Category Archives: The Elf

S is for Sonshine

When the Elf was born, I was a bit disappointed he was not a girl. It helped that I felt that babies were genderless, but now as he becomes a little boy, I have genuinely started to believe boys are so sweet.

So this is for my sonshine and all the other sonshines who make our hearts beat out of both fear, exasperation and love – alternately and together.

Something so innocent and impish about them – alternately and together. Little girls you are just as awesome I am sure.

But back to little boys…

Little boys are piglets. They will touch and lick everything. Every single thing. Sitting on the ground of a restaurant, a dirty shop or a puddle is common place.

So much so that we don’t even notice anymore. All my friends who have little girls are aghast that the elf spends so much time under the table at a restaurant. My standards are very low – I am just glad he doesn’t sit on the floor at a public loo.

FYI I make him stand in a public loo with his hands up which I hold with one hand so that he can’t touch anything.

Anyway as a result they are always dirty. I have never seen such black hands, legs or nails in my life!

– They run. Like just keep running or if they are on a cycle , they run on the cycle. It’s like they are testing us – how fast can you chase us. How strong is your heart to sustain the fact that I can just run off and you won’t know where I am. And yes just to show you how strong I am – I will jump off things and if there are no things to jump off – I will just keep jumping !

– Also they are not bothered about who is joining them to play. I notice the little girls who come down to play, pick and choose their companions. I feel sad to see them already start these excluding some girls and all boys from play. With boys and the tomboys they play with (at least as of now) it’s like you have feet, you got a car – let’s run with your feet while we drive the car over all the messy puddles and muddy pots.

Speaking about mud, elf just saw a couple on TV having a mud bath and demands one himself. I fear the next time I turn my back on him, that’s exactly what he will do.

– Which brings me to the next point never turn your back or close your eyes for 5 minutes unless you want water poured into your toothpaste, a mixture of powder and cream carefully spread on your bed, lipstick put on their shirts, oil put on their heads or paper shredded and thrown into water.

– Little boys come with an extra attachment – cars. It’s like cars, cars, everywhere – you develop great expertise in jumping over the 32 hot wheels cars that permanently inhabit your floor and the 25 other non hot wheel cars and vehicles . Serious hopping skill sets being developed.

– They are rough. Good lord, entertainment for the elf is me pushing him on the bed, wrestling with his dad and playing kabbadi by himself.

– Major irritants with little boys are watching sports, the potty jokes and the absolute inability to pee into the pot. For a kid who can throw the ball so accurately while playing, his aim while peeing is hard to believe.

– Little boys are the biggest ego boost ever. Mama looks so pretty in her old slacks and t-shirt, mama makes the best fish, mama knows everything, mama leave your hair open – it’s pretty, mama is prettier than the Aunty on TV – take that Aishwarya Rai. Also dadu can’t sit near mama, no keep distance, no coming near – yup no siblings happening in the near future. I have a friend whose 5 year old kid will yell if his mom is not the first face he sees.

If the elf sees me in the kitchen for long or if I am reading in another room, he will make frequent trips to visit me updating me on all the things I have missed in the world in the last 2.5 minutes I have been away from him.

– They don’t like kisses or hugs. They will squirm, and struggle and act like you are torturing them. And your heart will be a little sad that the baby is really growing up.

But then at night when the lights go off, you might feel like a lizard has fallen on your waist but it’s a little hand trying to hug you to sleep, the little cheeks want kisses, he wants to know if you love him and wants all the petting you can give.

He is then just my little vulnerable boy !

And as I go to sleep – i sing in my head.

You are my sonshine,
My only sonshine,
You make me happy when skies are grey.
You’ll never know just how I much I love you. You will always remain my sonshine forever.

I know he will outgrow this someday but I will cherish it forever and I do believe every now and then however big he is – he will find a way to let me know *he thinks I am da bomb I mean mom*

This is part of the April blogathon and this is my entry for S.

Advertisements

R is for (Wait for it, like really wait for it) Rain

Call up any Bangalorean (or are we Bengalurean’s?) – anyway so call up any Bangalorean you know.

And if they don’t whine about the temperature, they are lying to you – they don’t reside in Bangalore. It has been hot hot hot here. And no not the pampered weathered Bangalore hot of 32 degrees – it has been close to 40 degrees here.

In a land where a lot of people don’t have AC’s –who needs AC’s for 2 months of heat machaa. This is a big deal. You sleep and wake up with sweat around the neck. The husband is kicking around acting like someone is attacking him at night, the kid still insists on getting his stuffed toys to bed, in this weather, the toys are even more annoying than usual.

The air is still, warm and the sun is blazing.

As I wonder what to write about with the alphabet R – i start some half hearted attempt at R for Romeo and Juliet and know its going nowhere – and then just like that God sends me a sign

Thunder!

I think this is how people marooned in deserts feel when they see an oasis. I get all excited and inform my Bangalore Whatsapp group and the husband that it is going to rain. I ponder updating a Facebook status. But that’s not cool anymore!

