Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Monday, August 10, 2009
My little caretaker
Bad bad mean stomach cramps this morning and I think this might be it. I throw up and am sick. He runs up the stairs with his long legs and small chubby feet (so telling of his parents, Z and me). Rubs my back and his presence is really so comforting. Keeps asking me questions while I am throwing up. (That says something about me, I have to confess) I lay down, he asks me to get up. I do exactly as he wants. I get a check up. I am asked to sit on the playmat. I cannot. Nevertheless, since life, as he knows it, does not exist outside of the playmat anymore a toy on a strig is used as a stethescope. Next, almost immediately a nail file is produced to check my mouth. I still have no idea where he stashes all this.
I am pronounced fine, given some make believe medicine cupped in his little palm and then told that I have been a very good girl.
Then an imaginary sticker is posted on my knee for being good, just like his pediatrician does.
God, please listen to me when I say that I don't want my little caretaker to grow up.
I am pronounced fine, given some make believe medicine cupped in his little palm and then told that I have been a very good girl.
Then an imaginary sticker is posted on my knee for being good, just like his pediatrician does.
God, please listen to me when I say that I don't want my little caretaker to grow up.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Just humming
Some pictures of old friends, of the still single and fancy free variety. A simple, kind of the 70s song, of the delightful jingles over the radio sold soap and detergent kind. I imagine friends picking up their crumpled dupattas, cups of chai, special glances exchanged, a dusty guitar brought to life.
I just saw some pictures of an old college mate, still very obviously single and travelling around, still a kind of energy seen in her pictures that I fear I might have lost, hopefully temporarily. A very different vibe around me now. Of family, extended family, kids splashing in the pool, talks of houses being remodelled. Of my own self being completely enveloped by blood tests, the criminal carbohydrates and the powerful proteins, the baby's movements, everything watchful and the lack of complete abandon.
I miss my faraway old self when with my kohled eyes, piping waale kalidar kurtas, a million confused thoughts criss crossing like the gurjari prints I wore, thinking myself fat and so unattractive, I trotted across mountains and cities like a free bird. I promised myself I would sit by the bend in the river at Har- ki- doon soon and its been over a decade and another few years that I am too afraid to count and I am still dreaming away.
How do I fulfil my dreams in just one night?
I just saw some pictures of an old college mate, still very obviously single and travelling around, still a kind of energy seen in her pictures that I fear I might have lost, hopefully temporarily. A very different vibe around me now. Of family, extended family, kids splashing in the pool, talks of houses being remodelled. Of my own self being completely enveloped by blood tests, the criminal carbohydrates and the powerful proteins, the baby's movements, everything watchful and the lack of complete abandon.
I miss my faraway old self when with my kohled eyes, piping waale kalidar kurtas, a million confused thoughts criss crossing like the gurjari prints I wore, thinking myself fat and so unattractive, I trotted across mountains and cities like a free bird. I promised myself I would sit by the bend in the river at Har- ki- doon soon and its been over a decade and another few years that I am too afraid to count and I am still dreaming away.
How do I fulfil my dreams in just one night?
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Back
All good things must come to an end, I just told myself. Also, it served me right for being the laziest blogger, enjoying everyone's writing, spoilt by the handful of visitors (okay, just a couple) who visit this space and yet never moving a finger to write anything. For a while I was just happy doing posts in my head. Then one day I changed the password and forgot it. Uptil until now. The household takes a long afternoon nap. I am awake considering that I was asleep most of the morning so mindlessly I tried typing in the magic words and it worked. Thank the skies, even though dry and waterless they may be, for even the Google password recovery team promptly decided to give up on me.
So here I am back with my big self. For a few days more in the city of angels. Mostly at home, resting and getting over the fatigue of things. The more I rest, the more I need to rest. So addictive but I'm making the most of it. For the past couple of days especially, I eat (barely like a bird, more on that later), walk awhile, rest, snack, walk and so on till its night time. Sounds pretty dull but now I admire perfectly formed ice cubes, don't declare war the minute a speck of dust is around, notice my son's shoulders growing stronger and legs longer, kiss him five times a day and he even lets me (lately he would just push me away), he gurgles when I kiss his face and then asks for it again, I can smell my parents' home in Delhi with all the remodelling and wish I could soak up the smell of sawdust, the grizzling sound of the tile cutter.
Just taking it a minute at a time, I sit with my face covered in cinnamon and dahi, promising to write more often.
