs offs.
"But how am I..." I begin to ask, but I am only talking to thin air. The baa-lamb has marched off with a determined air about him.
Okay. So stop flight. Right. Lets take this step by step. We need to get to the gates first. All hare-brained schemes to stop the flight can be formed en route or, once we arrive. Who knows, maybe inspiration will strike upon seeing one of the bored ladies at the gate.
I arrive breathless at the gate - still inspirationless and decide to throw myself at the mercy of the attendant and the gates- who seems to be carved from ice. Like she's heard it all before (really? you've heard of people losing their mothers and their children? At the same time?). As I launch into a long-winded explanation, the Holy Terror tugs at my trousers. "Not now, honey, Mummy's talking to this nice lady here." I say on autopilot.
"Like I was saying Ma'am, my daughter here- my daughter? HERE?!!" I ended with a screech. Having rendered half the passengers on the flight deaf, I proceeded to squeeze the life out of my daughter  and dishevel my normally super neat MIL.
"But... You... How? Where?" Credit goes to the MIL for making sense of my incoherent ramblings and she explained that having lost her way on her way back from the toilet, she sensibly decided to wait at the exit gate knowing at eventually we would have to land up there. She'd then borrowed a phone and called the baa-lamb, and he did try and get in touch with me, but I was so busy concocting plans to stop the flight that I'd ignored his calls.
By the time the baa-lamb arrived it was a proper reunion worthy of a bollywood blockbuster.
I am happy to report that we are now in Bucharest without and further untoward incidents.  

The Maharajah's Whiskers - Part Ek

For the people who know me, they’d say I was a fairly even tempered person. (Shaddup! You there- stop snickering!) No really, I believe everyone has their bad days and one ought not to be quick to decide based on one experience. But I think three times kind of pushes it a tad bit.

I am of course, talking about our favourite airline, our national carrier, The maharajah’s whiskers. It’s been three months since my return from the homeland and is only now that enough time has passed that I can talk about the incidents (pliss to note the plural) without hyperventilating or foaming at the mouth (which in this country of the stiff upper lip is vitally important. You only have to flare the nostrils ever so slightly before you are dismissed as being a drama queen. A sliver of a sneer whilst describing the events in Q is apparently just the right touch of emotion).

I now lay down the events that transpired and shall leave you, the reader to be the judge. I shall recite just the first incident in this post, as one needs time between the accounts to recover from the sheer incompetence.

Incident 1: After a goodly three years or thereabouts, I, very excitedly reached the shores of Mumbai, with a flu-ridden toddler, and sleep deprived brat and four pieces of luggage. Or so I thought. I mean that’s what I left London with. One flu- ridden toddler – check. One hyperexcited six-year-old who wasn’t going to sleep a jot on the plane – check. Luggage – ek, do, teen… hang on, where’s my fourth piece of luggage? An airline official bustles in just then to inform the unfortunate few of us that have been awaiting our luggage that due to a technical mixup (meaning the off loaders screwed up), our luggage was earlier put on a different conveyor, but we’ll have our luggage in this conveyor shortly. He was quite pleased with that. To be honest, so were we. At four in the morning, all I wanted to do was find a nice, warm bed and crash until it was time for my connecting flight to Cochin that evening.

Luggage comes and luggage goes, but my bright pink strolley remains stubbornly absent. The airline official, trying to helpful does the following:

Scratches head, the peeks out into the loading area to see if there’s any luggage left (why anyone would leave just one bright pink suitcase unloaded was beyond me, but hey, it was four in the morning). Finds nothing. Scratches head again and asks me if I was sure I had a pink suitcase (why anyone would hallucinate about pink suitcases was, again, beyond me, but hey, it was four in the morning) scratches balls (we all need a change) and then asks to see my luggage tags – and counts them (yes, there were four) then counts my luggage (counts three). Having now satisfied himself that I was indeed missing a piece of luggage and was not playing the fool, he scratches his ear and the leads me to the ‘missing luggage’ department.

