Category Archives: The nutty family

Goodbye my darling …

Dear Peter Petrosky Bob,

You were the pet  I reluctantly agreed to. I thought getting you as a return gift was way too much responsibility. I looked at how to barter you away at the party itself. But the elf was having nothing of it. He wanted a fish if all his friends got to take home one.

At first I thought that fish were boring – I felt guilty, icky to change your water. But as time went by, you fascinated me.

I loved how your body changed from pure white to black, to the beautiful colour you were. You were my magical fish. My pride – no one else had a fish which changed colour. It amused me how when you saw the tall one you would get all excited knowing he would feed you. If fish ever did a happy dance this was it. 

You tolerated the elf tap tapping and all the excitement the elf showed dancing around you during your water change. 

I often said that you were the only one of my  boys who listened to me. Every time I spoke to you, you came to the top of your bowl to blow me kisses. Every time I sang “hello hello” you came up and told me you love me. 

Even today as you struggled at the bottom of the bowl – you came up to speak to me when you heard my voice – I will be forever touched that you tried so hard. I will miss your puckered lips, your sexy pout, your little black eyes. 

It was miserable to watch you suffer helplessly for the last few days and for that I am glad you are in a better place. 

But now as you lie still at the bottom of your bowl, I keep glancing at the bowl and not seeing you swim around breaks my heart.

Thank you Peter Petrosky Bob for the memories and for teaching my kid and us to love a little more. 

Forever my Petu Singh! Muah!

Forever etched in my heart – Day 1/30

When I started blogging, I did it because I wanted to record my life. For sometime I did it pretty religiously too. But somewhere down the line I realised that while I can crib about my life, make fun of myself and the ones I love, write a couple of senti letters – I find it difficult to write about the little moments that fill my heart.

The first time I stopped blogging was when the elf was born – I never found the words rather I didn’t want to find the words to express what I feel for him. It was a private moment to be savoured by me and that was recorded in my heart forever.

When Swathi forced, I mean suggested that we do a blogathon, my first thought was to write about the amazing Diwali I had – the warmth of friends and family, the pang of missing some family, the traditions I was passing on to my son, the joy of cooking favourite foods of family and friends, the fun of dressing up and all the gratefulness I feel for everything. 

But like always I don’t find the words to do it justice.

Just a heart which feels all warm and loved. For everything I dislike about organised religion, I love how it still binds us irrespective of our beliefs. So I am grateful for that and glad we persist in some traditions.h

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 πŸ˜‰

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

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 πŸ™‚

Marine drive – Mumbai meri jaan!

Sitting by marine drive

The place that represent Mumbai for so many of us.

Looking at the dark waters I wonder how many secrets have they hidden.

How many couples have loved, fought and broken up at its shores. Some for ever, some to be united again here.

So many of us have stared into these waters building dreams of our futures. Some became millionaires and some failed. They probably all came back and remembered the day they dreamt.

As I sit on marine drive with my almost 3 year old, I wonder if the waters remember the 15 year old who stood by marine drive and dreamt! I don’t remember what I dreamt, but I wonder if I am the same person.

I wonder if the waters remember the ambitious girl who had just started working trotting down the drive in uncomfortable heels after a day at work. I KNOW the ambitions are different, I don’t know what changed.

The young couple starting off their life together, siting in silence as they enjoy their togetherness and the black waters. We still sit in silence but the silence in broken by an endless chatter of a toddler

Mumbai or Bombay my city. Where I grew up in so many different ways. symbolised by the beautiful marine drive.

A piece of my heart will always be part of marine drive.

These are a few of my ‘happy’ things – day5

It’s been a long day and I can’t think straight. I have a headache partially caused by probably the change in weather etc, etc – 25% caused by the elf’s incessant and unusual whining and another 25% caused by the tall one and the elf complaining about each other.

As I lie wondering what to blog about they whine about someone touching someone and some one hitting someone and so on and on until I am ready for the ground to open up like it did for Sita Mata.

Now that I have sent the tone, I am just going to shamelessly draw inspiration from the girl in blue jeans blog theme and go with what I am happy about it today. I hope this links – I now blog from my phone and I am still figuring out how this app works. Continue reading