Love in the time of Kindergarten

With abject apologies to Alfred, Lord Tennyson, for massacring a classic, I have reached the conclusion that the time when one waited for the Spring of youth to fall in love, is long over. Instead, young men and their "fancy lightly turn into thoughts of love" by the time they reach the ripe age of 4years. 

And so it has been in our household, with our V1 and V2 being very caught up these days with issues that are very pertinent to a 4yr old's existence; such as love and marriage. Every other day, there is some discussion or the other about who to marry, who not to marry, what will lead to marriage, what one looks for when choosing a partner and so on… 

So, in keeping with spirit of Christmas love and to celebrate the winding down of this memorable 2013,  here are a few snippets of our current romances, dalliances and heartbreaks.

Let me show you my moves baby

A few weeks back, the boys and I were at the swimming pool in our condominium. I was busy reading a book by the pool side while the boys were splashing around. At that moment, there arrived, a little water nymph who was all of 8 years old. As she proceeded to jump through an inflatable tire with a proficiency that would put a trained sea lion to shame, the boys stopped all splashing to watch her spell bound. 

V2 our Casanova, not content with being mere audience, decided he needed to make her acquaintance. So each time she jumped, he would clap and shout, "You are so beautiful. Do it again". It must have pleased the girl, for she went on to acknowledge his presence with the faintest hint of a nod and smile. 

So it went on; V2 playing the love struck fan by furiously clapping and showering compliments and the water nymph raising her game with more daring dives to further impress her admirer. 

All this while, V1 had been watching her silently. He must have decided it was time to make his presence felt, for, after an entire half hour spent watching her, he finally spoke.
"Hey, I can see your bum", he said.

Result : Pin drop silence for a moment, followed by a glare that could kill from kilometres away; and then the water nymph stomped off in a huff.

Why do I begin with this incident?
Because this moment; in a nutshell, sums up the difference in their style, their attitude and their modus operandi.
V1 is typical guy - uncomplicated, forthright and is yet to grasp the enormous power of flattery.
V2 on the other hand, is a smooth operator, who instinctively knows what is the right thing to say, how to charm and is harbouring ambitions of creating his own personal harem.

It's not what you said!

V1 comes home from school looking crestfallen one day. "Mammy, one girl pinched me in the bus and it hurt me so much"

The Bong mother was understandably worked up. "Why did she pinch you? Did you complain to your bus aunty?"

V1: "No, she pinched me because I annoyed her"

Me sighing: "What did you do to annoy her"

V1: "Me call her a big, red watermelon and she got angry"

I sigh louder and bend down to explain patiently to my innocent child, how the world works ,
"People get mad if you call them a watermelon. It's not a compliment. Why would you call her a watermelon?" 

V1: "But I love watermelons Mammy. I call her watermelon because I like her. But her get annoyed and her pinched me. I told you girls are annoying and silly"

Marry for love or money? Or a few pieces of silver? 

One day V2 comes up to me and says, "I want to marry Aunty C"

Me: "Eh? Why? I didn't know you liked her so much"

Aunty C is one of my closest friends.
V1 and V2 adore her 12yr old daughter and her husband but have never been overtly enamoured by her. Hence I was confused as to these new developments. 

V2 explains patiently, "Mammy when I ask you for your necklace, you said you give me your jewellery only if I marry a girl you like. So I thought and I thought and I had a very good idea. I marry Aunty C because you like her. And then I can have all your jewellery."

All it takes is just one kiss!

Christmas carol singing in school.
While all the children including V2, dressed cutely in Santa hats, are singing along, V1 sits there, with his hat pulled over his eyes, pretending he doesn't exist and looking like he wishes to be light years away from the whole spectacle. 

During the singing, there are parts where you have to hug and kiss the person next to you.
Next to V1 is a cute little Japanese girl in red. She looks crestfallen, because each time she tries to hug V1, he glares at her and utters a loud No.

After the singing was over, I decide to have a chat with V1.
"How was the singing" I ask. "Did you not enjoy yourself?"
V1 is a man of few words, like his dad.
"No" he says.
"Okay. But why didn't you let the girl hug and kiss you? She looked so sad because you were pushing her away" I said, trying to appeal to his better nature.
"I didn't want her to kiss me" V1 replied.
"Why?"
"Because if she kissed me, she would have wanted to marry me"

The No.1 thing to look for in your life partner? 

We are talking about the movie Frozen which we saw that weekend.
What we are discussing is the fight between the 2 sisters Elsa and Anna on the topic of Anna's marriage.

V1: "Why her sister say she can't marry?"
Me: "Because the guy was a stranger and her sister said she couldn't marry a stranger."

At this point V2, who is perpetually showing off his superior knowledge, pipes in.
"You cannot marry a stranger.

You need to know them for 76 minutes.

If you can remember their name after 76 minutes, you can marry them.
If you cannot remember their name, you cannot marry them"

Now THAT, is some really sensible advice indeed!!! I just wish he remembers it when he is 21!  

Second time's the charm...

V1 may have the knack of showering people with the worst compliments, but apparently he is getting better at it. This is a story I heard from his class teacher at the PTA meeting.

V1 to Ms K, "Ms K, I love your skin"
Ms K is from New Zealand and is heavily freckled. According to her, she has received many compliments in her life but none for how her skin looks.
So she asked V1 why he loved her skin.
V1: "Because you have so many spots Ms K, you look like a cheetah."
Cheetah being V1's favourite animal, Ms K, needless to say was touched with that genuine, heartfelt compliment.

Brothers before Others!

Inspite of all the talk of not wanting to be married (V1) or wanting to have 11 wives (V2 as of last count), there is one love that trumps all others as of now..
No, not the love for Mammy but for the brother, best friend, partner in crime.

Thus,
Love is…..

Appointing yourself brother's legal counsel and negotiating on his behalf, each time he is pulled up by Mammy.

Waking up in the middle of the night, and dragging brother while simultaneously carrying his water bottle, his pillow and toy to Daddy Mammy's room, so he doesn't get left behind alone.

Coming home proudly displaying the certificate the teacher handed you. Then you look at your brother who is crying inconsolably because he didn't receive one. And then without even batting an eyelid, you tear your precious certificate in half and hand over one half to your crying brother and say "Here, take your share".

And love is…. jumping into the deeper end of the pool without a thought, even when you can barely swim on your own, even though your dad is already there, because "my brother was sinked and I needed to rescue him"

On that note, here's to a 2014 filled with loads of love and happiness! 

Krrish 3

Firstpost called it "a film instructor's worst nightmare.

Indian Express gave it a mere 2 and a half stars.

