In which She does those Hideous Dances

After 40, I have consciously moved to a slower pace of life, juggling profession, passion and responsibility - Landscape Architecture, Poetry - Art and playing mum, ever trying to achieve the correct work-life balance, often experimenting with new things.

As a result, in my free time, I started socializing with the neighbourhood women and those from the mothers group, who began to invite me to some religious/cultural meet ups. They say, and I agree that after 40, one can easily catch the poppycock about people. I decided to keep an open mind and dive in.

Mostly it has resulted in things completely not signed up for!!

My first reluctant performance at the Onam celebration, with 50 going on 20 women, was a mix of super slow movements of lighting lamps and noiseless clapping, in circles. They were very patient with me while teaching me the steps, as if it was Mohiniyattam though it was not that difficult to pick up. (I can come across as a no nonsense non dancer type.) My mind drifted back to our famous fusion dance at school on MJ's “Black or White’ , self choreographed by our gang of girls - a mix of Bharatnatyam on one side and what we called the “western dance "on the other side. That was a superhit!

Apparently the one being taught to me is a very famous Onam dance, which one of my relatives bragged about having showcased in a YouTube clip. Don't forget to ‘Like ' and ‘Subscribe' to our channel, her husband proudly announced with a toothy grin. This one may have been leaked onto social media, but I silently prayed, not to be tagged!

There was another vague singing while swinging scene at a supposed- to- be- picnic where one of the ‘extra-vert’ mums started singing Bollywood songs so loudly that the kids were getting worried! She then took endless selfies , some may have been videos which may have landed on social media. I don't remember if I joined in the loud singing loudly enough but the song was about never breaking this “fraandship” ;)

There was yet another of those three tiered fondant caked birthday parties where the mums and daughters had to be twinning! Luckily I have two no nonsense boys, away from the twinning and rainbow unicorn ponies! So I was only pulled into a Party mix of Bollywood Rap numbers in Sindhi with Punjabi choreography executed by another famous 50 going on 20 - reel making aunties gang. I managed to survive the limelight without stealing it!

The most recent hideous adulthood dance attack was at a religious event, our entire family was tricked into. It started out with naïve story telling, then warmed up to chanting and suddenly burst into some farmer’s dance about being overjoyed after all the ploughing and seed planting, ready to enjoy the harvest of the season! Ok. I can enjoy some action but this one would have gone better with some wine! The group dance went on and on in circles that expanded and contracted between chants with raised hands.

All this action made up for everything that was missing in our lives ;)

After a polite wrap up and exchange of sweet smiles, that Halloween night when everyone went to bed, “SHE” arrived… out of my wicked mind corner! The envy- green, grape-eating sarcastic evil twin of mine , from a parallel universe! She always wears a shiny green bikini top and a matching frilly micro mini skirt , with a hat full of grapes and wine-smeared purple lips. “Is this the new you?! “She mocks.

What exactly have you BECOME, Nair Aunty!? Oh is this that profound “becoming” of yours… she laughs away…

#justforfun #nooffense #fortyplusgoingontwenty #midlifecrisis #randomness #oopsembarassed #selfintrospection 

:: My evil twin often surfaces in my mind, helping me look at myself from the outside. We all need this reality check from time to time! ::

:: Picture used for illustrative purposes only ::

Photo Phobia

It is a very recent finding. Yes. I have photo phobia. It’s a mental disorder that leads to sleeplessness and sarcasm. I was living with it for quite some time I guess. Some of my photos make me go wildly critical and I find myself laughing and crying at the same time, on the verge of slight madness. Well, in my too - uncomfortable -to- admit- comfort zone, perhaps!

Just today, I got some scanned old school photos from a childhood friend. We were a bunch of adolescent school girls in growing shapeless bodies and obviously unconditioned uncombed tresses. Somebody give them some shampoo please! I thought…I pleaded ...I yelped…! And that’s how my paranoia got detected.

Great. Congratulations. I know a lot more about me now!

This critical medical condition goes way back into a pre digital gawky teenage that broke out like acne into gullible college years. It was until I mastered the art of learning how to take pictures with our very classy Olympus film camera, a gift from my father. The camera was a bit moody. Just like my grandfather, my father and then me. My father was convinced, it was in safe hands as I managed to take some reasonably aesthetic pictures in one single film, without the privilege of deleting unwanted pictures or cropping undesired backgrounds. I had tamed the camera! But by mistake I got the photos printed to a larger size than to a budget friendly postcard size. I wanted to delete some irritating bits and the big size gave me that tempting chance. So I just grabbed a steel ruler and a cutter and simply chopped off the non aesthetic parts of the picture. I now think that was the first time my rare obsession surfaced, which was unknowingly masked off as a creative exercise back then.