If you think i am over-reacting to the prospect of rain, you must know I am a great lover of the rain, especially the first rain – I have blogged about it here and here. Rains make me very excited – It is probably a left over thing from living in Port Blair. Where every evening, the minute we got out of the school bus, it would pour drenching you irrespective of any attempts of having an umbrella or a raincoat. I realize all my love for the rain has already been pored into the blog posts linked so I will shut up about it.

Maybe the rain is just an excuse at a valid excuse of eating chai and samosa.

Anyway getting back – I hear the thunder and immediately I thought of R for Rain. And then of as a harbinger to the rain, my curtains start moving in the breeze. The same curtains which have been brought to a standstill by this very still weather are actually moving. I get a little more excited and believe I can smell rain.

The people I have messaged tell me I am imagining it,The skies have no black clouds, and even as I right this blog, the breeze has stopped. In fact it’s still again. Dammit even the sun is shining again.

But i believe the rain and I have a connection and it wont fail me – I tell them with all the authority and confidence I don’t actually possess that it will rain and to have faith.

So Rain help me save face and rain!

Rain on this poor drenched Bangalore.

Spare us from buying AC’s and contributing to global warming.

Dont let us become puddles.

And more importantly (for me) make this idiot (me) continue to believe that we have a connection.

Phew and one more blog done – 8 more alphabets and 5 more days. I am not sure if i am more keen for it to rain or for this blogathon to be done with.

update: I am Nostradamus – it just started raining

This is part of the ATOZ Challenge and this is my entry for R. 

 

 

N is for Namma Bengaluru

Childhood memories of playing with this great group of kids, running into the church compound, playing endless games of hide and seeks and innumerable board games. The grannies pampering me, lots of visits to relatives and the one hundred thousand times I have walked on commercial street tugging at my mom’s elbow for fountain Pepsi – a novelty in those days.

I didn’t know if the weather was good – I came from the islands of andamans I should have felt it, I know but it didn’t matter. Bengaluru was always home. Where I went every summer holiday!

Then came 2005 – when I moved to Bangalore to work. Crazy work routine, horrible and rude auto drivers (yes it’s up there in the complaints department), demanding bosses, childhood friends moving away left me with not much company other than the mater and the boyfriend (now husband) I had no friends of my own – nothing.

And truth be told, as much as leaving my family behind sucked, I was happy to move to Mumbai – my land of freedom and friends. My land of beautiful rains, my land of college and B school memories. The place my heart would always belong. Even now writing about Mumbai makes me nostalgically think of my favourite marine drive.

But Mumbai with a kid made my heart hurt a little. My kid had no place to run around, we were always in traffic, the schools sucked with their tiny buildings and lack of playgrounds, moving between schools and daycare seemed like a logistical nightmare. I had such a heavy heart while searching for schools there.

And then the Tall one got a job which could bring him here back to Namma Bengaluru. We jumped at the opportunity. I was sure it was a great move for the Elf.

It was not as exciting as moving to an absolutely new city but we were moving to a part of Bengaluru I didn’t know at all. And had no childhood associations with. Mostly I was worried about feeling like I did in 2005.

But Bengaluru has amazed me. Yes, the elf has everything I wanted for him growing up. But what I am amazed at is how much Bangalore has given me. I get to see my grannies more for sure and when the rest of the family is here, I get more time with them. The weather (not counting the last 2 months of absolute torture) makes me feel so energetic and great which is truly an achievement for an intrinsically lazy person like me. The Tall one is less worn out, we have more space, I have a bunch of stay at home Mummy friends who are intelligent and fun. I know I can do so much more with my life here than I ever could in Mumbai.

But mostly I am at peace. Something we don’t value enough.

Thank you Bengaluru for everything.

Maybe this is what coming home is all about!

This is my entry for N for the April AtoZ challenge and yay I finally introduce a category called namma Bengaluru to my list

M is for Mamma Mia

It’s almost blasphemous for me to choose anything else for M. M is for my mommy and I am totally going to cheat on this blog! I wrote this many many moons ago about my mommy and is still as relevant today as it was then. My thoughts or feelings haven’t changed.

https://dropzofjupiter.wordpress.com/2010/05/10/the-lioness-and-her-cub/

Did I still say that this holds true. Yup believe it while it was written 6 years ago, I am still 28.

The only thing that has changed since is that I have someone who now calls me mamma. Sometimes more often that I would like 😉

Having a baby has proved to me once again why I need my mommy around – the way my mom looked after me when my kid was born was well… What only a mother can do.

My only advice to all going to be moms is – however awesome your mil is, go to your mommy when you have a baby.

The one person in the world who was as bothered about me as she was about the baby.

The person who walked with my kid for 2-3 hours as he screamed during his colicky stage.

The person who stayed up with him the night he was born as I slept almost comatose after a long long 17 hour labour.

The person who took over from “‘munde tai” his personal masseuse when he was born and gave him extra special baths and massages – he still gets them when she is here.

The only one who told a starving nursing mother to let the baby cry and finish my food.

The person who gives me confidence that I am raising my kid ok.

And most importantly the person who told me not to feel guilt and to prioritise me too.

The best compliment I get is when she thinks I am a good mom. Because while other kids my age are now looking after their parents – I am still being looked after.

