Days with the monkey...

Are largely spent

Being fireman


Doin 'big boy' things


Colouring furiously


And on days when mamma is in a good mood and doesn't mind the mess, even playing with mud or to put it properly 'gardening' :)

You still have the Zen?

The question threw me off balance. It was after all loaded with surprise, unsaid hints and expectation. The hint was to provide them with an explanation as to why, like most of our friends, acquaintances and social circle, we han't traded our old car for something better and obviously, bigger. The expectation was that we should have. After all, if we could dine at the Blue Ginger* and visit Umrika on holiday, the least we could do was to get ourselves a big car, couldn't we?

Nothing probably highlights aspiration levels in our society as the transition from the small to the big car. It's seen as a step towards being upper class, from small fry to higher-mid if not top management. And it's a great thing, really. Just that it may not be the top agenda on everyone's list of the moment, simply because other people feel it can catapult you into a social higher-up.

But because most people believe they need to cast you into some social slot, the car question is mandatory to ask. During a school run, I ask one of the mums living nearby if I could offer her a lift as her car has broken down. "Thanks," she says, sliding into the seat, "How does your husband commute to work? Does he take the other car?"
"This is our only car," I tell her. "Oh," she says before telling me a sweet story about her dad's Maruti she learnt to drive around in and culminating in "sent it to his dad in Delhi after we bought the (Honda) City."

Subtlety is the name of the game here. "Could you drop R home after they finish playing please? My husband's taken the other car and the Corolla has gone for servicing," says the voice on the phone. Perhaps I'm reading more than what's required into it, but I love the way the 'Corolla' is mentioned and not the other car, which being an Alto, probably doesn't cut the size limit.

Of course, as my dear husband, who's oblivious to all these innuendos (and thinks only I can hear them) believes, I could be horribly, horribly wrong and people may just be mentioning matter of fact things. But some things are a given nowadays if you need to maintain status in the society. A big car is one. And a blackberry that you need to keep checking assiduously throughout dinner with friends, whether you have emails or not is the other. And, as Parmanu mentions in his wonderful post, an apartment complex with a swimming pool is another.

* Only once in a blue moon by the way :)

Random thoughts pre and post Diwali

Being the organized woman that I am, went to Spar just the day before Diwali to shop for festival related overpriced stuff. The entire North Indian population of South Bangalore was there. Thankfully the husband was at work and the bachcha was at the playschool's Diwali party so I only had silent arguments going on in my brain and was free to watch other families as they had theirs out loud.

Number one argument was about sweets and chocolates, displayed enticingly right at the entrance. The husband would pick up the glossiest looking choco box and the wife would immediately take it out and plonk it back where it was. 'You also na...this is just overpriced bad chocolate. Thoda classy type kuch dena chahiye,' she would say, before walking briskly to the fridge where they displayed a few forlon looking boxes of Lindt.

Found myself mentally agreeing with her. There's nothing worse that glitter paper golden ribbon wrapped flimsy chox in a box. Though I find even Cadburys classy, not just Lindt.

There was also a mother daughter (or saas bahu?) duo who were buying expensive cookie packets and the older woman was saying things like, yeh mehenga wala packet le lo. At which the daughter (DIL?) pointed to her trolley and replied, Mamma, these are also equally expensive, don't worry.

Nice, no?

At the diya counter a family of mother, father and daughter were having their own argument though this being in Kannada there was no point in me pretending to browse and listen. But gestures say a lot and the father was clearly being asked to keep out of the selection process. Felt really bad for men at that point. The poor things really can't tell good from the bad and have to still suffer being carted around shopping malls just for the sake of their wallets. Tch tch.

----------------------***************************-----------------------------

Read Chetan Bhagat's latest book, 2 States. Have to say that despite the editing bloopers (I think Rupa editors sleepwalk through Chetan Bhagat edits now. They know it will sell) and the somewhat amateurish writing at times, I enjoyed it and finished it in a day flat. This was my second CB book after One Night At The Call Centre (I think the only person who liked it was Salman Khan) which the husband bought after he ahem, liked Five Point Someone. You get the gist.
So I basically bought this one for the husband who has ignored it for the last two days and concentrated on a bunch of printouts called Eastern European power line or something like that. There's much to like (or rather laugh) in the book (2 states not powerline). For one it is Rs. 95 only. Secondly, it is full of stereotypes but as we all know, stereotypes are ALWAYS true. My favourite was the Punjabi one about mentioning the amount of wealth and money in casual conversations. It's a trait fully followed by any self respecting Delhiite (Punju, Baniya, Jain) and conversations between some relatives I know often go like, 'Guddo itni ziddi hai behenji. Uske liye hum assi lakh ki shaadi karane ko tayar hai par use ladka pasand aye tab na.'
Nobody feels the slightest embarassment in asking others how much they earn or how much their kothis and cars cost. And of course I too don't think anybody has ever read the edit page of any newspaper.
The Bongs by constrast read every possible edit page (starting with the sports page) and buy every fat pujobarshiki they can lay their hands on and definitely cannot think of aath, forget assi lakh but would be most offended if you gifted their child an envelope with Rs. 251 instead of a book on their happy budday. And the monkey cap maybe a perennial Bong stereotype but it's also the universal truth. Last year my cousin who lives in Brussels sent some winter pictures. In between all the fireplace, frosted window and whiteness was her son, sporting the eternal monkey cap. So you see, stereotypes are not just fun. They are true.
Ok I digressed but this ain't a review so I guess I can. 2 States a Bollywood movie in waiting and it's fun (and as Inky says somewhere, cheaper than a movie ticket) and I think there are bits in it that stand true for any marriage that involves two very disparate states and cultures. Good going, except for the editing and the India lecture.