A peek into my wedding photo stories is like opening a can of worms! I am yet to find one fairly acceptable picture of myself and my husband in the whole big laminated album full of plastic chairs, slippers and tube lights and a water cooler! But since we got married seven years ago in the olden days when there were no digital cameras but one moderately energetic old guy who most importantly, came free with the wedding hall, and who could barely balance the film camera with a large yellow flash light on it, in his very creative hands, I guess one had to live with such fiascos.

Don’t even get me started with our cocktail party photos. I got about five zoomed in shots of my back. The guy in the photo must be my husband. Well, I can make out from the side view of his shirt! And then there were some pictures of people I don’t even know! That was a superb album --- in my head!

On my engagement day, I had mustered the courage to borrow a small digital camera from some neighbour’s friend’s friend. Some stranger in the crowd accidentally but luckily for me took one photo that day. It was only of our hands with the exchanged rings. All my love to that stranger. That is one of the best pictures I have preserved! My parents, relatives and everyone from the girl’s side mistook the video team to be the photographers, in the end to find no pictures but only a short and spicy south Indian engagement film with mesmerizingly melodramatic sound effects (highly recommended to those with normal mental conditions).

I got my second attack of photo paranoia right after watching that DVD!

And today, the school snaps reconfirmed it.I dare not show you those awesome pictures as I am afraid, the infection might get passed on to some of you dear readers!

My love affair with the digital camera has finally helped me fight this disturbing mental situation ;)

Those who have been suffering in silence just like me, grab a good camera and shoot!...just shoot them all I say !!!

Unusual (Un)invitation!

Most times grocery shopping is treated as an ‘escape route’ by men. The other day, my husband met a long lost colleague at the grocery store where they apparently shared their post fatherhood blues and spoke about wives and kids. The friend extended an invitation to come over that Friday evening for some drinks. Well, considering they had just finished discussing about families, it was assumed that the invitation was for the whole family. We decided to go.

The friend stays in a villa right opposite to the neighbourhood park. My son wanted to play on the slide so I volunteered to be with him .But soon Arhaant followed his Baba to the villa and when we were at the doorstep we found out that the invitation was actually only for my husband as the friend’s wife’s mother had passed away a few days before and her sisters had come over in mourning. Before I could assimilate anything, Arhaant ran indoors, grabbed a toy car and zoomed off! …My husband and I exchanged some 'angry bird' frowns, but it was too late. I was dragged in and the door was closed. It was indeed a huge miscommunication between the men, who meanwhile sat in the verandah, peacefully enjoying their drinks. The kids, who hadn’t learnt about ‘being embarrassed’ yet, enjoyed new company. It was me, who was left midway knowing not what to do!

The only interesting fact was that the friend was from New Caledonia and his wife, from Ethiopia. It was a rare combination. Here in the Middle East, one can find the most unexpected alliances and some beautiful complexioned mix culture kids. A part of me was excited about getting a peek into an Ethiopian –New Caledonian household and the other part of me was self-conscious beyond description.

Theirs was a warmly lit space with very high ceilings,typical of old Arabic villas. The light bulbs evenly spaced into the mouldings dramatically enhanced facial features and drew me into my day dreamland. Finally the hostess asked me if I would join her and her three sisters for a meal. I wasn’t sure which option was disrespectful for the ritual, so I agreed to join the three ladies at the table. There was a massive salad bowl with large pieces of tomato,some cabbage, boiled potatoes and carrots, soaked in vinegar and a very huge something that looked like a home baked cake.She gave me enormous portions of everything and I couldn’t say no as I was busy looking at the lovely peach embroidery on the older sister’s clothes. The Ethiopian traditional dress is an ankle length variation of an Indian sari, but wrapped without any pleats. I had seen women from Sudan wearing the same so most of us Indians had begun calling it the Sudani sari. Hers was a crinkled printed peach fabric with a fashionable sleeveless blouse that had a mini frill on the edges. The youngest sister was wearing a full length pale blue and white dress with a laced head scarf. She had delicate brown eyes and a shy gaze. The hostess wore plain black pants and shirt. She had a six month old baby boy and a two year old girl, who played with Arhaant. I introduced myself, but I did not get their names. Luckily Arhaant's name fits into the Arabic culture and no one asks it twice.