My sister who went to see it with her 3 and a half year old, proclaimed it as a movie meant only for those with the mental age of a 10 year old or less. 

Then came the hilarious Vigil Idiot review that clobbered everything about it. 

So obviously, I just had to go see for myself, exactly how bad it really was. 

Now, I honestly do not know if it is because my threshold for crappy movies is real high, (movies like Jaani Dushman Ek Anokhi Kahaani or Attack of the Killer Pumpkin; that send normal people scurrying for cover are staple Friday night fare for me) or if it is because I grew up a comic book geek and love all superhero movies, or if it is because I have the EQ of a 8yr old;  but the truth is, I actually didn't hate Krrish 3. 

Infact I quite enjoyed it. 

True to every accusation, it has been heavily "inspired" by X-Men and The Amazing Spiderman, Man of Steel and a few other superhero movies out there. (Mr Roshan, you cannot claim coincidence as your defence, when your moll is a desi replica of Mystique, when every single one of your villain's sidekicks seem to have popped out of the X-Men movies, when your villain has the powers of Prof X and apes the Dark Phoenix while unleashing destruction, and your climax sequence is a copy of Man of Steel). 

However, to give the Roshans their due, they manage to Bollywoodize these "inspirations", tie them together and turn it into a pretty watchable  desi-superhero film, with familiar Manmohan Desai style elements like lost-evil-brother, sacrificing-father, vamp-in-love-with-hero thrown in, and then jazz it up with some stunning special effects.

Nah, make that seriously mind-blowing, world class special effects! 

Sure, the story is a mishmash of gibberish, but then most superhero movies/ James Bond movies have plots as thin, if not thinner than this. And tell me honestly, have you ever seen a superhero movie, where the plot made sense? If it is rationale and logic that you want, why go watch a superhero movie in the first place? 

Hrithik as the superhero Krrish, looks just as gorgeous as Henry Cavill and he is definitely far better looking than Ben Affleck will ever be as Batman. He could have been been quite likeable if he didn't have this propensity to get all teary eyed at the drop of a hat. Kangana as the shape shifting mutant, brings a tenderness to her role that Mystique never really had, and steals the show totally from Priyanka. 

For me the biggest let down of the movie was not the brand placements that were everywhere (though having a Flair pen brand placement crop up in the climax, when the scientist dad is trying to save his son is just plain ludicrous); it was Vivek Oberoi in the role of the wheelchair bound villain with telekinetic powers, Kaal; who inspite of the white makeup and blue contacts, just didn't seem fearsome or evil enough. 

Anyways, to cut a long story short, I went in expecting the worst, and came back quite surprised. 

Hell, I might even watch it again. 

What does that say about my taste or my EQ, I really have no idea. 

The Cuckoo's Calling : a review

After a three week long wait in the reservation queue at the National Library, Singapore, finally I got my hands on the famous "The Cuckoo's Calling" last month. 

For those not familiar with the book (a next to impossible feat that, given the amount of publicity it has garnered in the recent months), the book is a murder mystery, purportedly written by a unknown author, Robert Galbraith. What makes it (in)famous however, is that; after the book had been published and had barely sold 500 copies, it was revealed that the relatively unknown Robert Galbraith was none other than J. K. Rowling, the highly successful and much acclaimed author of the Harry Potter series. Once the identity of the author was known, the book immediately shot up to the top of all best seller lists, received rave reviews and became a world wide phenomenon. 

Rowling, in the Robert Galbraith website and in a tell-all interview with the Guardian, has spoken/ written at great length about why she chose to write under a pseudonym. If you are interested in reading more about it, you can follow the link here. However, this post is about the book and not about the author and her intentions, so we shall leave that issue behind and proceed ahead.

As I mentioned earlier, given all the publicity and the rave reviews this book was garnering, and given my addiction to crime fiction novels, I was extremely curious to find out for myself how The Cuckoo's Calling fared and whether it lived up to the expectations it had created. 

The story revolves around the death of a super model, Lula Landry, under suspicious circumstances. The police dismiss the case as that of a suicide but her brother, who remains convinced that it is a murder, calls in an ex-army policeman turned detective, Cormoran Strike, to investigate the case. What follows after, makes for the story of Rowling's first foray into crime fiction. 

Now, for starters, I must admit that inspite of all the media attention it has garnered, The Cuckoo's Calling is quite a good and interesting novel and keeps you engrossed throughout most of its 460 odd pages. 

What I loved about the book

One of the best things about the book was the characters Galbraith/Rowling introduces us to; especially that of her main protagonist, Cormoran Strike; a disabled ex-army cop with one leg. He is the illegitimate offspring of a famous rock star and a groupie-addict, and has seen more than his share of hard times, growing up. When we are introduced to him, he is trying to cope with being homeless and betrayed by the woman he loves and is struggling to keep his life and his business afloat. In every sense of the term, he is an underdog and he ends up making you root for him to succeed. 

I also enjoyed the character of Strike's smart, practical and enterprising temp, Robin, who complements Strike perfectly. While the pair may not be in the same league as Holmes and Watson or Poirot and Hastings, they make for a very formidable and enjoyable team nevertheless. The other characters, that of model Lula Landry who was adopted at birth and is looking for her roots, her designer friend, her boy-friend with the bad-boy image, the snooty high society neighbour and her lecherous husband are all sketched out beautifully. 

Now while there have been criticisms about the book being old fashioned, I think that is precisely what I loved about it. It was very refreshing to meet a detective who takes copious notes on a note pad with a pen and uses his grey cells instead of running around, brandishing hi-tech gadgets and weapons that have become the fashion statement for detectives these days. 

I also loved the way Galbraith has weaved in the celebrity-paparazzi equation and the telephone tapping scandal that rocked UK sometime back. 

What I didn't like so much

For me, the pace of the book was challenging at times. Galbraith tends to meander and also go on and on with long descriptions that are unnecessary and not to relevant to the situation at hand, leaving one wishing that the plot was more focussed and crisp.

Also none of the characters seemed sinister or driven enough to commit murder, especially if you compared them to any set of characters with motives in any Agatha Christie murder mystery. The story line therefore lacked enough "red herrings" with substantial motives that one comes to expect from a murder mystery.

However, my biggest crib with the book is that the character of the murderer is the one Galbraith/ Rowling chose to neglect the most. Even though I had managed to guess who the murderer was, well before we reached the end (an overdose of crime fiction will do that to you), I just wished there was more time spent in building the plot and the motive instead of suddenly foisting it on the reader. 

So on the whole, while I definitely do not agree with those who call Rowling to be the greatest thing to happen to detective fiction since Agatha Christie, The Cuckoo's Calling was definitely a surprisingly good and enjoyable read and fared better than my expectations. 