My friend M was over few days back and after we had chatted for the better part of the day and exhausted every mutually agreeable topic at our disposal, she walked over to my bookshelves and started examining. It's a time honoured ritual. I do it every time I go to her place and years ago when we shared a PG in Bombay we enjoyed making people play Guess the Books by asking them to guess who owned which book on our Bright and Hand painted flimsy cane book rack. They always got it wrong.

Anyway, this time she walked over to the books at home and instead of clucking negatively like she usually does or making sarcastic comments like I do to hers (she's deep into healing and meditation and most of her books reflect that), actually lifted off books and started looking at some of them with interest.
Hmm, Smoke and Mirrors...Indian journo in China...seems interesting!
Istanbul...Pamuk...I got that one too but need to sit down and read
The Duchess...don't know why you'd want to read gossipy history that doesn't concern you
And then just as I thought tradition was being turned on its head came the downer:
You know for someone who reads fairly varied stuff I really don't know what you're doing with so much chick lit!

So I decided to do a bit of soul searching and asked myself why and here, purely for the sake of self-indulgence are the reasons:

*Good chick-lit is like comfort food at your favourite restaurant. You always know what you are going to get and don't have to break your head trying to figure out whether the flavours were just right or the masala completely masked the natural taste and make intelligent comments. In fact, you don't need to comment at all.
* It's the best thing to read when you are surrounded by a child who's zipping around the house pretending he's a fighter plane and a husband who's practising the same guitar chords for the last one month. You know that even if you zone out Pages 125-130, you will still know what happened and don't have to waste time by going back.
* It's deliciously predictable. In Brit chick lit the girl is a middle class type from distant suburbs with an utterly embarrassing mom. But she (not the mom) has good enough looks, clothes, posh friends and a barely affordable life in London. And the perfect man in the garb of a superbly wealthy lawyer or entrepreneur lurking around. The Manhattan types are easy to describe. Sex and the City turned into book, with different characters, shoes, clubs and clothes. And of course, failed writer turned average drummer turned the world's only humble celebrity chef type man waiting in the wings. The Indian chick lit in accordance with our diversity varies a bit. If it's written by an author living outside India for a while, the girl is invariably from a sheltered, over protective conservative background making her way up the competitive and sometimes scandalous world of modelling, fashion journalism, ad films, etc. If the author's been living in India and therefore aware of how the urban girl actually behaves and thinks, her protagonist is more interesting with witty one liners and a great sense of humour. As with everything, there's always the mandatory He's-too-good-to-be-true-for-me man waiting in the wing. Usually a CEO type or an investment banker. Though there have been very enjoyable guitar strumming dads and star cricketers.
The best of all? They are cheap. C'mon, in the world of books starting at Rs 800 plus, Rs 295-395 counts as cheap. So that if you can bear to part with it or are too embarrassed to place it next to the Gurcharan Das book you know you will never read, you can always go to Blossom Book House on Church Street and sell it or better still, donate it to the building library. The teenage girls coming there to borrow M&Bs will love you and probably develop a taste for reading something that's a shade (and sometimes, many a shade) better.
It's practically social work.

Called up very famous school near home to find out about admissions. This is what the admin lady wanted to know.

Child's name
Date of birth
Father's name
Father's email number (har har)
Father's contact number
Where father works
Where you live
At this point I was expecting her to ask which floor qwe live in or what car we drive when she asked for our residence number.
And don't you want the mother's name, email, contact etc, etc, I asked since you took the father's details. Not necessary madam, admin lady replied, we will send email or contact the father if we have seats.

And not bother informing the mother who does the research on school, most of the school rounds and can recognize every single squiggle the child draws.

The process was repeated at yet anoter very famous school.

Am going to have thanda thanda water. Hmmph!!!