The younger sister seemed more approachable.We exchanged glances and smiled occasionally. I quickly realized I shouldn’t smile too much considering the occasion. They finished eating very soon and I was left trying to strike a balance between friendly and not so friendly head nods.

Soon they lighted some candles by a coffee pot and offered the cake(which was actually bread) to the spirits. Well, this could be my interpretation of the occasion. There was a bucket of popcorn as well in the offerings. The three women started praying. I just stood up and watched. They took turns with prayers and then the bread was cut and distributed to all. The popcorn was given to the kids. I wondered if the purpose was similar to how in my religion crows are allowed to eat the rice cakes on post death formalities. I remembered my Serbian friend telling me about a funeral she attended that seemed quite like a party. I was barely three when my great grandmother passed away. I remember being slightly amused by the eerie silence on that day as I did not know what ‘death’ really meant…

My daze was resurfacing just when I realized that Arhaant had not asked for me since a long time. To save all of us of another embarrassment I hurriedly took him to the toilet…just in time and avoided an 'accident' by a millisecond! (it was just yesterday that I had proudly bragged about my successfully toilet trained boy even by night!)

But that good old excuse gave me the much needed idea for an exit plan. Life never gives second chances, but I hope we get another one to make a better second impression! We hurriedly rushed out with some awkward goodbyes, a very heavy tummy , a brief cultural exchange, of course and a new topic to write on!

Chocolate Nose!

On Saturday, I accidently washed my hair with coldish water right after being frozen by the Al Shamal winds that blew through the desert and our spines on Friday evening. Successfully, my son was wearing the right jacket that saved him. But my stylish thin shrug-type sweater (that my mother refers to as ‘only sleeves’) left me completely runny nosed.
We went out grocery shopping and as usual wandering through the well displayed markets, my boy picked up something new for the week. I was glad it was not another car.It was a chocolate egg.
I was relieved. It would keep his hands away from pulling out tempting objects from the display or drinking up very cold juice right out of the cold storage! We all know very well what that leads to --- another runny nose!

The idea was to take a sneak peek ’at ease’ into a newly opened Art café near our place after dumping the grocery in the car. Needless to say, Arhaant had already opened the chocolate egg with both hands and started licking it until his hands were soaked in chocolate! Now Baba got wild. Firstly ‘anything egg’ scares him. His logic says if it is in an egg shape, how direct you want them to be! Of course it contains egg! And then his love for the car and my love for not wasting food were put to test against our love for art. So what next, I had to lick off all the remaining chocolate off Ary’s palms. Later, I carefully double checked for anything possibly messy. Ary’s hands, mouth…even the car door handle…but missed one very important thing!

We almost managed the ‘at ease’ walk through the art café, talked to the beautiful café owner, admired artifacts with a ‘serious faced’ regard towards new art forms and returned early with the ‘school night’ excuse…only to find a chocolate flake, now molten, smeared in the shape of a perfect circle atop the tip of my already red nose --- like a totally not funny clumsy clown from some sad little circus!!! Eeeeeek….how silly…!!! She would have thought of me as a greedy mum who eats the chocolate herself and does not share it with her child!!!
And the saddest part is that no one told me! I remember Ary saying “chock ate” and pointing towards me…but I dismissed him saying “no more chocolate”!!!
…and of course the ‘other grown up’ with us was clearly busy looking everywhere else(I know exactly where) but at his wife!!! So that is another moral of the story!
Well, I guess playing mum to a clean looking child often requires too many sacrifices…
A chocolate coated child clown would have been atleast cute. Damn selfless and thoughtful motherhood!

~ and damn inner beauty ;)

Utterly Uncomfortable

I don’t know why am I thinking of all those gone by days of confused parenting in the first year…

Before you jump to conclusions, the answer is “no” !

But I guess it could be because most of my close friends are around that phase now….

And this one is especially for my dear friend who is expecting her bundle of joy by the end of this year…

Indian ways of parenting are quite different. We can never be that strict and disciplined. My husband does come from a convent educated, strict school of thought, but I am one of those who melts too soon.

When I was pregnant, I used to read about perfect parenting and I had decided, we are not going to be those typical Indian parents. We are going to be a mix of the east and the west. Those that keep the baby in a separate room very soon; those who always keep him in a car seat…and so on.

