Mundane Musings

We are at the fag end of the year. The Christmas plum cake with its rich, fruity taste and texture has been savoured and toasts have been made for the New Year too, which of course still a few days off. There is something magical in this month. I love this month and after much deliberation I concluded that it was mostly because of the prevailing climate. After a harsh summer and chaotic rains, Chennai settles down to a cool, tender climate which begs the pulling out of moth eaten sweaters that smell of naphthalene balls (not always a bad thing), the crisp, beautiful silks and the thick woollen tops which are generally reserved for travels abroad or to cooler climes. The cool air is redolent with smell of cinnamon and chai and of hot crispy vadas and filter coffee (which of course is a staple the whole year too). In other words, it is the closest we come to sharing the white, snowy, cold Christmas setting that prevails over the parts of the world where it is celebrated.

A few minutes into Ae Dil Hai Mushkil (ADHM), and I wondered if this was a real portrayal of an urban Indian youth? Since I was seeing this movie on the heels of the very watchable web series Bang Baaja Baraat where the principal characters’ first date actually starts with a quickie, yes a quickie... in a bar (yes, this happens in insanely populated India where people can’t pee without being seen) and only then followed by any exchange of information, I had to quickly come to terms with what was unfolding before my eyes in ADHM. If you are wondering that this was surely a lift off from some Western movie, then like me you are probably of the other - older generation. This my friends is how the rich, urban youth of India are presumably dating these days. So here too, Alizeh and Ayan meet in a London bar where she is grooving rather prettily to techno music and minutes after she notices him, they get physical, or at least attempt to get physical. No worries that he is a co

Can't let the day pass without mentioning that I have been part of a historic day on November 8th, when the PM and RBI, announced that Rs 500 and Rs. 1000 will be demonetised from midnight onwards. Can you wrap your head around that piece of information? The enormity of it? The outcome of such an action? Whew! I still am finding it hard to soak the implications in. Leave aside busting the black money trade within our country, and hacking the root of Pakistan funded terrorism; this initiative should cause a dent on some serious black money hoarders. Yes, there is now a lot of whining and crying going on at the inconvenience of it all and attempts to piggy back on the drive to get nasty, condescending, doubtful, and more importantly, being unapologetic-ally unaccommodating. What the general attitude of certain people now is that I shall spout words on nationalism and desh bhakti , but I shall not move my sorry ass nor my allow my altruistic self to embrace the change that

One could probably stumble over Al Maza restaurant on a chance browsing of Zomato for restaurants in Anna Nagar (E) to satisfy a weekend high calorie crave or while walking through or driving through the shady roads of the quiet colony where it resides and even then would find it difficult to complete their intention as the entry to the restaurant is very ambiguous. Not until recently, when the husband made a visit to pick up a large order, did he demystify it for me. The restaurant sits on the first floor of a building and the entrance is from the side through a flight of steps. Ok, go ahead and judge me, but wait till you find yourself there and cast about for those very stairs. Since Ana's entry into our lives, we have really not gone out to eat much and that meant missing out on a lot of good places to eat...I mean it, a lot of restaurants that would otherwise had been ticked off with serious diligence have gone unnoticed. And before you ask? We find it comfortable and ea

Being a mother in India – The Diaper Conundrum. Being a mother in India these days presents one with a unique juxtaposition of choices. One, Western concepts and ideas which thanks to the proliferation of articles on the Internet one is able to peruse and follow and, other, Traditional ideas that have been handed down through many proud generations – not surprising, considering the rich culture and history of our country. The traditional ones are irrefutably followed or are made to be followed by diligent grandmothers, aunts and invested kin of the new mother in general. After bathing and nappy changing and generally taking care of four tots as an aunt, I have long since stopped questioning the logic behind some of my mother’s practices. Some have lasted the test of time and some have been downright impractical. This blog post is one way of recording the things that worked for me, as an Indian mother. I hope to recount them clearly and support the choices I have made with mea

On every wedding anniversary of mine, when  I want to blog about it, I find myself coming up short of words to express how I feel. I cast about for phrases and adjectives to bring out best the way I feel and always, always my vocabulary deserts me. I envy people who write with such beautiful prose, poetry or even pure tongue-in-cheek humour what these moments or milestones mean to them. Even now when I think back to the five years I have spent with S and what it has made me be or what it means, I find myself choking back emotions and words. I guess I should be content in saying that he changed my life. He's made me  a better person. It is a profound feeling - to know that you have first of all changed for a person or a circumstance and that the change has been for the good and that the person has been worthy of it. And now he is the father to my little, impish daughter and I look at her and look at the genes that have passed on from him to her and I want to give him a ti

