The much awaited trip to Siem Reap - Part II

While my first post on Siem Reap, was about the temples in Angkor Wat, which were built by the Hindu kings, this one is about Buddhist temples of Angkor Thom as well a forgotten little gem called Neak Pean. 

Angkor Thom or The Great City was the last capital of the mighty Khmer empire and comprises of the Buddhist temples of Bayon, Baphoun, the Elephant Terrace and the Terrace of the Leper King. 

The entry to Angkor Thom are through some stunningly carved grand towers, each of which is topped by four faces of the Buddha, each facing a different direction. 

Samudra Manthan or the churning of the Ocean of milk that happened at the beginning of time; is a theme oft seen in the temples of Angkor; with the Devas and the Asuras using the mount Mandar as the churning rod and with the serpent king Vasuki as the churning rope to obtain Amrit, the nectar of immortality.
Here too, the themes is seen in a causeway which is flanked by Devas  and Asuras on either side - holding a serpent.

The Asuras

The Temple of Bayon: 

Of all the temples we cover in this post, the Bayon is probably the most famous and well recognised  because of it's distinctive Buddha faces. According to our guide, there are 2 distinctly different sets of faces here - the one with the eyes closed is supposed to be that of Buddha while the ones with their eyes open are supposed to be those of the King keeping watch over his territory. 

The Bayon temple also has a lot of intricate carvings - drawn from the lives and the wars around them

Seen here the Queen with her subjects

A carving depicting a scene of a battle fought in the water while
ordinary villagers go about their day to day chores

The Terrace of the Leper King: 
There are many interpretations of who the Leper King is: Some say it is Yama, the God of Death, while Cambodian mythology insinuates it to be the King who possibly suffered from leprosy.

Carvings on the Terrace of the Leper King, 

Preah Khan:
Reminiscent of the Ta Prohm, because of the vegetation that threatens to take over the temple, this is a stunning temple filled with sculptures of Apsaras, Nagas and their sworn enemy the Garuda.

A guard at one of the entrances to Preah Khan

A Stupa inside Preah Khan

A headless statue of Buddha.
There are a lot such sculptures in Siem Reap, where the statues have
either been destroyed by incessant wars or have been sold off in the black market

Garuda, the King of birds and the arch nemesis of the Nagas

And finally, Neak Pean or the Temple of the Intertwined Naga Serpents. Once upon a time, these waters were supposed to be a cure for all illness. Today it is a dead swamp filled with dead trees and snakes. 

The temple of Neak Pean

The much awaited trip to Siem Reap - Part I

"People don't take trips.... trips take people" ~ John Steinbeck

Nowhere has this been more true for me than during my visit to Siem Reap.

This was a trip that I had been dreaming of and trying to plan for a long time; and since I have a husband who is least interested in art, architecture or history, and since this was definitely not a trip my 5 yr olds would enjoy, it made sense to leave the 3 boys behind at home and go on this by myself. 

The problem started when I started looking for a friend/ companion who would like to come along on this trip - each time a friend and I tried planning this trip, it fell through either mostly because we couldn't work out dates that suited both of us or in one case, because one had pangs of guilt about taking a holiday minus her husband (which was really ironic and amusing, as here I was, desperate to run off and away from the 3 men in my life on a, what is apparently in more polite terms referred to as a "mom-cation"). So after months of struggling to find a date and a partner, things fell in place when my Maa came to visit. She seemed the perfect partner given her love for travelling to places that are of historical and mythological interest; and after my dad passed away early this year, this trip seemed a good way to cheer her up as well. 

So numerous messages and calls were made to friends who had been to Siem Reap, the hotel and tickets were booked, hours were spent reading up travel sites on what temples to prioritise, an itinerary was chalked out, and finally we were off. 

What followed was 3 and a half days of sheer bliss - days spent looking at old temples, learning about their history, the myths and legends surrounding them, clicking pictures to my heart's content, long leisurely lunches followed by short afternoon siestas; and dinners spent pigging out on delectable Khmer food. 

Without further ado, here are some of the pictures from this memorable trip.
I will be breaking this trip into 2 parts - there are just too many pictures and too much information to accommodate in one post - this part will be about the temples in Angkor Wat and the famous temple of Ta Prohm. 