An equally helpful airline official then takes over, writes out my form in Marathi (we are still at the international air terminal at this point), asks me to read if what’s written is accurate and sign it.  While I try and understand what’s been written in my rusty Marathi, the official informs me that I have nothing to worry about. Apparently this is quite a common occurrence. I seem to sense this was true from his lack of alacrity with a Spanish woman trying to locate her child’s buggy. His colleague was trying to convince her to pick one from an array of buggies they had in their possession, and nevermind the small matter of the buggy not being hers. My helpful airline official, in the meanwhile, reassures me that my luggage has probably flown to Cochin without me (probably thinking I’m going to compliment the airline on being proactive and taking a call on my behalf. I couldn’t possibly need all my luggage with me in Mumbai when I was only going to stop over for half a day), and it was ultimately my travel agent(!!) who was to blame, since he had booked me on an evening flight to Cochin, when clearly, there was a morning flight to be taken to the destination (which apparently my pink strolley has managed to board).

By now, toddler and brat both decided that they’ve had enough of India and were ready to head back to ol’ Blighty. It was only the bribe of an infinite supply of chocolate and the promise that they’d never ever have to wear jackets in India that made them change their mind.  I was lucky enough to have an extremely patient relative waiting for me outside, and as he escorted the scruffy trio out of the airport, I was glad there was someone to take over the haggling of the prices with the taxis.

Thirty minutes into the car ride. I get a call. From the airport. The helpful airline official had located my luggage and could I please come a collect it. I was getting mildly annoyed now. I informed the helpful airline official that he could now load my luggage on to a plane to Cochin, without me, as promised. I wasn’t about to turn the taxi around only to find that this was a false alarm.  Another fifteen minutes later I get another call. From the airport. The helpful airline official informs me now that it was after all a false alarm, but not to worry, my luggage was safely on its way to Cochin (my luggage seemed to be having adventures of its own).

That evening:

As I land in Cochin, I collect the rest of my luggage and duly hand over two exhausted babies to two elated grandparents while I set out on search of my bright pink strolley. The solitary guard on duty at Cochin International (ha!) Airport (helpful airline officials were missing at this port) informs me that I’ll have to traipse over to the Maharaja’s whiskers counter located some distance away to have any hope of seeing my pink suitcase. The helpful airline officer at the domestic terminal tells me ‘ Ais, ais, ewe see, youze was un international fleit. Sow, eye think, your luggage, it will be at the international terminal’ Ah. The terminal is a hop, skip and a jump away. And the office is connected internally. But I naturally have to hop, skip and jump to the international terminal and repeat my request. Where another helpful airline official tell me, ‘But ewe floo domeztic wonly now, no, madam? So, it will be in the domeztic terminal’. Hop. Skip. Jump. Domestic terminal.

Helpful airline official#1: Madamm… why will I lie, madam? Nothing is here wonly. Wait. Wonly for ewe, I will check with the domeztic.

Strolls to next room. Has a cup of tea while chatting with other helpful airline official. Comes back.

Helpful airline official#1: nooo, maidamm. Are ewe sure they have sent the luggage from Bombay? It will come tomorrow, perhaps?

Me: But I was informed that your very helpful airline has very helpfully sent my luggage before my arrival to Cochin. Helpfully.

Helpful airline official#1 (scratching head meditatively – seems to be part of their induction training): wait, huh, madam. I will check customs. Maybe it haasn’t cleared that wonly, no?

Fifteen minutes later

Yes! It is waiting madam. You need to clear customes with it wonly no? (beams at having helpfully solved this puzzle)

Well, luggages, even bright pink ones have limitations to how clever they can be. As to the limits of helpful airline staff stupidty, there seem to be none.

