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One reason I love this place...

...is the sunset from the balcony

It isn't easy being a mom. In my case a stay-at-home-working one. Every morning when I go to drop my son at the daycare he clings to me and cries when I leave. Every morning I wonder, 'Is this worth it? Why can't I keep a maid to look after him at home while I work?'

Really, why can't I? Because I tried it and it didn't really work. Working from home can be very distracting because unless you have a separate area from where you operate and shut out the rest of the house, you are constantly being badgered by something or the other.

Add to that a toddler who gets super excited at the sight of a computer or anything mummy does and treats it as another toy to hammer on, much to the risk of his mom's unsaved files and just-copied research.

I can shut the door and work while the maid takes care of him. But I know that in two minutes the door too would be hammered upon with frantic cries of 'maaaaaaaaammmmaaaaaa.'.
Maaaammmmma would curse under her breath and wait for a while but eventually get up and open the door with a heart melting faster than icecream in Delhi heat.

The maid could perhaps take him out to play but heck no, being paranoid mummy par excellence, I would probably be checking the playground from the balcony with a binocular. Is that the maid talking to some of her friends? Hmm...red and yellow dress...haan that's her...I hope she's keeping an eye on him even if she's busy chatting...where's he...why isn't she checking...where's he...ohmygod...aaarghhh...he's eating mud....AARGGGGH...NOOOO...get him back...NOWWWWWWW!

Little wonder then that the daycare is a better option. I know for a fact that my son's happy there, despite the initial bout of crying every morning. I can see it when I go to pick him up in the afternoon. He's happy to see mamma but he's also happy to play with his friends. I know that I'm doing the right thing. It's good for him. And it's good for me.

But still my heart does a super-depressed flip each morning when I leave my clingy baby there. And when I get back home and sit down with a cup of tea with no one around to surreptitiously dip a little finger into it, I'm so totally racked by guilt that I can almost run and get him.

But of course I don't. I switch on the computer instead, start working and keep feeling guilty for the next five hours.

Moms are the strangest creatures!

Snot Value

Had taken up a book editing assignment couple of months back. Unfortunately for me, the author (a yeng man from the IT feeilld) had decided that revulsion was the best way to grab attention. Each of his characters belch, retch, snort, fart their way through the book (or at least the pages I read). Trust me, I've great patience with bodily malfunctions, by virtue of being married to P, who bases most of his jokes on these. But all I wanted to ask our earnest yeng author was, did he have to describe his characters' morning ablutions in such great detail. Thankfully I could say no and cowardly duck out thanks to the brother's wedding. One day am sure this book would be hailed as a great work of Indian writing that nobody can exactly figure out and I as usual would lose out on the megabucks, at least some bucks. :(

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz..........

...ohgodohgodohgod
...panic is happening
...deadline's tomorrow evening
...now how many 00000s are there in a billion?
...why on earth do I need to convert everything into $$$$?
...Hedge fund sounds like a neighbourhood pool-in gardening group
...and M&A reminds me of M&Ms...mmmmmmm :)
...why did I ever agree to do business stories?
...painting toenails at women's mag office was so much better
...really

Babyspeak

The toddler can say about five-six words now...it might be seven by tomorrow morning, the repertoire keeps increasing. Like a true male, there is a lot of difference in what he says and what he means.

One of his favorite words is 'Akkaaaah' which, surprise, surprise, doesn't mean what it's supposed to mean...It means autorickshaw (don't ask why, that's another story!).

Then there is 'Auwaaah.' Since am not the smartest of mommies,it took me a long time to figure out it meant 'light' in any form — bulb, candle, the full moon...

I do hope he means 'mamma' when he says it.

And...

...it’s official. Meeting Parmanu is an excellent way to get people interested in blogging or anything remotely related to the written, sorry, the typed word.

First we saw how Alpha’s friend figured out the wonderful world of blogs. Now it’s P's turn and he thinks blogging might be cool after all. It lets you practice the art of shouting at the top of your voice to chat with great people (and their sister) over frothy cappuccino at extremely noisy café; It also gets you books. Especially the one you’ve been eyeing all this while.

Many thanks Parmanu. As a Bong, let me even apologize on behalf of the Bong lady sitting behind you on the flight :).

I must, I must, I must....

...learn not to joke in front of people with zero sense of humour. Let this be my New Year Resolution.

When A (that being my son) was doing his usual toddling/trying to run around the park this evening, a mom of two said that it was great he'd learnt to walk around so fast.

He has no choice, I said. Every morning we make him fetch the newspaper and we are waiting for the day we can send him out to buy milk.

No wonder she avoided me in the lift on the way back.

I must, I must, I must....

...learn not to joke in front of people with zero sense of humour. Let this be my New Year Resolution.

When A (that being my son) was doing his usual toddling/trying to run around the park this evening, a mom of two said that it was great he'd learnt to walk around so fast.

He has no choice, I said. Every morning we make him fetch the newspaper and we are waiting for the day we can send him out to buy milk.

