The year of conversations

As 2012 winds down, I sat down to introspect as to what kind of a year this has been for me (a few glasses of wine for lunch will do that for you, the introspection that is) and I realized that while this has been a year of a memorable events and changes - seeing our first snow fall, mastering toilet training, letting go of the pacifier and the bottle of milk at night, graduating to big boy beds and bicycles, loads of road trips and finally moving cities and countries; it has also been a year of conversations... many a memorable chat with my two boys. 

The norm in our household earlier had been thus - I talk non stop and the husband switches off while pretending to listen. In fact he got so good at it, he could repeat exactly what I had said, word for word, without any of it having percolated into his head.

I had expected the boys to take after him in their conversation skills and talk in monosyllables but as of now they seem to have my gift of the gab and keep yapping all the time.

And with every passing month, as their vocabulary grows richer; and as they learn to use plurals (giraffes-ses and clothes-ses, which always reminds me of Gollum from LOTR); as they experiment with past tense (broke-ed, eat-ed, sleep-ed et al); as they learn to twist the difference between 'accident' and 'deliberate' to their advantage (the  perpetrator always claims his crime was an "accident" while the victim invariably insists it was deliberate) and as they discover the power of adjectives ( for instance V2 warning V1 with a"Get away from the TV or you become an old woman like Mammy"), I have been witness to many a memorable conversation which has invariably left me amused or rolling with laughter and on a few occasions, speechless.

As the year winds down and as these memories fade away, I wanted to record these for posterity. 

So here are a few of my favourites of this year....

1. A Mammy's job? 

Every morning, as we walked hand in hand to the school, the boys and I had some conversation or the other; some days we talked about the boy who ran away to the moon, some days we discussed superheroes and their clothes, food habits and weapons of choice. Some days we stopped to watch the fox that came for food every morning to the home for the elderly, right at the beginning of the lane where we lived or we talked about the chestnut cankers lying on the road and the squirrels for whom those cankers were a treat.

That day, since they had asked me before if my favourite hobby (apart from reading and taking pictures) was looking after them, I decided to get their thoughts on what a mummy’s job is/ should be. 

So, never one to waste time beating around the bush, I jumped in directly, “What do you think a mummy’s job is?”

V2 thought for a while and went first “Tell me to be careful”

Me very surprised and thrilled, “Yes, that’s right. What else?”

V2: “To say No if we are naughty”

Me: “Great going!”

V2 is on a roll now “To cook yummy food for us?”

Me “ Okay. What else?”. 

Looks like I have been doing a better job than I had been giving myself credit for. No wonder the compliments are pouring in… 

So thrilled to the core, I turn to V1, “What do you think is Mummy’s job?”

V1 is my not so garrulous child. He speaks less, and uses words more succinctly and conveys what he wants in as few words as possible! 

So I cannot wait to hear what he has to say about his Mammy.

And then V1 speaks. “Mammy’s job is to say No all the time. And be a headache” 

Ouch! 

2. How to not eat your cake and get away with it too....

There is a reason V2 always gets away with murder... 

V1 who knew I was upset about his refusing to eat my bread pudding, decided to make amends, and asked for it on his own at dinner time.  But then the minute he saw it, he forgot all his good intentions and said "No, this is yucky. Don't want it"
(Sigh! All my illusions of being a fantastic cook get smashed to smithereens every single evening!!) 

And then as I start looking crestfallen, V2 says "Mammy, I love it. I love your cooking” 

Then he proceeds to take a tiny ant sized portions and chew on each at a speed which would make a sloth feel like Usain Bolt!

So finally, annoyed I say, “If you love my cooking so much, then why do you not eat your food?” 

To which V2 very considerately explains "Mammy, I like your cooking. But I don’t like eating” 

3. Semantics and a 3yr old..

Yet another day of yelling and shouting at the dinner table. 

I am yelling. V2, as always is taking what seems like forever to eat what is on his plate. 

Suddenly I discover, he has put his head on the arm of the chair and is fast asleep. 

So I wake him up and try putting a spoonful of food in his mouth. 

Two spoonfuls later, I notice he has fallen asleep again. Saliva dribbles out of the corner of his mouth. 

So I feel sorry for the kid, pick him up and carry him to his room to clean him up and put him to bed.

As I lay V2 on his bed, suddenly his flagging energy seems to miraculously make a comeback as the little man immediately opens his eyes and starts jumping.

Me shocked, “You are not sleepy anymore?”

V2 flashes me his trademark roguish, elfish grin. 

Me even more shocked at having been made a fool of by a 3yr old, “You were lying to me?”