Rookie Mistakes - 2

Having experienced Kochi on foot and thanking God that I have lived to regret it, last week
I decided to listen to Dad and quietly take the car when we decided to go shopping.
Now by 'taking the car', I do not mean driving it myself, although the Government of India has foolishly granted me a permit to do so for the past decade or so. I meant assigning Dad or he-of-infinite-patience-when-it-comes-to-his-daughter the chauffeur duties for the day while mum and self (and brats in tow) swan in and out of shops. We left punctually at the designated hour (i.e. exactly half an hour after it was agreed we would leave), and this time when Dad headed towards to car park he found me right along with him, matching stride for stride. Right. so far so good. As we settle ourselves into the car, I see dad quickly reverse out of the car park after strapping himself in. "whoa! Hang on Dad!!" I say - "I haven't strapped myself in - and neither have the kids!" Dad, for the nth time in this very brief trip looks at me like I'm a raving loon, visibly composes himself before answering, calmly, "It's not compulsory for the passengers to wear seat belts here. And the back seats don't have any seat belts."
I look around incredulously at the back. The seats are bereft of any anchoring devices. The kids are grinning away bouncing about like helium-filled balloons, rejoicing at the feeling of not being tethered down. As we continue backing out of the driveway - this time in a vehicle rather than on foot, I feel no safer and hang on gingerly to the door handle.
No sooner have we emerged out of the apartment complex (after what I though was far too much aggressive horn-tooting by dad), we nearly ram into an SUV which, from what I could gather thought we were involved in a fun game of Chicken. I roll down my window to give the guy a sound talking to - only to realise I was talking to thin air - Chicken man was continuing his dangerous trip down to road determined to visit the A & E by the end of the hour.
Dad meanwhile continued down to road, unaffected by our brush with death, merrily leaning away on the horn - apparently this was how vehicles communicated with each other here - a short 'parp' to denote mild annoyance at how you're driving to a longer 'paaaaaaarrrp' to denote - 'really now, you're being a twat' to a staccato burst of 'pip-paarp-pap-parp' to denote 'watch out! I'm a huge truck with no rearview mirrors about to burst forth from a blind turn at break-neck speed' to a myriad of other complex signals.
I seem to have learnt driving from a totally different rulebook because the left indicator here somehow communicated to two-wheelers behind you that this was the time to overtake the vehicle from the left and a right indicator - well, I don't know what it meant because it seemed to have no effect on the surrounding traffic.
My favourites are the roundabouts- manned by a traffic constable. Where if you choose to go clockwise when you want to turn right, The constable looks at you in askance like you didn't know what you were doing. It's obvious to anyone with half as much brains as the rotund constable that the shortest route in a roundabout if you wanted to go right was, of course anti-clockwise. And that is what one is expected to do. None of this new fangled nonsense about uni-directional traffic for our intrepid Kochi Konstable.
I now realise why almost all vehicles in India have an image of God hanging from the rear view mirror or firmly pasted to the dashboard (including Dad's car which now incidentally has permanent imprints left by my fingertips on the dashboard) - after all one never knows if one is ever going to ever return to your loved ones once you go out into the streets (on foot or by car) of Kochi. 