And yes, I cannot wait for its sequel to be out in the stores. 

Farewell and Rest in Peace...

“At the temple there is a poem called "Loss" carved into the stone.
It has three words, but the poet has scratched them out.
You cannot read loss, only feel it.”
― Arthur Golden, Memoirs of a Geisha

Returning from a 2 month hiatus from blogging, never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that the first post I would pen down would be about loss and death. And definitely not the loss of someone dear, someone I have known for 14years now, someone I lived with, cared for and saw growing up in front of my eyes. 

Jayanth Amal Raj
30th October 1981 - 29th September 2013

I met him for the first time in 1999, when he was a shy, frail, reclusive teenager who had just been diagnosed with an ailment that had turned his life upside down... 

A year later, when I married his brother, he came to live with us in our first home in Bangalore. 

Life wasn't easy and he had more than his fair share of ups and downs, but he fought to beat the odds. 

And with pride we watched him bloom from a scared, hesitant boy into a grown up who successfully battled his ailment, who had a job he loved and a circle of friends who loved him for who he was. 

Chotu (the little one) was the youngest one in the family. Even when surrounded by a bunch of family members who were over-protective and indulgent where he was concerned, he never let it change him - he was generous to a fault, sweet and considerate. He had the rare ability to see the good in everyone and make every one feel good about themselves. He unfailingly remembered birthdays and anniversaries and sent us all reminders to wish each other. He let himself get bullied into running errands.  If you needed a shoulder to cry on, he was happy to oblige. If you asked him for help, he was always there. For every gesture of love you showed, he returned it manifold. 

Over the years, he and I forged a relationship that went far beyond that a brother in law and a sister in law shared.

We ganged up together to poke fun at Vj.
And swore to be the only members in the Raj family who would never run a marathon.

He was the faithful lieutenant I dragged with me to shady theatres, to watch Rajnikanth movies that Vj refused to go watch. And to shopping expeditions Vj refused to accompany me to.

He stood by my side in the kitchen, each time I cooked; "I don't want you to feel alone in the kitchen" he said. And he generously praised every little thing I put on the table, while I poked fun at his forever growing appetite.

He knew I abhorred the sight of a dirty kitchen and so he always washed and tidied up and removed all signs of Vj's and his bachelor existence each time I was coming back home from a trip. He continued the tradition when was I visited Bangalore where he lived, making sure the apartment always underwent a round of thorough cleaning each time I was visiting. 

And he was, and will always remain my first fan, heaping extravagant praises on everything I did. Or telling friends and family members and colleagues countless stories about me. 

To him, his "Bhabhi" was larger than life... a person who was way more talented, more accomplished in his head than I really am or could ever hope to be, and whose love and approval mattered a lot to him. 

"You are the President and lone flag bearer of my fan club", I used to joke. 

Today that ardent fan is gone.

He would have been 32 this month but he didn't live to see his 32nd birthday. 

Over the last 8 days, from the moment I walked into the chapel and saw him lying peacefully as if asleep, I have gone through a whole gamut of emotions - shock, disbelief, anger and grief. 

I cannot believe he is gone. 

That he won't be with us for Christmas. 

That he will be missing from all our family gatherings.

That he will not be there for my niece's baptism or V1 V2's first communion. 

Or call to wish me on my birthday.

Or mail or text me silly jokes and annoying forwards. 

Or walk in through the door of our Bangalore home, asking me what I wanted cooked for dinner. 

As a part of me keeps trying to make sense of what happened, I remember the sight of him lying peacefully, seemingly asleep and I hold on to the image. 

I pray that he is at peace and happy in the place he has passed on to. 

And that he shall be there, watching over his nephews and niece who he adored. 

Rest in peace JAR.

"The angels are always near to those who are grieving, to whisper to them that their loved ones are safe in the hand of God".

 ~ Quoted in The Angels' Little Instruction Book by Eileen Elias Freeman, 1994

Finding the Perfect Pet!

"Can I have my own little puppy please? Please Daddy? Please Mammy?"

Yes, these days we are going through the "I want a pet" phase; a phase I am sure, almost every parent  is familiar with and comes face to face with, at least once in his/ her lifetime. 

Now how do you react to your child's demand for a pet? 

A part of you wants to give in; as a parent you obviously appreciate the advantages of having your child(ren) grow up with the love and responsibility of having a pet. And if you, like me, have secretly hankered for a dog all these years, and have done online tests to see what breed suits your lifestyle the best and have even checked out dog shelters online, you tell yourself, this is the best time to go ahead and get a dog that will bring loads of love and joy and meaning into your life! 

And at the same time, if you, like us, are a household that hasn't ever managed the responsibility of looking after even a fish, let alone a pup; then simultaneously, you battle obvious qualms about not wanting to rock the boat of your already chaotic life. After all, you know fully well that no matter what your kids promise, eventually you will be the one who will end up with all the responsibilities for the new pet. And so you ask yourself a thousand and one times if you are ready to add to your current set of responsibilities. Don't you already have enough on your plate as it is?

You are still waking up at nights because your boys have nightmares about monster mosquitoes or want to visit the loo. You ask yourself if you really want to go through the whole cycle of having to wake up early to take the puppy out or waking up yet again in the night to comfort the new member of your family? 

Add to that a question that Vj (who has always resisted my countless pleadings and demands for a dog) keeps asking me, knowing fully well that the obsessive compulsive monster in me cannot ever answer this without hemming and hawing; "Am I ready to have a less than immaculate home; with drool and dog hair on my sofas? Am I willing to make peace with the possibility of having my carpets chewed up and scratch marks on my furniture?"

Honestly, I don't know. Yes, I am obsessive about how I keep my home and am finicky about having everything look just right. But at the same time, it is also true that I am far less obsessive than I was 4 years back; today I don't have a heart attack if I see chocolate stains on my sofa or vomit on my carpet. But how far would I willing to step out of my obsessive compulsive comfort zone, is a question I have no ready answer to. 

But no matter how difficult or tumultuous is the battle that rages on within you; there is a far bigger battle that is simultaneously happening in the battlefield of your home; the one where you and your child(ren) butt heads; where tears are shed to make you feel miserable and where your negotiation skills get pushed to their limits.

So ours went on along these lines...
We started off with the demands for a puppy; and then as we went along, we evaluated quite a few possibilities, some feasible, some absolutely ludicrous, as ideas and options of other pets kept popping into V1 and V2's head. So here is a recap of the negotiations that had been going on for over a month in our home - 

"I want a puppy Daddy"

"No"

"Why not? Don't you think puppies are cute Daddy?"