Ana kutti turned one early May and the previous months had been hectic, in a pleasant way. Her first birthday had been more important to me than she would ever know. I wanted it to be a memorable one…for me. (cheeky grin). In my defence, I come from a middle class family where birthday parties were meant to be attended and not for celebrating. And as is the case with that generation, I didnt see anything amiss. I was perfectly happy taking a box of chocolates to school and getting back home to have special dal payasam made by mum. The first time I celebrated my birthday was while I was in college when I was doing my post graduation. But now, I wanted to live a bit vicariously through Ana. So I started with her e-card. The guest list and what I wanted for the party were all meticulously written down in my diary. And the e-card was going to give me an idea of the attendees. I checked various card designs on Google Images and I wanted ones that were pink and of complementary colour

It’s been three months since Anakutti’s birthday, and I’m yet to write a post about the party, her first year in this world, how my life has changed after her arrival and such relevant data as needed for a mother who has a bad case of forgetfulness, like me. And this is a dangerous sign of things to come. Anakutti’s cuteness and antics are multiplying day by day, plus there are so many changes in her personality that the camera is just not able to capture. Many times she stands mutely when I focus the camera on her, only for her to jump back to her antics the moment I put the offending object (for her) away; also one of the reasons why I have too many pictures of her with a poker face. People even ask me if she smiles at all, when the little imp is forever gurgling with laughter and flashing cheeky grins and making goofy faces at us...just not in front of the camera. I’m digressing; of course that it is not new for those of you who have the patience to read through all my blog p

Reading is something that I still make the time for. The other vices would be watching movies, listening to music and writing something. All three have been rather hit after Ana babush’s arrival. While I was pregnant with her, I had difficulty reading even a mild thriller. I don’t know…it had something to do with the bile rising up, threatening to bring with it my breakfast or lunch and I also had an overwhelming desire to hold on tight to the little one growing in my womb. So I got into mild reading – Chicken Soup for the soul for new moms (a gift from a group of well-meaning friends), Mills and Boon, random books and articles on pregnancy and child birth, Susan Elizabeth’s book/s which I can read and re-read a million times. I tried and failed to read Herman Melville’s Moby Dick and also Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, but I hope to pick up both in the near future. Anyway, after a long time as I browsed in Madras Gymkhana’s Library, I happened on Gillian Flynn’s Dark Pla

Now that I have found my Mr. Right and have our pyar ki nishani in my life, I don’t suppose I can hope to feel the rush of blood to my brain (or is it the heart? Is that even logical?), or feel a shopaholic’s urge to pick up gifts on Valentine’s Day. Because that was exactly what had happened on 14 th February. We were well aware of the special day, but were content with a good lunch a day earlier, at a favourite restaurant without the baby, and with chocolate doughnuts to sweeten the day. Over the years with S, there had been no doubt about how I wanted to celebrate this day. And before he entered my life, I was a romantic girl sitting in front of the TV watching movies like When Harry Met Sally or Pretty Woman or Bridget Jone’s Diary with a hand placed over my pulsating heart, thinking of the things I would do to celebrate the day if I had a loved one. Yes, it was bad. The hype consumed me, making it difficult to accept the banality of existence with no place for the love to flow.

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Every year on International Women’s Day , I am faced with a dilemma – to celebrate the day or to not. It was easy when the decision was not on me as when I was working in a company. The celebrations carried on whether I liked or not. People wished me on the day and I only had to thank them politely or else in the case of loved ones, retort that we women don’t need a special day to celebrate. No thanks. We shall celebrate our womanhood on all days. Just like people feel it necessary to point out unnecessary celebrations for Valentine’s or Mother’s day or New Year’s – calling it a Western influence. Some influences we come to understand are definitely worth it. How immature I have sounded then. With age comes maturity and knowledge, and now I know not to belittle the day with a callous and uninformed mind set, when in reality a day like this should exist. It is a joke that we celebrate and feel special about ourselves every day, when actually there is evidence of the contin