V2 still grinning, “No Mammy, I not lying. I pretending”. 

4. Love and War

The boys have been fighting non stop – everything and anything is liable to cause a war these days – from the super hero picture on their underpants to what view one has on their side of the taxi window to snatching each other’s toys to calling each other babies; it is a roller coaster that just doesn’t seem to ever come to a stop. 

I know this is all my bad Karma coming back to visit me; a payback for all those years my sisters and I drove Maa insane with our non stop fights but it is still driving me crazy. 

However today as V2 insists V1 is “annoying me again and again" and refuses to participate in a reconciliatory hug and a “I love you Bhai” end to the squabble, I decide to try a new approach.

Me: “Well I have 2 sisters. Sometimes my sisters annoy me and I get angry and fight with them. But we still love each other. And so we say sorry and we hug each other because sisters love each other. Just like that, we are supposed to love our brother and not fight with them all the time". 

At which point my normally quiet V1 suddenly brightens up and says, “Mammy I have a brother. He annoys me all the time. But I still love him”. 

5.Straight out of the mouth of babes.

Now that we have moved to Singapore and the boys have left behind all their friends and everything that was familiar, one of the topics under frequent discussion is who and what they miss the most about life in London

Vj: "So who do you miss the most amongst your friends back in London?" 

V1: "Raoul and Jojo" 

V2: "Ira and Nisa" 

Vj: "Who else?" 

V2 who is more social of the two, pipes in: "Aunty Gen. And Aunty Savy" 

Vj: "What about people from your school? Clementina? Maria? Luca? Francesca?" 

V2 looks at Vj like one looks at a person with single digit IQ - with a mix of pity and scorn. 

Then he explains patiently: "We cannot miss all the peoples Daddy. Only some peoples" 

Straight out of the mouth of babes, as they say…

6. Church tales of horror

Now for some anecdotes from our once a week visits to church ever since we moved back.

We went to attend Mass in church this December, after a gap of almost a yr. 

And it showed...

"Mammy who is this (pointing to Jesus)? Why is Gonesss Nomo Nomo not here?"

"Mammy why is Jesus stuck there (on the cross)?"

"Mammy who hurt him? Tell me their name?"

"Mammy are they singing sad song because he is hurt?"

"Mammy why is that man ( the priest) talking again and again?"

But the most memorable of all our horrifying church tales would have to be when, during the Christmas service, when in the middle of everyone singing "Gloria in excelsis deo", V1 decided he had enough of "sad songs" people keep singing in church and decided to belt out Happy B'dy Baby Jesus at the top of his voice! And if that wasn't bad enough, he followed it up with a louder, "I want to go potty N.O.W" which resulted in us running out full speed before we got thrown out of church and banned from ever coming back!

And on that note, wishing you all a memorable 2013 full of smiles and laughter.... 

The Perfect Christmas Tree

The perfect Christmas tree? All Christmas trees are perfect!”
~ Charles N. Barnard, American author, travel writer.

Every year for the past 12yrs (of my marriage to Vj who is a Roman Catholic), decorating the Christmas tree is one of the things I have looked forward to. I have my box of baubles and crystal stars and little Santas and elves for Christmas decorations, that I add to each yr and no one, not even the boys, is allowed to touch them. Every year I spend hours trying to make the tree look perfect. Even the years when we are travelling to India for Christmas, the tree is done up in advance before we leave for our holidays.

This year, however, the planning got a bit messed up. 

This year, we will be spending Christmas in a service apartment in Singapore as we are yet to move into our new home. 

Our tree and the box of baubles is still on its way and will reach us only after Christmas is over. 

This year, for the very first time in the last 12 years, I will not be cooking any elaborate feast for Christmas.

This year after a long time, we will be celebrating Christmas alone, minus any one in my or Vj's family with us. 

But Christmas is the time to count one's blessings and I have many to be thankful for - 

for the 3 men who complete my life, 

for being in a city I love and am familiar with so I am not lost for ideas on what to do and where to go, 

for the love of my family 

for old friends and new ones; for friends who have been there through thick and thin; for friends who have been there with advice and food and laughter when I have needed it.

for all the love, encouragement and support I receive from each and everyone of you who is on Rainbows and Cloudbursts.

This year, we were tree-less for Christmas till I took the boys to an art class. This class is run by my friend Bhavani Suryavanshee who runs a arts and crafts class for 3-6yr olds out of her home in Singapore and is great fun for kids and parents alike. I have been to two and have enjoyed myself thoroughly as have the boys. 

And over 2 sessions, my 2 little brats made a Christmas tree and the decorations for it - one far more beautiful, far more colourful than my perfect tree...