"Yes they are cute. But no, we aren't getting a puppy"

"Why Daddy? Are you scared of puppies Daddy?"

"No I am not scared." (Liar Vj!)

"Can we have a puppy then?

"No, you need to be old enough to look after a puppy."

"But we are 4 already"

"Can you clean the puppy's poo poo on your own?"

"No poo poo is so stinky"

"Well then you can't have a puppy till you are old enough to clean its poo poo"

"Okay then Daddy".
Conversation ends with a long, sad sigh which is completely ignored by the parent. 

Crisis averted. Or so we thought. 

A mere two days later,

"I want a baby kitten Mammy."

"Well you aren't getting a kitten"

"Why not Mammy?"

"I don't like cats, that's why! I don't want to have a cat in my house. End of story. "

"Hmphh, I won't be your best friend any more Mammy"

"That's really tragic boys, but I think I can live with that! But what I can most definitely NOT live with, is a cat."

A day later,
"I want a dolphin as a pet Mammy"

"You MOST DEFINITELY CANNOT have a dolphin"

"WHY NOT? You say No all the time"

"Well for one I don't know how to get one. Two we will be breaking a few laws and most likely going to jail if we keep one. And finally we will have to flood our home and live underwater like divers if we want one"

"Oh really? Living underwater all the time is not cool". 

And then, some hours later,
"Can I have an elephant as a pet?"
"NO. A big ginormous NO"
"WHY"
"Because we cannot keep an elephant inside our house. It is too big. And it will eat up all our food"
"Will it eat up my fruits?"
Now fruits are like manna from Heaven to V1 who prefers them over cakes, icecreams and pizzas.
Needless to say, sharing fruits with a pet is not what he is willing to sign up for.
"Ofcourse! Elephants love fruits. The elephant will eat up all your watermelon and your strawberries and apples and grapes."
I realise his qualms and ruthlessly move in to hammer in my advantage.
"Oh man. That will not be cool!"; V1 decides and with that ends another chapter in our negotiations.

"What about a horse then?" V2 pipes in.
He has been wanting to ride horses ever since he would visit the City Farm near our home as a toddler and watch his blonde haired, blue eyed, play school teacher ride horses there while he stood by the fence screaming, "I love you Daniella", in a manner that would make Casanova proud.
"We cannot have a horse here V2" I explain. "We don't have enough place to keep a horse"
"Let's go back to London Mammy. We can keep a horse in London"
I don't have the heart to explain that we cannot keep a horse even if we go back to London.
In the spirit of crossing the bridge when we come to it, I nod my head and say,
"We just moved here. We cannot go back to London now but when we do, we can look at getting a horse, okay?"
"Okay Mammy" nods V2 and with that ends another chapter in our negotiations.

Phew!
I am beginning to get good at this, I tell myself; and remind myself to give myself a pat on the back when the boys aren't looking.

A day later,

"I want a baby as a pet"  

"WHAT??" My eyes almost pop out of my head. Am I hearing right?

"I want a baby as a pet. A real baby"! V2 speaks slower this time so I can comprehend clearly.
I sit down and wait for it to sink in. 

But apparently it's not just any baby that he wants. V2 specifically points to a really cute, roly poly, gurgling baby in the Sound Touch App on my iPad and asks me to get him that particular baby as his new pet!

I wonder how to tackle this situation. 

Should I explain to him that a baby is technically not a pet, not by any stretch of the imagination or legal possibilities or should I just deal with it the old fashioned way and teach him how much work a baby involves.
I decided to settle for the latter.

"Well if you want a baby, you should be willing to look after it. You will have to feed it, bathe it, put nappies on it, and carry it around all the time. And if it wakes up in the night, you have to carry it around and pat it to sleep. You cannot slink into my room at night because you have to stay with your baby. And you cannot get angry when I wake you to go to the loo because baby will wake you many times"
"Will the baby potty a lot? And pee pee?" V2 asks.
"Yes babies potty and pee pee in their nappy. You need to clean them all the time. And you need to feed them and bathe them and pat them to sleep". I explain, remembering the two years I lived as a zombie.

"Oh man! That is a lot of hard work" V2 exclaims. 

"More than you'll ever know kiddo, more than you'll ever know" I am dying to add but I decide to hold my tongue.

Now, as time passes by,  the negotiations start taking on a more frantic tone.

"What about a turtle then Mammy?"

"No, a turtle's shell can store a lot of germs and you can get sick."

"Then what about a hamster?"

"No, a hamster can make you sick too. But you know what? We can consider a guinea pig."

At this point V1 has a change of heart and decides he has an issue with the responsibility of cleaning poo.
So wants to clarify before signing up, "But will the guinea pig do poo poo?"

"Of course a guinea pig does poo poo"

V1 speaks, "I don't want to clean poo poo. I want a pet who will not do poo poo".
I do a silent Hallelujah!
"Great, we will get a fish then". I say. " You don't have to clean poo poo if it is a fish"

So we settle for the one option acceptable to all parties - a betta fish.
We look at pictures together on the Internet and decide on a nice blue betta fish; to be brought home once we are back from our holidays.

Except, we come back home from a weekend trip to find our neighbour has brought home the most adorable little Golden Retriver puppy!
And so we are back to renegotiating that perfect pet all over again!

The Fall, the Haze and all the drama of Summer...

Yesterday marked the end of one month of our very first summer vacation. 

And we heralded it with a panic stricken, drama filled visit to the A&E at KK Hospital! 

Before the 8 week long summer vacations began, everyone including my husband asked me to get the boys enrolled into summer school. 

And I steadfastly refused. 

To a novice like me, who had never experienced a single summer vacation as a parent, and who till December, sent her kids to a full day play school for almost 350 days of the year; the concept of packing the kids off to school during summer holidays seemed so very unfair. Ofcourse it gave them an edge over other kids and kept them occupied with a thousand and one things to do and most importantly, kept them out of your hair but somehow it seemed so cold blooded and practical compared to the aimless, magical summer holidays we had growing up. 

Those days when we romped around in the garden with nothing to do, made up our own games, read books and played with friends. Where the one trip you looked forward to was the visit to the grandparents; when your doting Dadu (grandpa) pampered you with hot samosas and jalebis every day and where Didu (grandma) cooked all your favourite food and told you stories from the Ramayan and the Mahabharat while you sat with her under the stars, on the charpoy in the courtyard each night; and where you returned the favour by driving her around the bend by polishing off her year's stock of pickles while she enjoyed her afternoon siesta. 

To me that was what summer stood for; a time that was all about unplanned, purposeless drifting; roaming around with friends, watching flowers, catching dragon flies, making chilli lemonade and maxing out your library borrowing limit.
And I wanted my sons to experience that aimlessness. 