Rookie Mistakes - 1

Having just arrived in Kochi after about three years, I tell my dad, 'I need to visit the bank, Pops. Is there a branch nearby?"
Dad, in an effort to show off how much Kochi has moved on since I last came informs me, "Of course. We have a local branch not five minutes away."
Me: Great! shall we leave in about ten minutes?
Pops agrees.
half an hour later
Me: Right. I'm ready. shall we leave?
Poppy, who's been waiting patiently for the past fifteen minutes (having been used to years of waiting patiently for the wife, sister, daughter,and other miscellaneous womenfolk in his life) nods away.
We head out of the lift and suddenly I find myself bereft of company. I look around for Dad and and find him heading swiftly towards to parking lot.
Me: I though you said the branch was five minutes away poppy, why are we taking the car?
Pops(looking at me like I was a few cards short of a pack): You want to walk? It's fifteen minutes away if we walk!!
Me (thinking to myself): eh? what a spoilt bunch we are... we can't walk for fifteen minutes?
Dad having given up trying to convince me that walking was a bad idea, trudges along forlornly with me. As soon as we step out of the apartment, I am nearly run over by a rickshaw with horns blaring. And the driver has the gall to then turn around and advice me on how to walk on the road- nearly running over three other pedestrians while he was at it. My heart rate was just returning to normal when a huge SUV which had no business travelling in a three feet wide road gently nudges me into the open drain running by the side of the road. Dad, the veteran Kochi traveller swiftly pulls me into a roadside shop (whereupon a shop assistant looked up hopefully, ready to make is first sale of the day - or maybe the week, even, judging by the fine coating of dust on the shop shelves) and just as deftly hops out and into the next shop.
We walk in this pop-in-hop-out fashion, while dad ably guides me though the end of the street filled with drivers who I'm convinced have walked straight out of Grand Theft Auto V (or is it VI? I've lost count).
At the end of the the road, I'm met by a scene that can only be called bedlam. Anarchic Bedlam! Cacophonic Anarchic Bedlam!!
Shouting over the babble, I tell dad "Gosh, it must be a serious accident. there are even cops in the scene"
Dad (shaking his head sadly at how totally clueless I was): That, my dear, is a traffic cop. He is directing traffic. And this, is what we call a junction. We need to cross now.
My jaw drops. We need to to cross this? Is he kidding me? I have manic drivers gunning for me from four different directions now. I close my eyes, ask the Lord to take good care of my children, and make a dash for it.
Three sudden brakes, two screeching tyres and six blue curses later, I have made it across with all my limbs intact. I can't believe it!! It has to be a miracle.
At the branch I am so shaken by my experience I ask for three glasses of water. And consume them (despite the fingerprints on the inside of the glass).As we are about the leave the branch, I turn around and tell dad  "Do you suppose you could go and get the car? I don't think I'm ready to die just yet."
Poor dad. Shaking his head, resigned to his fate of having crazy women dictate his life, he steps out to go get the car. I quickly avert my eyes as a two wheeler does his best to grind his toes to pulp. *gulp* Maybe next time I should let Dad decide how we travel.

And the winner is...

...*drumroll*...

But hang on, before I let you know, maybe I should draw it out, you know, like a grand reveal in a mystery novel.
So, quick recap - we had a cover contest, and you we supposed to help me choose which cover design works best. So far, good plan. Poll all set up. Baby Hamper all picked. No obvious flaws in the plan.
But then, of course  I didn't anticipate the wonderful thickheadedness of the person who'd designed the poll, who ate up the poll results of week one, at the start of week two, and so had to resort to some pretty dastardly deeds to get them results, but hey, you guys made it relatively simple for me.
From the Four Options, it was pretty clear that the 'Arjun Kumars' (Options 3 &4) were impression nobody. They were pretty much non starters. That left me with the '50-50' option - for those familiar with Tarrant's choice  or, for the desi  reader Bachchan's choice (yes, granted, it was hosted by SRK for a brief interval, but come on, the show was always the Big B's, wasn't it?) Options 1 & 2 ran neck and neck, and for the entire duration of the poll were too close to call - closer than the US Presidential elections, even. Thankfully, though,  it didn't have the hopes of a nation resting on the outcome. Just the blood pressure of my Publisher, who by now was getting seriously miffed about my shilly-shallying about with the decision. So I did the only thing I could think of (no, not deciding for myself, because that would be mean weeks of sleepless nights about having made the wrong choice) - I let Pickwick choose out of the two. And here's what he chose:
Ta-Daaaaa!
Option 2:

Congratulations, to all those who'd made this wise choice. For those who'd chose Option 1, don't lose heart. The only reason he didn't choose that one was because he's going through a 'I-Hate-Pink-And-All-Other-Girly-Stuff' phase. 

Now for the all important Winner selection. Again, tough one, but I chose Gita Gandotra! Congratulations! I have no clue who you are, and you made a choice which wasn't even in the running, but hey, your name stubbornly refused to land in the rubbish bin. I promise to track you down and deliver hamper and book to you. Hope you enjoy both. 

Congratulations to you too, Mr Publisher. Looks like you can stop popping those pressure pills now.