The first stop on our 3 day itinerary was Angkor Wat; the largest and one of the oldest existing religious monuments in the world.

Built in the 12th century; it was the first temple dedicated to Vishnu as against the temples built for Shiva by the previous kings. Today it is not just a symbol of the richness of Khmer architecture, it is also a symbol of Cambodia; is present on the national flag and is a great source of national pride.

Angkor Wat

The temple is built to represent Mount Meru, the home of the Devas (Gods), and is surrounded by a moat which is supposed to represent the ocean. It is considered an architectural wonder for its scale, grandeur, it's intricate carvings and architectural harmony.

The 7 headed Serpent King guarding the entrance to Angkor -
adly he is one of the few well preserved specimens

A close up of the carvings at the entrance

A corridor filled with carvings from the Mahabharata

Below is a statue of the 8 handed Vishnu that we came upon while trying to seek shelter from a sudden downpour.

The 8 armed Vishnu

Formerly a Hindu temple, it was subsequently converted into a Buddhist shrine when the Hindu king was succeeded by a Buddhist ruler.

A monk entering the inner sanctum

I waited for him to turn around so I could ask him to pose.
And just as I did, he smiled, handed me his iPad and asked if I could take a picture of him too

A recurring theme in the carvings at Angkor is that of Apsaras - beautiful celestial beings of air and water, who spent their time very fruitfully entertaining the Gods and tempting holy men. Apparently there are about 2000 apsaras carved in the temple of Angkor Wat alone. 

When Myth meets Reality: The dressed up Apsara charged me USD 2 to pose for this picture :)

So I decided to stick to clicking the less worldly wise ones :)

Bantaey Srey or the Citadel of Women is unarguably the most visibly stunning temple in Siem Reap. Built from rose pink sandstone, and as a shrine to Lord Shiva, it is called the Citadel of Women because of its intricate carvings; which are so delicate that they could have been made only by women!

A doorway in Bantaey Srey

A guard at the doorway to the inner sanctum of the temple at Bantaey Srey

A stunning carving of a distraught and furious Shiva carrying in his arms
the dead Parvati;while other Gods and mortals cower in fear,
terrified at the destruction his grief will unleash

Another beautiful carving of the Monkey King Sugriva fighting his brother Bali

Bantaey Samrey
A lesser known temple near the more famous and touristy Banteay Srey - I really enjoyed this one as there was hardly any other tourist around in this one.
Legend has it that it was used as a political prison during the reign of Pol Pot.

The picture below is of a Stupa containing the ashes of the King.

Ta Prohm: 
Almost anyone who has heard of Siem Reap, would recognise the sight of this broken down temple almost engulfed by gigantic trees. Thanks to Angelina Jolie and Lara Croft: Tomb Raider, Ta Prohm is probably the most famous of the Angkor temples today.

The temple is not as well preserved as the temples of Bantaey Srey or Angkor, having been destroyed partly by the constant wars between the Khmers and the neighbouring Chams (what is Vietnam today) and partly by the erosion caused by time and by the forest taking over. The most stunning feature of this temple is the gigantic silk-cotton trees growing out of the ruins, with trunks that seem to reach up to the skies and roots that look strong enough to destroy and overpower anything that comes in their way.

The silk cotton trees that are simultaneously destroying and holding together the structure 

Roots that seem powerful enough to overpower anything that come their way

The pictures in this post are of some of the temples we covered in our first day and a half in Siem Reap.
We also had plans of going to Kbal Spean to see the Thousand Lingas in the river bed but we had to take a raincheck on it; literally, as it involved a hike up a hill and my mother was not very confident of making it. Moreover we were were told the rains would make the path more slippery and render the lingas in the river bed, difficult to see. We decided to err on the side of comfort and left this temple for another trip to Siem Reap.

Stay tuned as part II of this post will be about the equally stunning Buddhist temples of Bayon, Baphoun and The Grand Circuit. 

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

The 100th mile stone

Yes!!! 

This is the 100th. 

It's taken about 32 months of blogging on and off (more off than on) to get to this magic number. 

Now even for an unsentimental person like me, this has to be a milestone of sorts; not so much as a celebration of this little blog's existence, but more as a reassurance that I am not as flighty and lacking in attention span as my mother and my husband give me credit for.