And then the summer vacations started.

The first day of the vacations, V1 fell off a tree, cut his lips and teeth and almost made it to A&E.

The fourth day, he picked up a fishing tackle someone thoughtlessly left lying by the riverside and cut his hand with the sharp metal hooks. I had to rush him to the dr to check if he needed tetanus shots.
All this in the very first week.
When the doctor visits were not happening, there was the waking up each morning, racking my brains as to how to keep them occupied. And then there were countless fights to be broken up, disputes to be settled and many moments where I had to be around to be given a lecture by two opinionated boys on "Let me show you what I don't like".

After only 7 seemingly endless days, the concept of letting the kids indulge in aimless wandering around during summer vacations had become one of those ideas that seem great as a concept but are pathetic when executed in real life. By Day 7, I was already firmly in a "What were you thinking?" zone where the urge to kick myself kept getting stronger with each passing hour I spent with the boys. 

Then the haze happened.
The toxic smoke from the forest fires in Indonesia blew into Singapore and increased our pollutants standard index (PSI) to an all time record high of over 400 (to put things in perspective over 100 is unhealthy and anything over 300 is considered hazardous), grounding kids  indoors for almost a week. After the first day, my resolution to limit TV watching time, went out of the window and instead I began to see TV as my saviour delivering me from insanity! And with each passing day of being stuck indoors, my debt of gratitude to the makers of Chota Bheem and to my friends who brought the DVDs from India for V1 and V2, kept getting bigger and bigger.

But just as my spirits were reaching hazardous levels, the haze lifted and things came back to normal. 

The swimming pool became my best friend after I discovered leaving the boys in the kids pool for a few hours each day was the best way to get them tired and get to bed before bed time. When we were not in the pool, we went for long walks (and by long I mean 5-6kms long) walk by the riverside or we went to the library and read. We were settling into a routine and summer vacations didn't seem so bad after all. 

All tired and crashed out after a few hours in the swimming pool!
Peace reigns at last!

Just then the fall happened.
A perfectly planned Sunday came crashing down in a moment when V2's head hit the parquet floor. And the woman who was proud of never shedding tears, lost all control and bawled like a baby.

Well what happened was as follows -
The husband and the Mother had left in the morning for India.
The help was on her day off.
The boys and I had planned a trip to the library and then a lunch at our favourite restaurant, an afternoon siesta and an evening in the pool.
It was supposed to be a perfect day.

I got the boys ready and then switched on the TV to keep them quiet and ran to take a quick shower.
I must have been away less than 3 minutes when I heard loud crying. I ran out to discover V1 crying and screaming  "He hit me first" and V2 with his face all red, holding his head.

He had a giant bump protruding from the back of his head and when I touched the bump, my heart literally stopped. The bump felt soft and squishy. All I could think of was a broken skull and brain matter flowing out. I know it sounds dramatic and preposterous and everyone who heard it, from the ER doctor to my hubby, laughed when I said it, but at that point, my brain had stopped being rational. I was alone, with 2 crying kids, one of whom was possibly grievously injured; with twenty and one possibilities, each worse than the other running through my head. So thinking straight not on the top of the list I was doing.

I managed to hail a cab and rush to the ER, and then request the nurses to get someone to see V2 immediately. The wait in the ER that followed, seemed like the longest nightmare of my life. To be fair to the hospital authorities, they rushed us through every procedure. Yet, till we met the doctor for the last time with the X-ray reports, and until she gave us an all clear with a warning to watch V2 for the next 48hours, I was unable to breathe. Even after that, after we came back home, all I felt other than a bare semblance of relief, was nothing. I was just too exhausted to react or feel anything the entire evening.

I have run through what happened so many times in my head by now, looking at how I could have avoided the incident and all the lessons I learnt from it - like never to go for a shower leaving two boys alone with a remote or the number of the ambulance service in Singapore, the biggest discovery for me was the generosity of strangers and friends alike.

The biggest debt of gratitude I owe my friend C, who I called in a panic. She heard me screaming on the phone and said, "Wait, I am coming." Her husband and daughter took a tearful and terrified V1 off my hands so I could focus only on V2. And she was there, with me at the hospital, like a rock, every step of the way; assuring me everything was going to be okay. They had guests at home and Sunday plans, all of which got nixed by our misadventure. I have known C for almost 20yrs now, and we have seen each other through many good and bad times, but yesterday, more than ever, I was thankful to have her as my friend.

Then there was the lady we met occasionally by the river walking her dogs. When she saw me trying to hail a cab, she offered to drive me to the hospital. And my neighbour's help, who unmindful of her day off, stood with me on the road, hailing cabs and who offered to look after V1 while I was in the hospital.

And Vj who never once (I would have not been as generous if I were in his place) gave me a "I told you to ask the maid not to take leave today" speech and instead kept telling me it could have happened to anyone and to stop piling the blame on myself. And my two sisters, who kept calling and reminding me how tough V2 was and how everything was going to be all right.

The biggest revelations on generosity of spirit, however, have been my two boys -

First, poor V1 who was so traumatised by guilt, he kept asking C's daughter "if my brother is all right". And since then he has been (with some lapses here and there) on his best behaviour; he has endured taunts and smacks from his brother without even flinching, has been sharing his toys voluntarily and has even done the unthinkable - share his fruits which he never does!

Then there is the hero of the hour, V2, who surprised me the most of all. When we were in the cab enroute to the hospital, I started crying while talking to my sister. V2, who was on my lap and who has never seen me in tears, turned to me and said, "Why are you crying Mammy? Look, I am not dead yet. See? I can move my hands".
Unlike me, he also had enough sense to ask the ER doctor for a candy, and then an extra candy for his brother.
Finally when we came back home and plonked our exhausted selves on the sofa,  a very apologetic V1 turned to V2 and said, "I am sorry I hurt you V2", to which he magnanimously replied, "That's alright V1. I am okay now".
Never before had forgiveness seemed so graceful and innocent at the same time.

Signing off, I am not sure if we are on our way to achieving a summer of aimlessness, but we are definitely doing great on drama. Keep tuned; another month and we shall see if we survive this summer vacation, with their limbs and my sanity intact!

Of Sassy kids and Speechless parents

Isn't it interesting how parenting is so fraught with sweet irony? 

For instance, you wait with bated breath for your kids to utter their first words and swoon at every cute lisp they belt out; and then as the words get clearer and their mastery over their vocabulary gets better; you spend the rest of their childhood, part flabbergasted, part horrified and part amused at the answers that come a little too pat for your comfort and the irrevocable logic that makes you feel like a dunce and wonder if you are raising little lawyers cum hostage negotiators? 