Sharing a few pictures and as I sign off, I wish each and every one of you a magic filled, perfect Christmas in the company of those you love! 

Loads of love, 

Moushumi

And finally 2 Santas for my twins who fight about everything under the sun! 

It is Christmas in the heart that puts Christmas in the air.”
~ W. T. Ellis

Travelling with Kids : a survivor's guide

A 13 hour long flight with two hyperactive three yr olds.....

Just trying to imagine how it would pan out, had been giving me the shivers for days! 

What would I do if they didn’t sleep? 

What would I do, if they wanted to jump over and under each other’s chair and play like the last time?
What would I do, if they thought the man nearby, who had covered his face and was trying desperately to sleep, was only playing peekaboo with them? 

After all, they had gotten more mobile, more capable of independent thought and less likely to sit still with each passing month?

I’d like to say a great deal of strategizing and planning went into our 13hr trip from London to Singapore, given my worries, but honestly we did nothing. 

Yes you read right. NOTHING. Nada. Zip.

Given that we were busy with packing and moving our home from London to Singapore, there was no time or energy left to plan how we were going to entertain the boys through the flight. 

So just the basic things were done – the iPad was fully charged in case we needed some entertainment, two of their favourite toys and some snacks were packed and so were some extra clothes; because each time we haven’t, V2 has taken upon himself to remind us of that omission by dutifully throwing up on us on those occasions. And with that, we decided to leave it to Destiny/ Luck/ Chance/ Fate/ Kismet and hoped all the trips we had taken with the boys had made them more travel savvy.

And well, what to do you know! Kismet must have been smiling on us when we boarded. If I was getting stressed about the immediate future, watching them jump around in the lounge in excitement, eating the free peanuts and potato chips and staring at the planes parked or taxiing outside, I shouldn’t have bothered. The boys walked in, took their seats and discovered Singapore Airlines’ legendary in-flight entertainment. And like it happens with most people on their first encounter with SA's impressive in-flight entertainment, it was love at first sight. 

From that moment on, absolute silence reigned as we watched Ice Age (for the n+1th time). V1 who very keenly watched the stewardess ask me what food and drink I wanted, wanted the same courtesy for himself. So I had the most amusing time, watching my 3yr old, chose his own welcome drink, ask for extra helping of saté and gnaw away at it, while simultaneously try balance the giant noise reduction headphones that were almost as big as his head. The movie got over and they went to sleep. They woke up just in time for us to land.

Needless to say, I couldn’t have asked for a better or easier flight experience. Buoyed by the smoothness and ease with which this trip and the past few holidays have passed by, I decided to do this post – on travelling with kids. 

Now, I am no expert (as the lack of effort in preparing for a journey would have forewarned you) but after having survived 6 international flights and countless road trips with twin boys in a span of 3 years, I feel I have reached a point where I can sit back, imagine a halo around my head and proceed to utter some wise (???) words for the benefit of those who might want to travel with kids but are worried about what it may entail.  

So here it is, all the gyaan disseminated from my experience of travelling with 2 toddlers in tow.
Read and follow at your own risk.

The first step is always the hardest!

The first journey with the kid, will always be the toughest.
The first trip is the one where you will start with no idea what to expect and where you will want everything to go off without a hitch. And where you’ll probably be so stressed that if anything went wrong, you will immediately question why you came on this trip in the first place! 

But remember, this is the first step, the beginning of your learning curve; the experience that will teach you what not to do the next time around. So, don’t give up! Every subsequent trip will only increase your confidence and get your kids used to travelling, making holidays with kids much easier with each trip.

Our first trip to India, was a nightmare where everything that could go wrong, went wrong. We lost our bags, we encountered delayed flights, we were stressed throughout and the kids were sick during the entire trip. And after that trip, it took me months to even gather the courage to even plan another. But we did plan subsequent trips and holidays and things only got easier each time. 

Children adapt really fast, adults not so much!

Having moved two countries in these last three years and having travelled with the boys a fair bit, I have come to believe that children adapt much faster than we give them credit for. They adjust better to change; they are more curious and open to new experiences. It is we adults who worry about how they will cope, what we should carry, what we should leave behind, what they will eat and what they won’t. 

We always manage to find something to entertain ourselves even
when we are stuck in a field with some stones that make our Mammy get all excited for no reason

So you don’t have to get a panic attack if the restaurant you have walked into doesn’t have a kids menu. Chances are,  you will invariably find something that is tasty and excites them, whether it be a creamy pasta or sausages with mash or a Nasi lemak with chicken drumsticks or a chocolate prata.