No wonder she avoided me in the lift on the way back.

On my mind...

...and oh my god...one song and so many memories...my first beach party, a misguided crush, Tom Cruise in Cocktail...

What goes around...

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself

Philip Larkin, This Be The Verse


At one point in my reasonably well-guided youth, this was a favourite poem. It still is and I still believe it does contain a semblance of truth, however hard to digest. But now I find myself wondering, if this is how the beta will think 20 years on?

Since I cannot say NO in a really firm and 'I-won't-hear-anymore-of-this' kind of way, I went and met 'regard's'. As it turns out, he is a sweet, sober, ever-smiling, polite and (literally) small boy. He doesn't know about the existence of this blog of course but I am feeling a bit bad. Especially because 'regard's' paid cab fare and got me excellent kapi.
Such a bitch I am.

Was about to send my CV to the HR manager of a website who'd asked for it when I saw this at the bottom of his mail:

Regard's

Haven't sent CV. Though reminding self that this is HR which has very faint connection to editorial, where people probably put apostrophes where they belong.

Kahini, shall always be deeply deeply thankful to you for being millitant about my 'its' and 'it's' in the days of yore.

Tell Me Why

Much as I'd like to be, I'm not an automated robot. However, when it comes to word verification, my eyes (or possibly some part if my brain which sends signal to my eyes...whatever) behave like one. I'm terrified of posting comments on any blog that has WV as I invariably tend to see the slanted Ps as Bs and wavy Js as T or worse even Z. There are few, very few, lucid moments when my eye/brain/whatever actually sees the right word and types it successfully. But such are few and far between.

Is it only me? Does this happen to you too? Do I need glasses? The Kalhonahopreityzinta type?

Goaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh....

Was planning to write about the lovely seven day holiday we had in Goa but have just finished cleaning an upturned bowl of khichdi all over the highchair so my thoughts are currently in a different direction. Anyone who says what a joy it is to see your little tot all over the house and traipsing around the furniture is either single with no intention of producing children or is suffering from the empty nest syndrome, under which they are likely to romanticise the years spent in close proximity with their kids.
(Example: Me: 'Ma, I HAVE to keep the phone, baby is attacking the TV!'
Ma: 'Oh my god he can reach the TV now! Awwwww, sho shweet.....!!!!!!!')
Sorry, don't get me wrong. I'm absolutely enjoying this 'now you see him, now you don't phase,' largely spent chasing baby around various items of furniture. See, there are several advantages of having a to-be-toddler around the house.
First, there's the enforced spring cleaning. In an effort to make everything baby-safe and baby friendly, you finally throw away the wrought iron candlestand that was too hideous to be displayed prominently and too expensive to be hidden completely.
Ditto for the ceramic astray nobody ever used, the urli that gathered dust, the five year old paper lamp with holes and so on....
Then there's the exercise. Babychasing requires you to squat, bend, stretch and push every part of your not-so-supple body to its limits, which is better than what any gym, personal trainer or liposuction could do, just in case your post pregnancy thoughts were in that direction.
So messy khichdi bowls aside, the crawl and cruise phase isn't bad at all. You clean out the junk, save money on gyms and start inching towards a somewhat flat, at least non jiggly stomach (hopefully). What more could you be asking for?


PS: As you can see from the date, this blog was started on 30th and posted on 4th. I guess there were several messy bowls of khichdi in between

Nine Months

Wasn't it just yesterday that the little tyke was inside my tummy trying to find a way out? Wasn't it just yesterday that he slept in the same position you'd put him in?
Hard to believe that same redfaced, poopy bundle is eating crackers, crawling, standing up, banging drums, saying maaaaammma, tyaattttttyaa on top of his voice and has two small teeth. Honestly, can't believe he's growing up so fast!

Very entertaining and very exhausting.

A Change Is Always Good?

Hello Amigos,

Am back. Was being lazy. Too lazy to blog or read or even watch TV. I go through these phases once in a while. When all I want is to stare blankly at view from balcony/faded sofa cover/blank document/dinner on plate whichever is applicable. Of course these days I cannot be a complete vegetable. How can I, when there is an extra-energetic, drooling, smiling, eight-month-old who's all over the place, babbling, crawling, trying to stand and sometimes doing all of these at once?

In an attempt at good parenting, the other day we tried to cleanse the house of potentially hazardous things to make our home a safe place for baby to explore. Realised by baby standards, we'd been living extremely dangerously all these years. Going by the Babycentre.com and What To Expect checklist, we have house hazards like loose cords, tall lamps, tables with sharp edges, rugs and mats without non-slip pads, several bins and several unused electrical outlets.

No prizes for guessing how we spend our free time these days then. Now I know what they meant when they said a baby changes your life.

Two Weeks' Notice

One day, two weeks back: Rash goes and interviews famous person.