Art by V1,
the upside down person in the corner is his rendition of his brother V2 

Thus, here I am, part flabbergasted, part horrified and part amused and always feeling like a dunce who wonders "Why the hell was I not as smart when I was this age?"; coming back with some of my most memorable conversation moments with my twin terrors!

We do it Gangnam Style!

V1: Didu (grandma) What language does Shiva speak? Does he know Hindi?

My Mom: Ofcourse

V1: Does he know Bangla?

My Mom: Yes

V1: What about English?

My Mom: Lord Shiva is a God and so HE knows and speaks all languages.

At this point, V2, an ardent PSY fan, joins in: But does Shiva know "Gumnum" (gangnam) style?

Keep Calm and Drink Water!

V1 to me: Why are you sitting alone?

Me: I am annoyed. That is why

And then with a dollop of sarcasm and bitchiness, I add: Why, what should I be doing? Stomping my feet and screaming like you?

V1 unfazed: You need to drink water Mammy.

Me: Excuse me? What does that have to do with me being annoyed?

V1 explains calmly: You need to drink water. Daddy drinks lots of water. Daddy is never annoyed. You are annoyed all the time. You need to drink lots of water. Then you not be annoyed like Daddy.

Fishy logic!

V2 loses his temper and shoves V1. 

V1 threatens to go complain to Daddy and Mammy.

Before V1 can step out of the room to complain, V2 immediately starts crying and screaming that V1 hit him. 

Unfortunately for him, the misdirection doesn't pay as Vj had seen him shove V1 and tells him to cut out the pretence.
Which V2 promptly does with his usual roguish grin. 

Vj horrified at the reality of being taken for a ride by a 3yr old (I keep warning him about how they manipulate us but he thinks his kids are real innocent babes-in-the-woods and I am just being a mean-mommy), asks: Why did you lie to me and make up that story?

V2, as always unfazed replies without batting an eyelid: Because I eat lots of fish and I am really clever!

It's all relative!

Me: Why did you spit at your brother? 

V1: He was annoying me.

Me: So should you spit at people if they annoy you or tell them they are annoying you? Do I ever spit at you when you annoy me?

V1, grudgingly: No

Me: Why do you think I don't spit at you when I am angry?

V1: Because we don't annoy you so much! You annoy us more Mammy!

The magic touch!

Me: Why is your brother bleeding? Did you scratch him?

V1: No I didn't do anything 

Me: Tell me the truth

V1: I only touched him Mammy.

Me: You just touched him and blood happened to come out? Touch me and show how you managed that?!!

A hesitant V1 does the demo. As expected, I don't end up having any scratch or bleeding. 

Me: Okay so how come there is no scratch or blood when you touched me?

V1: The blood came by magic mummy. I cannot do magic all the time!

Move over Narcissus!

The other day, V2 was walking with a balloon in his hand when a breeze caught it and made it fly off. Just as I was gearing up for some tears, V2 just turned to me and said, "Did you see that? I made the balloon fly. Do you see how clever I am?"

Needless to say, our V2 thinks he is a genius. 

We are not so sure about the genius bit, but we definitely think he is his own one man PR machine!

Here's another gem from our resident Narcissus. 

V2: Mammy, am I pretty?

Me: Yes you are

V2: And am I handsome?

Me: Yes you are. You are very, very handsome. 

Then not sure what angst caused this, I ask: Why did you ask? Do you not think you are pretty?

V2: No Mammy, I am very pretty but I like to hear you saying it.

Imitation; the best form of flattery??? 

V1: Once upon a time there was an elephant. EAT, EAT, EAT!

V2: The elephant went to the forest. EAT, EAT, EAT!

V1: You annoying me too much. EAT! Hee hee hee.

V2: The elephant met a monkey. EAT, EAT, EAT!

V1: No TV for you anymore because you have stopped eating. Hee hee hee

Me perplexed: What are you both doing?

V1 and V2 in unison: We pretending to be you. We talking like you Mammy!

Confessions of a Book-a-holic

“Be awesome! Be a book nut!” — Dr. Seuss

Once upon a time there was a little girl who loved to read.  She wasn't very outgoing or social or sporty.  Her world, instead, revolved around books. 

When her sisters and friends were out playing or cycling, she sat in a corner of the garden, reading furiously. When she had a book in her hand, the world she lived in ceased to exist; replaced by something far more beautiful, mysterious, adventurous and magical.

By the time she was 8, she was borrowing books from 3 libraries in the little town she lived in. 

At times she got into trouble because of her reading, like the time her Dad got really angry when he caught her surreptitiously reading an Agatha Christie while pretending to be studying for the class test the next morning. There were times when people called her unsocial, snooty or just plain weird. None of that ever dampened her love affair with her books.

She grew older, went to college and then moved to a big city. She started working and living on her own, but her love for reading only grew stronger.

After all, she could now afford to buy as many books as she wanted!

When her mother visited her in the big city, she found her daughter spending every free minute and hour of her day and her weekends, crawled up in bed with a book. "This is unhealthy. You need a life" she said and went promptly dragged her daughter to the market and made her buy a TV. 

Slowly the TV started taking up more and more time, as did the new boyfriend. 

She got married, worked crazy hours, travelled like a maniac. 

Then one day, she had little kids of her own. 

Slowly and surely, as time passed, the obsession with reading started getting weaker and weaker... 

The demands of the real world took over and her moments of escape into the world of words became fewer and fewer. If she stayed up late, it was not because the book in her hand was gripping, but because the kids were demanding to be rocked to sleep. And the days of locking herself in a room to finish a book were long gone, especially with two little tykes banging on the door, demanding they be let in. 

And after her 50 cartons and 3 trunks full of books became the hot topic of conversation for the movers, each time she moved cities and countries; she decided it was time to be more prudent about the books she added to her already brimming bookshelves. 

She still read more than most people but not as much as she wished she could. And she still could never walk by a bookshop without rushing in and picking up and few and adding them to her ever growing collection because somehow the Kindles and the iBooks of the world, could never replace the feel, the look, the touch and the smell of a "real book".

Still, in her heart she knew.
The bookaholic in her was slowly but surely losing out..
If things continued the way they were, she would soon be on the verge of extinction.

And then one morning, she got a call from the Library. 

"The two books you have reserved have become available. When would you like to come and pick them up?" the man asked. 

"Really?" she wanted to jump with joy. 

She had been waiting to start the 'A song of Fire and Ice' series but couldn't till the first two books became available. 