Great expectations: not so great!

Do not expect a trip with a child to go at the same pace as with another adult! You cannot expect to cover 3 museums a day with a child in tow. If that is what you are expecting, you are in for a disappointment. Slow down your pace and keep your expectations real.

Also plan for unexpected delays like sudden demands for toilet visits each time there is none for miles on the motorway. And yes, the trip to the sea-lion rescue centre may last much longer than the 2hrs you budgeted for, leaving you with no time to see the castle you wanted.
Shit happens. Live with it! 

Plan ahead

While the company of our kids teaches us lessons in spontaneity previously forgotten, trip arrangements are no place to be spontaneous especially if you are travelling with a baby or a toddler. A few simple steps can reduce your stress drastically viz.

• Leave well in advance so you aren’t rushing at the last minute while simultaneously begging the kids to hurry up.
• Being stuck in long queues especially with a kid who asks you every ten seconds how long it will take, can give you a crash course in being patient and calm under duress! In order to avoid such crash courses, wherever possible, buy tickets for attractions in advance so you can skip the long queues.
• Check out activities for children at the destination you are headed to so there is something for them to enjoy each day. So if you want to visit a museum or a garden, make sure there is a visit to the zoo or a playground planned the same day so everyone is happy.
• Carry snacks and juice in your bag. Not only is food a good way to beat boredom, sometimes it is a critical back-up to have when you run into unexpected delays.
• Carry basic medicines for fever, ear ache or upset tummy with you wherever you travel. If your kid is prone to falling sick, always check ahead where to go in case you need a doctor. This time, V2 developed infections in both ears which was compounded by the long flight. Luckily for us, Singapore was a familiar city and we went straight to the paediatrician who was our doctor when they were babies.
• Always carry extra set of clothes. We learnt this the hard way; each time we forgot to carry spare clothing, as I mentioned earlier, V2 would choose that day to throw up! 
• Load games/apps on your tablet/phone for in-flight entertainment. Keeps the kids occupied and most importantly keeps them from getting unduly interested in your neighbours
• If you are driving, try make a pit stop every 2hrs so they get to walk and run around. Remember the phrase "an empty mind is a devil's workshop" was probably created keeping bored kids in mind. 

Choose wisely

Our first international trip, short of bottled water, we carried everything – books, toys, snacks, to formula and nappies! Only to realise, we could’ve purchased 80% of those in the destination we were headed to, thereby reducing our luggage drastically. So decide in advance what is an absolute necessity and what you can avoid carrying. 

Most sensible travel websites and blogs will tell you that you needn’t carry 200 toys and video games to keep your child engaged. A few choice books/ toys work just as well. And a trip to a nearby park/ playground in the evenings or staying at a working farm is always more exciting than a video game.

Jet lag can be fun.... sometimes

In dealing jet lag I have always gone by the book (always follow your usual routine but as per the time in the new country) and never deviated from the written word. 

Until now that is. This time, on Night 1, when the boys woke up at 1 am and we couldn't get any shut eye either, I broke my own rule and let the three men in my life go out at 3 am to get some food. We sat around the table, laughing over a really late dinner/ very early breakfast at 4 in the am and then each of us promptly fell asleep. It was absolutely the wrong thing to do, the wrong strategy to follow; but sometimes, letting yourself get carried away by the excitement of that moment is so much more fun than following the rule book!

P.S - The rules were back in force after that night and interestingly, my 3 yr olds were over their jet lag long before I had gotten over mine! 

Take a chill pill! 

Finally, relax! Being perpetually paranoid, I should be the last person handing out this piece of advice, but I have learnt ( ironically, the hard way) to relax and let things move at their own pace.

Accept that the pace will be slower than before, and that things may not go exactly as you planned. So stop aiming for perfection, be patient, enjoy yourself and share their excitement. 

And remember, kids running around isn’t such a bad thing all the time; especially in crowded airport lounges, it ensures people run off the minute they see you coming, leaving you with some much-needed seats to sink into! :)

So long, London!

I came to London grudgingly and I leave grudgingly.

Not just because I dislike change in most forms and hate the idea of shifting and starting all over again, but also because somewhere during these last 18 months, I fell in love with bits and pieces of this city and country. Not fully, not wholeheartedly; the perpetually grey, wet and cold English weather and the First World (complete lack of ) efficiency made sure I didn't fall head over heels in love with this country, but somewhere along the way, I stopped cribbing and started enjoying myself. And enjoy it I did much more than I expected myself to.

So as I say goodbye to London for now (have a feeling we will be back in a few years and I will again get to use that pair of Uggs and my Michael Kors jacket I so love), just wanted to share a few pictures and memories of what I will miss about the city! 

