Monthly Archives: February 2009

how to annoy your wife on a saturday afternoon


i write out this grocery list for a grumbling husband.
“What’s taking you so long?”
” Why do we buy the same stuff over and over again? ” (I think he means dal) Kitchen King he is not.
he leaves for the store with firstborn.

peace and some quiet.

Baby Param is finally sleeping after a vaccine, only to be awakened by the phone:

It is husband.
“Er. I left the list on the dining table. Could you read it out again…”


come home sometime


you know some people say “just drop in home sometime” and don’t mean it.

I am one such.

I have procreated a family of flingers. I fling. Firstborn flings all the way upto the fan (his footwear) and baby param only flings.

and one pickeverythingupper, husband, cant beat us, so he joined us.

I just met a neighbour who has a three-year-old. She said, “come home” and i spitefully dropped in without notice to see if she would stand with her hands flailed in order to hide the chaos.

But no. everything was in order. I didn’t find a soggy towel, a stray toy or bit of spilled bhujjia in the living room.

and her son was back from school even!

so, while she was chatting, i spilt a bit of my biscuit and upset my tea cup. and then I felt much better.

And then i told her “come home sometime.”

Post number 100. Dedicated to Baby Param


You are the baby, I wanted to enjoy. The one that wasn’t my IIT entrance. I uber worried myself for your brother.
But for you, I exhaled. I let you cry. I used the mixie while you were sleeping. I let you chomp on a bright toy (that i hoped wasn’t made in China). I didn’t pick you up at the first wail or even on the second. I didn’t always examine the contents of your dirty nappy. I didn’t make payasam when you rolled over. I didn’t cry when I heard that you had to be admitted.I forgot a vaccination day.
i can’t believe i just pressure-cooked a carrot for you, baby param.
These last six months have just fled.

oh firstborn


he patted a baby buffalo and fed it a banana. he stayed up till 12 five times in a week. he drew a kolam. he travelled 300 kms without his mother or father — just grandpa; he hid the senior citizens’ walking sticks. he broke a torch. he spilt coffee and didn’t get told off.
he ate homemade icecream. he saw a plant “drinking water”. he wore veshtis to temples; he argued with his cousin. he found a favourite uncle. he sat on a bike, stood on a scooter and slept in a car. he saw his first cockarow (roach) ; he skipped naps.
he sat on a giant wheel and hated it; he took the Indian flag for a ride on his cycle; he slept on several strange beds; he pulled the rope tied to a temple chariot and thought it moved because he finished his breakfast that morning…

now how do i tell him he has to go back to malaysia and go back to school

the who? me! feeling


I have this friend:

she’s the one who named firstborn, ate lime rice with me at work, shared her tailor with me, wrote me letters when I lived in Bangalore and forgot to post them, she could be a professional limerick writer, or at least a rhymeist…

and it’s only today that I learned her true opinion of me…


that i am “sensible and practical”

I feel like drowning in a bucket of sambar.

You know you are in India when (part two)


1. you have two kids who are jumpy and howling, and you still proceed towards the bathroom.
2. firstborn is sitting in on consultations (btw, my dad’s a physician); firstborn pokes the friendlier patients with a refil, (in-jeshun)
3. there’s news in the newspaper
4. firstborn gets ice cream on demand/ second helpings/ third helpings/ and chocolate ice cream mixed with rose syrup just the way he prefers…
5. there’s a Satyam Computers bus parked on the roadside and several people are pointing and staring at it, while driving past.