So here I am back with my big self. For a few days more in the city of angels. Mostly at home, resting and getting over the fatigue of things. The more I rest, the more I need to rest. So addictive but I'm making the most of it. For the past couple of days especially, I eat (barely like a bird, more on that later), walk awhile, rest, snack, walk and so on till its night time. Sounds pretty dull but now I admire perfectly formed ice cubes, don't declare war the minute a speck of dust is around, notice my son's shoulders growing stronger and legs longer, kiss him five times a day and he even lets me (lately he would just push me away), he gurgles when I kiss his face and then asks for it again, I can smell my parents' home in Delhi with all the remodelling and wish I could soak up the smell of sawdust, the grizzling sound of the tile cutter.
Just taking it a minute at a time, I sit with my face covered in cinnamon and dahi, promising to write more often.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Conversations
me: Pickles, please be careful. Don't jump on my tummy
P: I am carefuling
I just grin as he continues the family tradition that started with the maasi who used to do 'tooling' when being the carpenter's (my father!) apprentice
P: I am carefuling
I just grin as he continues the family tradition that started with the maasi who used to do 'tooling' when being the carpenter's (my father!) apprentice
Thursday, May 28, 2009
The people in my life
Kaun hai itni mazedaar? She who describes the minutest of details like the colour of the walls(like roohafza pink she said) and then talks of milkshake related disorders. She tickles my funny bone and then takes over till I feel all prickly tickled inside and laugh my insides out sitting in my office.
He, who pokes sweet fun of his mother-in-law whispering something to me as she is probably sitting close. Says, here talk to the two, no three cartoons. One more today, he whispers, as your nani is also here. I gently chide him saying that is what the Z will tell Pickle soon. He laughs naughtily.
She, whose greeting over the phone is more of a song. Sister and I even made up a one act play on how she greeted people with song. The helloooooooooooo going on and on. With the classiest eye for detail. She who dresses up the living room where the magenta brocade on the cushion matches perfectly with the embroidered flower her girls made one summer vacation. Or maybe over many vacations when she gently asked us to finish the embroidery so that we could put it up.
He, with whom I make grandiose plans of watching a movie and who then promptly sleeps on my leg and snores away. The snores so loud that I'm sure even the dwellers of Star Trek, also the people we were supposed to watch on the big screen this afternoon, were startled.
And finally THE he, whose evening snack has been carefully planned and taken by his father as he picks him up from daycare. The he who insists I tell his friends everything he is doing before he joins them in the morning. So I just pretend to shout out to them that he is now brushing, eating breakfast and running around nanga.
And me, the big fat me, I never tell them any of this but I sit back and wait for my vanilla cake to bake and sip my ginger tea and tell myself for the umpteenth just how lucky I am.
I love the life in my people.
He, who pokes sweet fun of his mother-in-law whispering something to me as she is probably sitting close. Says, here talk to the two, no three cartoons. One more today, he whispers, as your nani is also here. I gently chide him saying that is what the Z will tell Pickle soon. He laughs naughtily.
She, whose greeting over the phone is more of a song. Sister and I even made up a one act play on how she greeted people with song. The helloooooooooooo going on and on. With the classiest eye for detail. She who dresses up the living room where the magenta brocade on the cushion matches perfectly with the embroidered flower her girls made one summer vacation. Or maybe over many vacations when she gently asked us to finish the embroidery so that we could put it up.
He, with whom I make grandiose plans of watching a movie and who then promptly sleeps on my leg and snores away. The snores so loud that I'm sure even the dwellers of Star Trek, also the people we were supposed to watch on the big screen this afternoon, were startled.
And finally THE he, whose evening snack has been carefully planned and taken by his father as he picks him up from daycare. The he who insists I tell his friends everything he is doing before he joins them in the morning. So I just pretend to shout out to them that he is now brushing, eating breakfast and running around nanga.
And me, the big fat me, I never tell them any of this but I sit back and wait for my vanilla cake to bake and sip my ginger tea and tell myself for the umpteenth just how lucky I am.
I love the life in my people.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Good morning
waking up at wee hours to make tea and a sandwich for the Z as he leaves for the airport: check
Pickles snoring softly: check
Husband calls from the airport: check
drinking my morning chai perched by the window and catching a wildly animated conversation between two sweet gujju aunties: PRICELESS
Pickles snoring softly: check
Husband calls from the airport: check
drinking my morning chai perched by the window and catching a wildly animated conversation between two sweet gujju aunties: PRICELESS
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