I fell head over heels in love with the beautiful 100 yr old house we lived in.
Built in 1914, it is every bit the quintessential Brit abode from it's huge freezing interiors that made us have the boiler on even in summer; radiators that needed a plumber to come in every alternate day in the beginning, the bedroom on the roof with sloping ceiling and a huge garden full of apple trees and rose and camellia bushes & a hedge of holly and laurel to the foxes that came visiting looking for food.
This beautiful house is what I will miss the most when I think of London....

The 100 yr old house we lived in with it's vast, rambling garden that once housed a tennis court..

I will terribly miss it's huge garden with its beautiful roses, damson and apple trees and its strawberry patch and flowers in every season... magnolias and crocus that bloomed wild in spring to tulips, lilac and azaleas in summer to chrysanthemums and marigolds and roses that bloomed till late autumn...

Roses from our garden

I will miss getting excited about snow...

And going berserk shooting pictures in Spring... here, here and here lie the proof of that obsession :)

I will miss the summer days where we lay on the grass in tents and had dinner under the blue sky....

Dinner outdoor on a hot summer evening

And the beautiful flowers that bloomed every season and grew wild everywhere -in the parks and meadows, along the roads and in hedges and pavements...

Spring in all it's glory..

Daisies blooming wild

And the fox that came to visit our home

Our trips to the park every evening till it got too cold to leave the house

V1 looking for foxholes

V2 as always looks for an audience even when there is none!

The stunning blue skies and the breath taking sunsets

The skies one evening as seen from our front gate..

The breath taking scenery we came across when we drove around or took short weekend breaks

The haggis, the wine, the sausages and the fresh cherries and berries...

Picking blackberries at Garsons

And to the village fairs that we went to in summer that felt straight out of a P.G. Wodehouse or Agatha Christie book.

The impromptu trips to the museums on my own and the ones with the boys to "Dinosaur land" (The Natural History Museum) to see their favourite Dippy and T-Rex

I will miss the way everyone, from taxi-drivers to handymen to packers to plumber addressed you as "my love" and "sweetheart". I am not being classist here, but at times I do amuse myself by wondering what one's reaction would be if a plumber in Bombay were to call them "janeman" instead of "madam" :)

I will miss my large spacious kitchen where I would sit and read a book or just stare at the beautiful flowers on the window sill

My kitchen table with Easter cactus and hyacinths in bloom in the background
and daffodils from the garden in a jam vase.

I will miss the long walks alone, in the cold, that I had just started falling in love with and the shorter half mile daily ones to the school I did with the boys each morning which felt longer because we were invariably late each morning.

And more than anything, I will miss all the running around we did with the brats-

• The visits to Deen City farm to feed the cows, goats and sheep and to the pick your own fields where we picked fresh fruits and vegetables straight off the plants and trees...
• The little walks we took in Richmond Park where we never saw any deer but came across many a horse and rider and little ponds and mysterious, giant hollow trees;  
• The stunning gardens and forests maintained by the National Trust that gave so much fodder to my blog - from tulip filled gardens to flame coloured forests in autumn 
• And the trips to feed the geese and swan in the little pond in the meadow when we could think of nothing better to do..

I will miss everything about the city that gave so much inspiration to me in terms of material and pictures to keep blogging...
And I cannot believe I am saying this, but five minutes after I came out of Changi airport, I was sweating like a pig and crying out for the cold, grey weather I constantly cribbed about, too! :)

So long London, till we meet again...

Portraits etched in memory

“Memories are what warm you up from the inside. But they're also what tear you apart.”
― Haruki Murakami

“You know you fit in here so perfectly, I feel as if you lived here all your life”, says my 82 yr old very posh, very genteel, very English neighbor, suddenly, in the midst of a session where I am showing her how to Skype so we can stay in touch. 

“Ha ha ha”; my very loud, very inelegant and very un-British guffaw, comes out almost instantaneously even before I can stop it, ruining the heart felt emotion behind that touching compliment. 

“Do you remember how we met? I never thought we would ever become friends after what happened that day” I say. As far as first impressions go, the one I made the day we first met, still makes me cringe with embarrassment. 

We had just moved into our new home in London and the first thing I found on the steps was this beautiful bouquet of peonies and lilies with our address on it. The first thought that I had was “Wow, the real estate agents here sure know how to welcome people”. I happily took the flowers inside and as I put them in a vase, a little card fell out. Opening it, I discovered to my utter horror that they were addressed to a neighbour and were delivered by mistake to our address. Mortified, I took the flowers and walked to her gate and knocked a few times. It was locked and I couldn’t see beyond the large wooden gate. It was raining and I didn’t want to leave the flowers on the pavement either. Thinking the Universe probably meant for me to have the flowers, I brought them back in. 

