Monthly Archives: February 2009

how to annoy your wife on a saturday afternoon

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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…”

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come home sometime

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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

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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

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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

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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…

*Gulp*

that i am “sensible and practical”

I feel like drowning in a bucket of sambar.

You know you are in India when (part two)

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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.