She stopped for a second to think of all the chores that needed done that day - calling the caterer and finalising snacks for the kids b'dy party, running to a few shops to hunt down the return gifts and a visit to B-I-Y to get ingredients for their b'dy cake. Each of these had been marked in red and underlined in her diary for a week now. 

Everything and more had to be done today.

She sighed and took a decision. 

Obviously, it went without saying that the more important things needed to be done first.

"Maa" she yelled. "We need to go to the library NOW. I will figure out when we can schedule all the other stuff"

The Mother of course was not fooled. 

"Ektu o bodlale na tumi. Boi-er pisach roiley"**, she shook her head in mock disapproval; after all the girl had inherited her love of reading, albeit in much more severe doses.

The book-a-holic didn't even bother to reply. 

She was busy grinning from ear to ear, thinking about A Game of Thrones and A Clash of Kings, which would finally be in her hand after a wait of 2 whole months! 

**Loosely translated "You haven't changed one bit. You are still the ghost lives on/ devours books"

_______________________________________________

While writing this, I started asking myself who a book-a-holic really is? Is it someone who considers themselves really well read or has every room in their house filled with books or does it go beyond these, metamorphosing over time, from a hobby into a passion and then, into an obsession? 

As I started looking for answers, I drew out my list of a few signs that helps you recognise a book-a-holic. 

So here are my 12 signs of a book-a-holic : 

You can safely assume you are a book-a-holic when -

1. Your heart skips a few beats (and not in a good way) and your smile becomes forced, if a visitor to your home asks if they can borrow a book. How can you lend a book to a perfect stranger, when you even cringe at the thought of having to lend it to your own sister? But there are times, you just aren't able to say No but then you make a mental note to never invite that person to your house ever again! (For the sister, you end up giving her a thousand and one warnings and an equal number of reminders to make sure she returns the book on time and in the condition she borrowed it in).

2. Your New Year resolutions, instead of focussing on the weight you need to lose or the job you need to find; instead go along these lines of "I need to read atleast 2 great books a month" or "I shall not buy any more books till I have finished reading the ones on my bookshelf"

3. You have replaced your usual morning walk with an hour on the elliptical trainer, not because you want to burn more calories or lose weight faster, but because it gives you an extra hour to read a book in peace!

4. Your idea of doling out punishment to your kids involves sending them to bed without a bedtime story! Conversely, a reward for good behaviour involves reading atleast 3 stories at bedtime!

5. You learn that you can borrow 8 books from the Library at one go; but it never strikes you that there is actually an option where in you can borrow less than 8. To you it only means you need to step up your reading speed so you can finish all 8 in the requisite 3 weeks! 

6. You carry 5 books along with you when you land up for your first cricket one day international in a stadium! 

7. You spend an entire day desperately hopping from one branch of the National Library to the other just because you HAVE the urge to read your latest favourite author, Camilla Läckberg's Ice Princess NOW!!!

8. Your moods are governed by what you are reading at present - so you end up yelling at the husband because you were upset after reading the Kite Runner or there is a skip in your step because you discovered a beautiful little book called The Secret History (Donna Tartt) in the second hand bookshop you often like to visit and in your life there haven't been many gloomy days that P.G. Wodehouse hasn't been able to brighten. 

9. You feel the world has come to an end because you cannot find a way to resurrect your two oldest friends; your tattered copy of the Lord of the Rings and a Hitchhiker's guide to the Galaxy, and are forced to buy new copies of the same. Similar feelings of an endless void in your life, that can never be filled, had struck you when you finish reading the Millennium series and didn't know what to do next.

10. You create your very own social pecking order on the basis of what people read.... For instance, you can never ever really be friends with someone who claims to enjoy Chetan Bhagat! And you seriously evaluate your relationship with a friend because the said person couldn't stop raving about Eat, Pray, Love; a book that you found utterly disappointing and not to mention, a complete waste of time, effort and money! 

11. The only sin more unpardonable than not having read the Lord of the Rings or To Kill a Mocking bird or the Colour Purple, is not having heard of any of them! Naturally people who do not read/ like to read are, in your social pyramid, placed somewhere between those with a missing brain and those with STDs.

12. And finally, the "perfect" man of your dreams exists only inside the pages of your favourite book!

Oh well, in my case, to be fair, Gregory Peck did bring Atticus Finch to life in the movie version of To Kill a Mockingbird! 

“Never trust anyone who has not brought a book with them.” — Lemony Snicket

Note: This is my list and so coloured by my observations. If you wish to add to it, you are most welcome to throw in your suggestions

Talk, Talk, Talk: the utter stupidity of words

“I don't think..." 

"Then you shouldn't talk", said the Hatter. 

~ Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

There are some people who talk too much.

Some who talk unnecessarily.

Some who talk before they think.

And some who talk because they can't (think). 

You know, the kinds who started with a wiring defect that caused their brains to never be connected to their mouth.

Now for some strange reason, I seem to be a beacon, a homing device, a mother ship, that calls out to each and every one of these categories. 

Especially the last one. 

The more I try to avoid them or shut one up with a curt retort, a few more replace the first like the head of the Lernaean Hydra and home in. 

Note: I have been reading Homer's Illiad of late, which explains my current obsession with metaphors based on Greek mythology. 

All my life, I have had more than my share of people giving me unrequited information and advice on weight loss, diet and exercise. I have had dry cleaners telling me about the slimming benefits of certain foods, maids telling me about Chinese herbal medicines that make you lose weight and once I even had a stranger give me a DVD of a Bollywood dance exercise video for me to lose weight. 

Yes, really. 

No, am not kidding.

And that person wasn't even selling or promoting that video either! But she dutifully came over the subsequent day and handed me the video before my brain could reject or forget all the gyaan she imparted on exercising.

Over the years, I have come to make peace with this phenomenon by ignoring these supposedly well-intentioned good samaritans and fighting the urge to pummel them to the ground and then jump on them till they get reduced to mulch. 

Instead, I have had to make do with running that vision over and over again in my head.

But these are mere fledglings when compared to those, who on meeting you, will immediately shoot intensely personal questions at you, without so much as batting an eyelid.

"Why aren't you still married?"

"Why don't you have kids? Is there some problem?"

"Oh my God I couldn't believe it when I heard about your divorce"

"So do you know who are your child's birth parents?"

"I heard about your miscarriage, it is so sad..."

"I heard about your husband and the other woman.... these young girls I tell you...."

Forget evaluating the appropriateness of their act, these nitwits don't even let the teeny tiny detail of them not knowing you, ever stand in the way of them seeking out answers immediately after the cursory Hello is dispensed with.