The next morning, there was a knock on my door. Opening it, I found an elderly lady standing there. “Hello, I am your neighbor, Chris” she said. The first thought that sprang to my guilty mind was “Oh my God, she knows I took the flowers and now she has come to yell at me”. But Chris had only come to say Hello and to welcome me to the neighborhood. 

“There is something I need to tell you” I finally blurted out the minute she sat down. I went on to confess about the flowers, all the while wondering what on earth would she be thinking about me. But the very ‘propah’ lady I met remained nonplussed, requested me to write down our names on a piece of paper so she could remember them and then as she left with the flowers, she asked me to come over the next day to have a cup of tea. 

I went there with a bouquet of flowers (a new one) and told her they were to make up for the ones I had taken. She started laughing. And thus began our odd friendship; between two people as disparate as could be; one a very proper, genteel, posh British lady and and a very brash, inelegant Indian less than half her age. 

“She is merely being polite. Brits like to mind their own business and stay aloof” my hubby said. But he was wrong. Proper and correct at all points of time she may be, but aloof or stiff upper lip she most definitely is not! 

She took me around in her car to show me the nearest Waitrose and M&S and the other shops in the area. She introduced me to the butcher and the florist; and gave me a first hand orientation to all things British – from getting fresh eggs from the butcher, cucumbers from Kent and ham from Wiltshire and bread from Warburtons and fish from the fish lady who drove by on Tuesdays to introducing me to her bridge buddies, her book club and even to the social do’s and don’ts and the unsaid, unwritten dress code at the Ascot. If I had to thank one single person who made my transition in to this completely new country, an easier, smoother one, it would be she. 

But that is not what I will miss the most about my octogenarian friend. 

I will miss watching the Ascot on her little kitchen TV and laughing while we discussed the fashion choices everyone flaunted! I will miss the little flowers and cards she left me as a surprise, made all the more special because of the effort it took to write them,, with her arthritis. I will miss her calling me to check up how I was doing each time Vj travelled. I will miss her assuring me that she is just a phone call away each time I want help or need a ride to the market. I will miss her patiently going through and complimenting every frivolous post I wrote and every picture I shared with her. I will miss her doting on my boys, showering them with gifts from candies, to soft toys to books specially printed for them for Christmas. 

But most importantly I will miss the company of a woman I have come to respect and admire so much over these past few months; a woman who changed my whole outlook as to what life at eighty could be all about. 

I will miss the gutsy and fiercely independent woman who drives her car around because she cannot walk to the market any longer; who lives alone and yet asks me to call her if I am scared of being alone when Vj is travelling; who makes fun of her own lack of mobility; who hates talking about her ailments and who never asks for help if she can help it but has always been  there to offer me all the help in the world – from driving me to the sorting office to offering to get me groceries so I can come back from my holidays and not have to go to a shop immediately. 

I will miss a woman who taught herself to use computers at the age of 75; who discovered the advantage of Kindle long before I did (did you know Kindle is a god send gadget especially when you have arthritis and cannot hold a book for long?); and who pooh-poohed my fear of online transactions and promptly proceeded to teach me how to shop on Amazon. 

And I will miss the woman whose engagement diary is always full, whose social life makes me, a woman less than half her age and in the prime of her life (me in case you wondered who I am talking about) wonder what the hell am I doing with my life! 

I get up finally and promise her she won’t get rid of me so easily and I will hound her with emails and phone calls. And knowing me, she definitely will not. It will not be the same as living next door to each other, but it will have to do, for now. 

And as I bid goodbye to the one person I shall miss terribly, I hope and pray that if I can reach even half her courage, her independence and her generosity of spirit, I will consider my life well lived. 

********************************************************************

How can a 'Goodbye to London' post not touch upon the one man who mattered to me more than anyone else here!
Yes, that's right, talking about the butcher here! :)

The day John returned from his week long annual holiday, I was there first thing in the morning, at his shop to greet him with a "Oh my goodness, you will not believe how much I missed you". And I don't think I have ever been that effusive with the husband in the 12yrs we have been married.

Actually I was aiming for a more sedate, "How was your vacation and I ran out of meat" but having suffered through a weekend of trying to cook and bite into  leather like meat from the desi butcher, one cannot fault me for letting my carnivorous emotions getting the better of me.