Evening, same day: Rash thinks of writing the story that very evening after the beta sleeps, like a true-to-her-job-reporter. Thought stays for less than one fleeting second. Rash reaches home, puts beta to sleep, has a glass of wine with the husband, watches some Reese Witherspoon movie, remembers story in the middle of movie and decides to definitely write it the next day.

Process repeated everyday (except weekends, when Rash excuses herself from her backbreaking workload)

Finally, one everning, two weeks later, she decides to put finger on keyboard.

7 pm: The beta is sleeping. Rash decides to sit with a nice relaxing mug of coffee before starting work.

7.10: Checks blogs. After all, he doesn't sleep at 7 every evening, does he?

7.30: Checks mail. Replies to every friend who has ever written to her, including person who assigned story.

7.50: Chats with friend in London on Skype. It's important as friend has exams and needs that goodluck wish.

8.30: Ooooops! oooops! ooops! That's quite a lot of time gone! Goes and checks on beta. Adjusts his blanket, checks the speed of the fan, opens one window, shuts another, dumps toys in basket, smiles fondly at beta. Repeats process.

8.35: P is home.

8.45: Decides to spend some quality time with P. She sits and reads the India Today's Bangalore supplement. He watches football highlights. They decide to have beer. It needs to be chilled. Rash goes and switches off the computer. Decides to restart work (which she hasn't started yet, except open the notes she scribbled during the interview) after dinner.

10.30: Switches on computer. Checks if there are new comments on her blog. Reads eight blogs. Chats with friend on gmail. Goes and checks on beta. Rerun of 8.30 action.

10.45: Has minor fight with P over possession of computer. Tells P she is working against a deadline and NOT BLOGGING. Writes a two line intro to justify her claim (and to show P in case he returns to check).

10.55: Tries to decipher own handwriting from interview notes.

11.10: Figures out most of the interview and decides to start. However, there's a blog in her brain. It's itching to be written. Now. Rash brushes thought of blog from her mind and gets back to story. Writes two lines.

11.30: Itching gets stronger. Rash tries to visualise person who assigned story as meancing, nasty editor standing with deadline stick over her head. Giggles.

11.34: Giggles some more at the imagery.

11.37: Non-stop giggling.

11:40: Itching stronger than ever. Rash is not a procrastinator. She decides to blog. Her brain needs to be free to concentrate on the story after all.

I miss my bookshelf. Back in Gurgaon I had an open bookshelf right in the living room. Yes, not a good idea I know but when we moved in, there was this empty space on the wall and it was just shouting BOOKSHELF.
I love books just the way they are. I don't like it when books are bound and when books are encased in meticulous protective covers. And I don't like it when books are inside a closed shelf or almirah, usually with a wooden door. It makes me feel like I'm cut off from my books. I need to see them as I pass through, go about my daily work, cook, have a coffee, fight with husband, babble on the phone....during everything. Practically speaking, open shelves gather dust and there are more chances of people walking away casually with your books (especially when shelf is in living room) and never returning them but then being practical isn't everything, is it?
When I was a kid, one of my aunts would always gift me books with little notes scribbled on them. She had been an avid reader and if marriage, motherhood and the demands of a trying joint family had put reading in the backseat, she always tried to buy me something she herself had loved. Yet another aunt (dearly loved, except for this) would insist I cover the books she brought me to protect them from dust. In fact, once she put hideous platic covers on most of my books when she came to visit us in Orissa. I waited for her month long visit to be over and then proceeded to gleefully yank the covers off.
This is why I terribly miss my open shelf back at the flat in Gurgaon. I'd only one but there were plans to cover one whole room with such shelves and then go bookshopping to fill it up.....
Out here I have no dearth of storage space. But it is all closed in, very practical. This keeps my books from being spotted by flinching friends, cobwebs and dust. And sometimes, even by me.

In Which I Bitch

I was at this quiet Daily Bread store in Indiaranagar the other day, debating between yummy Mediterranean Bread v/s equally yummy Garlic Bread and generally feeling happy at the sight of so many desserts, when the door opened and in walked a strong waft of VERY EXPENSIVE PERFUME. She insisted on buying only chocolate donuts as 'Maira' loved them, or so I figured from the conversation she had with VERY EXPENSIVE RAYBAN, her hunky companion.

There was only one choco dounut left, which resulted in a mini and goodnatured tantrum. At this point Rayban insisted on driving her anywhere just to get the donuts. 'Ok wait let me check with Maira,' trilled Perfume and snapped out the tiniest of mobile phones. Rayban watched worshipfully. So did all of us.

I suddenly felt a wave of nostalgia: this is so, so Delhi, I thought. I could've been standing outside Big Chill in Khan Market watching dressed-to-kill-diva throwing a tantrum on being asked to wait. Then guess what happenned? Daily Bread guy gave Rayban directions to their Church Street outlet. Perfume trilled again before wafting out: 'But where is Church Street? We're not from here. We're from Delhi. Let me ask Maira's driver.'

See how well I knew that city? I could've cried. But I laughed instead. And not because four choco donuts were already in my goodiebag.