Years back, I used to handle such questions with equally rude responses; for instance questions like "Why don't you wear sindoor/ bangles?" were always met with a "Oh! Don't you know I am a child widow?" or some such obnoxious answer which was quite effective in shutting people up and refraining them from pursuing anything further.

These days however, instead asking them to "buzz off" or wanting to land one tight slap on the person's face, in my older and wiser avatar, I make an effort to be more restrained, explain boundaries and the fact that there is only so much that a stranger can ask or be told.

Some time back, someone I barely know or would ever want to know, sidled up to me, and as a way of making conversation, whispered into my ear, "So M, don't you ever worry about what you will do if your kids are gay?"

I took a deep, long breath. 

Counted backwards from ten so I didn't end up saying something I would regret later.

And then mustered all my calm, I shot her a withering look and said, "Really? Is that your worst nightmare? Have you ever thought that your kid could turn into a school dropout, or peddle drugs, or  bully other kids or molest and harass women or becomes an axe murderer? But if that fact he or she chooses to be open and honest about his sexual preferences is what is what worries you then you seriously need to get your priorities in order, my dear".

I did hope something of what I said, did go into her head that day. 

But honestly, I am not so sure.

When I started writing, this post was not to be about one of my pet peeves. 

It was supposed to be about about the value of silence.

But like people have no inbuilt brake when they talk, looks like I have none when I write..

So I shall stop now and before you tell me to shut up and practise what I am ranting about.

So here's to Silence.

or Bolti Bandh, as MTV called it.

You can in the meantime look at some pictures. 

Of pretty little flowers that don't believe in being loud or obnoxious to be noticed.

Title of this post inspired by William Faulkner's famous quote:  

“Talk, talk, talk: the utter and heartbreaking stupidity of words.”

“Green was the silence, wet was the light,

the month of June trembled like a butterfly.” 

~ Pablo Neruda

“In Silence there is eloquence. 

Stop weaving and see how the pattern improves.” 

~ Rumi

“When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. 

When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence.” 

~ Ansel Adams

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing 

and rightdoing there is a field.

I'll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass

the world is too full to talk about.” 

~ Rumi

A mixed bag of feelings

The 1st of May 2013 is going to be a landmark day.

Tomorrow, I shall be leaving on a short trip and for the first time, spending a few days and more importantly, a few nights away from V1 and V2.

For a long, long time, I have been cribbing and complaining and telling anyone who would listen, how desperately I need a holiday on my own, without the kids. A few days of peace, sitting by the sea, reading a few books, getting long massages and sipping wine; without worrying about things like which kid of mine is jumping off into the deep end of the pool the minute I get back to my book, or how to keep the boys entertained during the 2hr flight so they do not end up kicking someone else's seat or making endless trips to the breakfast buffet table to ensure they eat something filling and healthy and then nagging them to finish, thereby ending up having no time to fill my own plate. 

This trip is unfortunately not a holiday, but still it comes pretty close to making my wish come true. 

4 days and 3 nights minus the boys. 

Minus them poking me awake each morning.

Minus them banging on my toilet door every 30 seconds and demanding I come out.

Minus the non stop fights I need to break up or the demand for candy or the TV that I have to nix constantly without hurting any feelings.

Minus the endless running around like Labrador puppies on caffeine, the screaming, the shouting, the whining and the inevitable fuss at the dinner table.

Minus all the threats I have to hand out and all the bribes I have to offer.

And suddenly instead of giving in to the joy and enormity of this moment, I am a jumble of nerves. 

A friend S, once told me that when she travelled for the first time on work, leaving her little son behind, she cried all through the flight. That day I had laughed and made fun of her for being such a softie. Now, while I still won't be shedding any tears, I do feel caught up in this jumble of emotions that make me feel a whole lot of compassion and empathy for those tears she shed that day. Never before in a decade long work life filled with regular travel, had I experienced anything that comes close to the mixed emotions I am faced with now.

A part of me is looking forward to meeting old friends, finishing chores that need done and doing some shopping on my own, in my time and at my pace, without any interruptions and chaos.

A part of me is also wishing fervently that this experience makes Vj realise just how much work I put in to make it all seem so effortless. Here, the irony of Labour day being the day when I start my day off, is also not lost on me! :)

At the same time, I am filled with apprehensions of how the brats will cope without me. 

What will they eat? (I am cooking for all the 4 days and stocking the food in boxes with immaculate labels just in case there is some confusion, but hey, does that stop me from being the tragedy queen?)

Will they listen to Vj and the Nanny and make it to school in time? (Not sure at all about this one at all but I am told they are far less prone to drama when I am not around so we shall see)

What will happen if they hurt themselves or fall sick or wake up in the night looking for me? (Usually it is Vj who wakes up to every tiny whimper or loud bawl in the night, while I sleep through it all, but as I said, where is the fun in rational thinking?)

A teeny tiny part of me  is plagued by the thought that Vj, with his steady stream of ice-cream and cup-cakes and candies flowing and "let-them-watch-tv-whenever-they-want" attitude might actually fare better than I think hope he will. And then he will never let me hear the end of it. And he will be firmly entrenched as the fun parent while I get to hear the same old refrain of "But Daddy lets us do this". 

But most importantly, there is a part of me that is just loathe to admit that they might after all, manage just fine without me. And as much as I want that to happen, as much as I am planning and working towards making sure they manage absolutely fine without me; I have to honestly admit that there is a part of me that doesn't want to let go; that wants to believe and to cling on to the hope that there will be total chaos in my little universe without  me. After all, there is nothing more tormenting than finding out you are not as indispensable as you have made yourself out to be. 

And now, after all that spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions, here comes the reality check.

I asked the boys a few times if they will miss me while I am away. 

V2, as prone to drama as I am, has been making full use of each such moment to get away with murder. He looks at me like a lost puppy and asks "When are you going?". 

When I answer, he gives me a tight hug and a kiss and asks, "I miss you lots Mammy. Now can I have some candy/ Now can I sleep in your bed/ Now can I watch some more TV" knowing fully well it will be impossible to say No to that performance. 

And V1, my strong, silent, down to earth, always-call-a-spade-a-spade child. 

First question he asked me was "What will you bring me back?" 

The second was a long list of things he wanted me to carry back for him.

And finally came the clincher. 

One day as I asked if he was going to miss me, he looked at me and said, "I will watch lots of TV when you away Mammy. You not let me watch TV. Daddy lets me watch TV all the time"

P.S - In case I wasn't convinced about how much fun they are going to have while I am gone, here is the proof.

I had left Vj with the boys at the hair salon while I went to do the weekly grocery shopping. Came back both have ended up with mohawks and are walking around proclaiming "this haircut is so cool".