A lesser man would have wondered if I was making a pass at him, but not John. The thing about him, the reason we got along so well as a perfect match of mental wavelengths. With a grin that lit up his dour face, he asked, "Why where have you been buying your meat from while I was away?"

He knew that if I bought steaks, it meant the hubby was away and would relentlessly tease me with "Are you sure he doesn't have a jolly tucked away somewhere?"
He knew my love for haggis and introduced me to the tradition of Scotch and haggis on Burn's night.
He gave me tips on cooking my steak and keeping it juicy.
He assuaged my worries about V2 eating only meat and V1 eating only fruits with a pragmatic, "Think about it, between the two, they do manage a balanced meal, don't they?"
He knew of my penchant of attracting bad weather on holidays and would greet me a sympathetic "oh you poor sausage" (butcher speak for the more common "my love" used by everyone else) each time I came back from a trip.

I am going to miss all that.
But most of all,  I am going to terribly miss the most amazing home-made sausages I have ever eaten in my life. The first time I bought them, John announced proudly, "after you taste this, you will never want to go back to store bought trash in your life".
And he was right.
Everything else will now seem like store bought trash! And for a carnivore like me, there can be no greater tragedy. 

A walk in the park

As I did my usual 3mile walk in the park today, it struck me that this could very well be my last walk in London for a while. There are thousand and one things to do before the packers arrive Monday morning and given the amount of time I have wasted in making lists, then staring at the lists, panicking and leaving it all for another day; I have landed myself in a state where I need to use every minute of the remaining time left in organizing and trying to control the chaos that are going to descend upon me! 

But today as I walked and mentally worked out a list of things to do for tomorrow, I realized I didn’t want this to be my last walk and my brain, of its own volition was working out how I could schedule some time for my walk tomorrow in the midst of a long list of things to be done. 

Yes, if you didn’t get it the first time or were too shocked to believe what you just read, here it is in plain speak – I wanted to come back to walk again in the park tomorrow. 

Yes, ME, the same person, who has always looked for excuses to get out of any form of exercise! The same confirmed and chronic couch potato ME, whose idea of exercise was (still is) to press the buttons on the TV remote. The very same ME who steadfastly refused to be inspired by her marathon running husband and instead chose to justify her inactivity and inertia with a “The Universe needs balance and  equilibrium and hence by being lazy and not exercising I am making up for Vj’s over the top need for activity” (Lazy I may be but no one can fault me on not being innovative) 

Yes, the very same me who never let herself be goaded, shamed, inspired, prodded or pushed into exercise either by doctors, trainers, random advice giving strangers or nagging early-mornin-Yoga-doing-aloevera-juice-drinking Mother!!! Why was the very same ME wanting to come back for a walk instead of jumping with joy at having a valid excuse to get out of exercising??? 

When did this miracle happen? 

Well, it all started when I read this beautiful quote my friend N had put up with the picture of a dragon fly. 

“I fly because it releases my mind from the tyranny of petty things” ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery 

I had just gotten back to walking those days and something about that quote just resonated with me. Walking alone in the park after the boys were in school or in bed (on summer evenings) was my way of getting away from the world for a short while; of leaving behind the madness and chaos; of forgetting the tantrums, the fights, the exhaustion, the worries and everything I wanted to get away from. That simple sentence was what gave me the much needed push that I had been looking for. 

And then as I shared this development with N, who is a runner herself, she encouraged me and motivated me every step of the way and even introduced me to a runner’s group to keep me going. And she even insisted I write this post! :)

Today after a few months of walking regularly, I have come to realize how much I have come to enjoy it; not because of the weight loss or health related benefits it offers, because honestly I haven’t experienced any inspite of all the walking, but for the sheer joy in the activity itself. 

On days when it was a hot sweltering 27 degrees and I wanted to just lie in the garden, sip some Pimms and read a book; on days when it was drizzling and I wanted to stay indoors; on days when it became a freezing 4 degrees and I had to literally drag myself to the park; and most importantly on days when I stood on the weighing scale and wanted to stomp on it in fury and disbelief and crush it into a pulp, all I remembered was that wonderful feeling of escaping from it all for a short while and be alone with just myself and my thoughts around me… and I put on my shoes and went for my walk… 

I have walked amongst the clumps of summer flowers and poppies growing wild, I have walked with a light drizzle falling over my head; I have walked avoiding the mud and the puddles of water and treading carefully on rain soaked pavements or moss covered paths; and I have walked without my jacket, enjoying the feel of the freezing cold wind blowing in on my face on winter mornings. 