As I sit down to pen my thoughts about this landmark and what it means to me, I realise this cannot be a post about flowers (I had to literally, forcibly stop myself from posting pictures of my trip to the Orchid garden for this post ;)) or my kids or that trip to Phuket and an even earlier one to Dover that I forgot to post about. 

Flowers are my life; my kids I adore (at least when they are in school or fast asleep) and travel is one thing I cannot imagine life without. 

But this post has to be beyond all that. 

It has to be about the journey that has brought me here, to this very moment; and everything that I encountered along the way. 

When Rainbows and Cloudbursts came into existence 32 months back; there was no goal or target or milestone I wished to achieve. Succinctly put, its path was as purposeless and as unchartered as most other things I have embarked on in life. 

It all began when as a new mom; (and like every other woman experiencing motherhood for the first time) I was part exhilarated and part scared about the unpredictability, the exhaustion and the magic that came with it. Suddenly every day brought in a lot more chaos and turmoil than my order-loving mind had experienced in her entire lifetime. Nothing you read or hear ever prepares you for the whirlpool of emotions, the roller coaster of laughter and tears and the mind-numbing, bone-breaking tiredness that you are suddenly thrown into; and you hang in there caught up in the wave, just living in the moment and not thinking of anything beyond your baby's next nap time when you get to have a much needed shower and change of clothes. 

Rainbows and Cloudbursts was meant to be a catharsis; a way of making sense of my journey; of understanding the gamut of emotions I was going through and of recording some memorable moments for posterity. Memories that I could laugh about in a few years time and maybe share with the boys in the future. 

I was also on a sabbatical from work and lonely; given that the only real conversations I seemed to be having those days were with two little diaper clad people. So starting a blog was also a way to reach out to my friends and family; and here I sound like one of those terribly clichéd UFO enthusiasts, to feel I was not alone.

It’s been 32 months since then. 

The boys are going to be 4 soon, the sleepless nights are a fading blur of jumbled up memories and I have a whole different set of issues to worry about like the boys’ need to be “cool” about everything for instance. 

A lot has changed; we have moved two countries in these 3 odd years, I have transitioned from being a couch potato to a endorphin addict and am on the threshold of some more life changing milestones like going back to work and hitting the age where I get eligible to have a full blown mid-life crisis.

And from being a note to a handful of friends, Rainbows and Cloudbursts has grown quite a bit; it has brought me in touch with friends and strangers alike, who have been there to share the adventures, the heartbreak and even the completely absurd moments of madness. 

I have been blessed to have come in contact with some amazing, stupendously talented people in the virtual world, thanks to these 3 years of blogging; compadres who have understood my quandaries, have made me laugh with their stories and have inspired me with their talent. Thank you for your warmth and support. 

And most importantly, I must say that the most beautiful, the most fulfilling part of this journey has been the messages I receive, some from old friends from long ago and some from people I do not know, each of you who have reached out with so much love; to humble me with praise, and to revive my flagging enthusiasm when I needed it the most. 

To all of you who have been there to listen and empathise when I have been overwhelmed about the First world efficiency (?) or when I have shed a zillion tears over V1 preferring Nanny to me; who have been there to compliment when I have carved up my first Jack O’Lantern or posted pictures of my home; who have egged me to review (mostly awful) movies and who have humoured me when I wrote that ludicrous poem on my sister’s never ending hunt for maids or that totally loony note on the love triangle in my life, that had my sister calling in a panic to check if I was having an affair; I cannot thank you enough for being there. 

Thank you for being a part of my life and of Rainbows and Cloudbursts. 

Here is to another hundred!
To celebrate this journey, have added pictures of some of my favourite journeys. 

“I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.” ― Douglas Adams

The garden of childhood

“You can go other places, all right - you can live on the other side of the world, but you can't ever leave home” 
― The Mermaid Chair

Isn't it amazing how sometimes all it takes is the sight or a whiff of a familiar, long forgotten memory to send you across thousands of miles and back a few decades into the home of your childhood?

Hibiscus, always brings back memories of my parents
doing their daily worship of Goddess Durga and Kali with these.