And knowing her (and knowing me) that’s not going to change when I am 60 either

H is for holidays

So on 28th of March my house was stuck by an earthquake and on 29th by a tornado and the subsequent jolts, quivers and speedy breezes have continued since. I am surprised that the walls in my house are brave enough to stand.

The floor has given up and understands that its existence is going to be dotted by 32 small hot wheels cars and innumerable others cars and vehicles of different shapes and sizes.

My feet understand that until June every time it takes a step, a Lego will attempt to pierce right through my foot.

My sofas have put on a brave face and steadied their springs to the incessant jumping!

The artifacts around the house quiver when ‘
the whoosh of a ball passes them.

My fridge groans in despair after it has been opened for the 10563th time in the day.

My lap and nose and various body parts wonder in silence where they will live to see my 35th year of existence

As I walk around my house, I feel their accusingly looks and if they could talk they would say

Why nuttie why?!!

Sure every school has holidays but haven’t you heard of summer camps. Every Meena, Teena and Ameena is sending their kids to advance the kids skills while the mothers maintain their sanity. What bravery medal were you aspiring for when you decide your kid should be free during summer holidays. You wanted him to be able to do as he pleases during his holidays just like you did as a kid. Unstructured play it seems. Pfft…imagination some more pfft,

I take a deep breath and tell them only 7 weeks more.

I hear the low hum of chanting/praying and beseeching to the Gods while I walk away!

this is part of the Atozchallenge – unofficially of course and this is my entry for h

D is for dramebaaz

I have always been called a drama queen, a nautanki, a dramebaaz – though I don’t have a clue why.

Of course years ago I did declared that my whole life was ruined because my mom didn’t buy me an anchor cross stitch set.

And yes I do give the husband dialogues of how he will miss me when I am dead and gone when he chooses to stare at the TV rather than pay heed to what I am saying.

But that’s like normal human behaviour now isn’t it?

So anyway, the mater had many years ago started calling me Meena Kumari and while recounting my baby tales has let others very kindly know that I was/am a Meena Kumari.

Whatever. Talk of rumours spreading. No basis at all.

Anyway it would seem that Meena kumari ka aulaad (meena’s kumari’s offspring) has arrived on the scene and threatens to take away my title.

The elf declares tragic expression in place that the scratch on his hand is the worst in the whole world and that it will never ever go away for all his life. The scratch is reminisced months after the skin has grown back with same tragic expression on face.

And God forbid any living being dead or alive was involved in causing the said scratch. The poor person shall live on in bad books till kingdom come

Much like the boy who whacked him on the birthday. Any discussion on the elf’s bad behaviour has him bringing up with a very sad expression how that boy hit up and that too in his birthday.

And quite often I have been diverted from what we are discussing and drawn into a conversation of how it was not good of said boy to hit him.

He accuses me of never ever taking him swimming if I miss a day or how I am always late to pick him up if by mistake I am a couple of minutes late for the bus.

The performance standards of motherly behaviour have to be A-ok else I am immediately rated with an F grade.

So in addition to all things that are good in his looks and personality – I have also conferred on my son a great deal of dramebaazi and dealing with it is bringing about in me a deep sense of sympathy for myself.

Aaah karma

Oh wait didn’t I start off by declaring I am not a drama queen.

Ironically while i was categorising my post I realised I had created a category called drama queen

This is part of the #AtoZchallenge for April . Unofficially of course Coz I didn’t know of the challenge till late but whatever 🙂

Letting go…

My baby started school today. As an excited elf wears his uniform, my heart feels heavy. I have been feeling this way for a couple of days I wonder why because he has been in daycare since he was less than a year old.

He is very excited, excited about the swings and the slides he has seen, excited about the uniform he gets to wear.

We enter school and I sense his mood change. He keeps telling me to come in with him. We enter his classroom and hang around for a while. It’s time for me to go, I kiss him goodbye. In the commotion, I don’t think he registers what I am saying. We look back and he is crying either joining in the general tears or he actually wants to cry.

I worry – I know he will stop crying once something interests him. But I worry, if his heart is heavy, if he is scared or if he is worried I won’t pick him up. Who is going to reassure him.

We peak in from a window and the tall one sees him trying to open his bottle, the teacher helps him. The bottle is new – what if he has forgotten how to use it. I should have practised with him more.

I worry about school just being too grown up for him. In a daycare he was looked after. Didn’t we look after ourselves in school?

Who is going to blow his nose or help him in the loo. Make him eat?

I know he is not the friendliest kid in town – will he make friends or would he be sidelined. I know he doesn’t know to hit back – will he get bullied?

Is this the right school? Will the school interfere in the unique way in which he thinks?

The logical part of me knows he will figure it out – learn to stand up for himself, eventually make friends – but the mama in me wants to protect him.

I walk out of the school with tears in my eyes. The realisation dawns that everyday I need to let go of my baby a little more. Everyday is a step away from babyhood to becoming a real person

God bless little one! Spread your wings and fly. Don’t mind your silly mama crying at every milestone. Fly my baby – soar!