For that one hour, I have had only my music and the thoughts in my head for company. I have written posts in my head while walking. I have sorted out problems and dealt with annoying pests in my head while walking. At times I have contemplated the very deep mystery of my own existence and at others I have mulled over more superficial matters like how much of a difference owning a dog can make to your romantic and social life (insights based on all the dog owners I notice in the park each day). And some days, I have just wiped clean all thought from my head, choosing only to loudly croon the Mambo no. 5 much to the amusement of someone passing by!

And I have come to love the park a little more with each passing day, in every avatar it has donned over the changing seasons; filled with roses and wild flowers, students playing the guitar and children running around and laughing on bright, summer mornings or evenings; to just an odd parent or two pushing a child on the swing while the ground lay covered in dew, raindrops and leaves of every colour imaginable on autumn days; to being completely desolate and cold and grey in winter.

Now sadly, I have no results to show for these months of walking, but a few days back as I huffed and puffed my way around the park, something interesting happened. As I crossed another jogger, she stopped to sign to ask me “how many rounds of the park?”. I signaled 5 . She made an exclamation which I didn't hear clearly. The next round as I met her, she said, “I was planning to leave but you inspired me to do an extra round”. 

The paradox of a self proclaimed couch potato inspiring another person into exercising harder was not lost on me. And at that moment, that one simple compliment from a total stranger had me beaming and realizing that sometimes it is small moments like this that also make the effort worth the while. May not be as sweet as those much needed kilos off the scale but sweet nevertheless.

Today as I put all my thoughts down on paper, I realize how much I am going to miss this and how I need to, how I must go back . . . . one more time. . .  tomorrow.

For you, here are a few pictures of my walking route - clicked with my iphone...

Poppies in bloom in summer

And wildflowers everywhere

Even the weeds look pretty

The paths glowed on summer evenings

And the skies had strange shaped clouds

Little puddles around when it rains

Autumn and the park is already empty...

The trees look breath taking

As does the ground I walk on

And the benches are covered with a shower of colourful leaves

Winter has arrived...

The colours give way to monochromatic shades on grey , wet days...

No this is not evening.... but 11 am on a grey cold day!!! 

Note to Self : As I move to Singapore, I hope I have the good sense to hold on to this inspiration and never lose it under the weight of the excuses of settling in, stress, heat, humidity or anything else I can think of!

Autumn Colours at Winkworth

It was two degrees on Saturday morning. 

The Arctic winds had decided to visit and the weather just went from cold and grey to positively freezing (okay so I lived in the tropics most of my life and anything below 5 degrees is always freezing for me). Coincidentally, that was the day we had chosen to visit this little known place run by the National Trust, called Winkworth Arboretum, to see the autumn colours in all their glory. 

While I was eager to click some pictures, we were meeting two friends and their two daughters so V1 and V2 were even more eager than me to make this trip. 
And then the fun began.

First our friends got held up due to car trouble. Then we reached Winkworth to discover that almost half of London had the same bright idea as us and there was a mile long queue to enter the Arboretum, compounded by the fact that their parking was full and they were letting a car in only when one car left (it took us half an hr to get to Winkworth and another half hr to get in). Finally after what seemed likes ages spent waiting; and it always seems like ages when you have two toddlers who ask you "How much longer?" every 10 seconds and you keep dreading when they will utter the T word (toilet), Lady luck decided to shine on us and we got in.

It was freezing in the Arboretum and because I refused to wear gloves since they hampered my holding the camera, my fingers were numb and had lost all sensation and I started wondering how long it would take for my fingers to get frost bite. Luckily we saw a horse carriage that got the boys all excited and so Vj took the boys on the horse carriage while I walked around the next fifteen minutes and shot some pictures on my own. 

Winkworth has some beautiful foliage to offer but in terms of magnitude, it is really small - just a small clump of beautifully coloured trees here and there. I had actually expected to see entire hills covered with autumn colours, like you see in the pictures of  'fall country' from US and Canada and so was quite disappointed with the few trees around. Having said that, I have a feeling Winkworth would actually be more stunning in summer when the bluebells and daffodils are out and cover the meadows and the walks all over the hills around the forest/ Arboretum.

If you visit, do carry food along as the cafe hardly has anything to offer and the queues are unbearably long. as are the queues for the rest rooms (there are hardly any facilities on the property).  And be prepared for the long queues to get in during the weekends.

Finally, our friends managed to get in and join us and the 4 kids were thrilled to meet each other. None of them was the least bit interested in the autumn colours so we picked some leaves, posed with the owl statues and the Halloween posters and then took another carriage ride through the forest. And then we all went to our place and continued the fun over dinner and some wine while the kids jumped around. 

Altogether a great Saturday.

Here are some pictures from the trip -