The other evening, as I sat in the drawing room, sipping a cup of green tea and staring at the heavy downpour that was lashing down from the heavens above, suddenly an old and familiar smell crept up to me. 

"Kamini" I yelled, jumping off my chair in a flash. "Can you smell Kamini?" I continued to yell. 

The husband has seen me worked up many a times in the past, but to give him credit, he still came in to see what the commotion was about.

"Kamini" I kept repeating as if it was self-explanatory; except I couldn't understand why he and I still weren't on the same page. 

"My Didu used to have Kamini flowers in her temple" I had finally managed to get a grip on my excitement and blurt out.

"Oh, it is a flower" he said, letting go of a sigh of obvious relief as the realisation of who what Kamini was, slowly dawned on him. "It seems to be coming from our garden" he said.

Star of the garden - a jasmine plant in bloom

I rushed to the balcony.

And lo and behold! 

There they were! 

Two ethereal and delicate lemon blossom like white flowers, blooming in a bush that my gardener had dismissively called a very common Murraya; when I insisted I wanted to have one planted. He and I had then come to a compromise of sorts; to plant it in a little corner of the balcony, post which I had completely forgotten about it until now. 

A little jasmine bush

Two little flowers whose fragrance transported me back to a garden from my childhood in an instant. 

That whiff of fragrance that had wafted into the room had suddenly brought back the memory of my widowed grandaunt; who we called Pujari Didu (loosely translated, priest grandma) as she was always praying in a little temple in the house where she spent almost all her time. She passed away a long time back and it has been a while since I thought of her. But that night, suddenly I was back to being a little girl in a small temple surrounded by those heavenly smelling Kamini flowers around me, sitting patiently and waiting for Pujari Didu to dole out the most amazing sabu-r khichuri** after she was through with offering it to all the gods she spent her time praying to.

** An absolutely divine (pun intended) kedgeree cooked with sago and lentils tempered with loads of ghee and coconut, usually served as an offering to the Gods on a religious occasion.

The exotic heady fragrance of an Arabian jasmine (Beli phool)

The Beli phool, remains one of my favourite flowers
as it always reminds me of my childhood home

And as I stood there, surrounded by memories, I looked at the little Arabian jasmine plants, the star jasmine creeper, the pink bougainvillea and red hibiscus plants I had recently planted in my balcony, and each of them reminded me of another garden from a while back...

No, not the humongous and stunning and perfect English garden with it's roses, lilacs, azaleas, daffodils, cherry blossoms or the apple, plum and damson trees that we left behind when we moved to Singapore.

Not that. 

These were memories of a much smaller, rambling, whimsical garden from long, long ago.

A garden of red and pink Hibiscus flowers which my Dad would pluck each morning for his daily Puja or my Maa would massage into our hair hoping we ended up with long, beautiful, black tresses as befitting a Bengali girl. 

A garden filled with the heady fragrance of the Madhu Malti (Rangoon creeper ) creeping all over the front porch and adding a dash of colour to the entrance of our tiny home. 

A happy garden blooming with Zinnias and roses and jasmine and Black eyed Susans. 

A garden filled with two large neem trees that scared me to death because I imagined ghosts and ghouls creeping out of them at night. 

A garden from which my sisters and I plucked lemons to make chilli lemonade on summer afternoons and where I sat on a branch of the frangipani tree and talked to myself when I had no one to play with (a very frequent occurrence, that).

A garden where okra and egg plants and ivy gourd and every other vegetable I hated, grew in abundance and where all of my Maa's struggle to get the perfect cabbages and cauliflowers never resulted in success.  

A garden where I followed my Maa every evening as she watered the plants, watching her face light up with excitement as she saw a new bud or the beginnings of a new fruit or vegetable. 

A garden in which unknown to me, I had started looking forward to mundane things as picking fresh spinach leaves or the sight of little bottle gourds sprouting on the creeper that had covered the fence or  something far more magical as waiting by the Sthal Padma (cotton rose) plant to catch a glimpse of it's flowers changing colours as the day went by.

And then, as I stood in the rain, taking in my little garden in the balcony, a happy thought suddenly struck me. 

I had in my own little way, in a tiny little balcony, ended up attempting to create a piece of my mother's garden. 

The garden I grew up in.

My childhood garden.

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.... 

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...