But things changed when little ‘A’ actually came into my arms. I thought even the routine blood test was an inhuman cruel thing done deliberately to trouble my delicate newborn!!

When we were to take him home from the hospital, I couldn’t bear the thought of keeping the tiny one fastened in the harsh belts of the car seat…I held him close to my heart so that he could hear my heartbeat, like when he was inside my womb. Nor could I keep him away in another room in the baby cot, alone to deal with this’ too bright too noisy’ world. Till he was a good six months old, we unanimously agreed on co-sleeping.

That’s when I realized, these things can never be so pre planned. In parenthood, its best when you go with the flow. There is no perfect solution. And each event is a new challenge that comes with all its utterly uncomfortable aftereffects.

Once, when little ‘A’ was really little…just about 3 months complete, we were returning from a longish car ride. We incidentally had an Ikea furniture item in the car which had to be kept on the rear seat, next to the car seat. There was no place for me to sit behind, the way I usually did when ‘A’ was made to sit in the car seat. So I sat in the front seat and’ A’, for the first time, was alone behind.

My mom had neatly listed down the three reasons why a baby cries –

One, if he is hungry;

two if he is sleepy and

three, if he is uncomfortable with a full nappy.

‘A’ was well fed and his nappy was just changed.

So when he started crying loudly, I knew he must be sleepy and needed to be cuddled.

Now we were on a highway. I was beginning to panic. My husband was trying to be the stronger /smarter/tougher one as always and told me to ignore little A’s cries. But I couldn’t concentrate.

There was no way we could stop over ( actually now, I wonder why…we could have stopped on the hard shoulder!) but I guess because my husband gave me the hard shoulder, I totally lost it and climbed from the front seat to the jam packed back seat and quickly unbuckled ‘A’. The car was moving and I had nowhere to sit…so I actually had to sit in the car seat myself…with baby A in my arms, my head bent against the car top, neck sprained, legs pretty much hanging….in total havoc!!!Well, the only good thing was that baby A stopped crying immediately…but I started sobbing to my plight!

…and of course, needless to say, the wicked witness to this weird circus was laughing out loud as I got my fair share of travelling in a car seat, that I had missed out in India back in the 80s!!!

Baby had fun. Misson accomplished. Lets call it purrrrrfect parenting, shall we ;)

House ATTACK!!!

Last month, I was researching about architecture, art and places to visit in Vienna for my upcoming trip to Austria -- a favourite part of travel planning.

I stumbled upon an art installation at the museums quarter, Vienna, which has a little house entangled into a neat modern exposed concrete building of modern art. It looked like some aliens had thrown houses at the earth, one of which got stuck in this building! ”House Attack” – it was aptly named by the artist or the journalist that had a quirky sense of humour. That image lingered in my mind and when we reached Vienna, I ran to search for that wedged house in the building. But it was gone! I asked the woman in charge, “where’s that house, trapped onto this building?” she thought I was insane, until I showed her the picture from my neatly printed self-made travel guide …”It was a temporary installation” she laughed! “The aliens took it back!”

But this reminded me of the two bitter- sweet “house attacks” that my husband and I had experienced in Abu Dhabi--- of the very few struggles in my otherwise fairy tale life ;)

Back in 2006, when I came to Abu Dhabi, it was very difficult to find homes to stay. After sweaty house hunts, so that wife dear can get the comforts instantly, Mr.Mallu got tempted into a sub lease house contract from one Mr. Afghan, who worked out of Abu Dhabi and whose family was back in Afghanistan. I am sure it was the corner glass windows that allured him into doing so!

We lived there happily for two years , enjoying the panoramic wonders of the corner glass windows, until one fine evening, sub land lord returned with his pot figured wife and three tiny little pathans in sizes L, M and S, saying that they want to stay in that apartment ! We were aghast! Horror struck! Knowing not what to do next…

And moments later, Mrs. Pathan started unpacking huge aluminium urns to cook biriyani right inside the living room that was once mine!...and the three little pigs…oops kids, scampered around in their respective L, M and S sized pathan suits…and I later found a fourth sweatiest XXL sized pathan suit hanging to be dried on a string right in the middle of the living room!

I thanked god for our bedroom with an attached toilet that saved me…

We survived the “house attack” for the night, but next day, we firmly asked them to give us a week to move out till we found another house. And after endless arguing in Hindi versus bits of Urdu and Pashtun, they went to stay with their relatives for that week.

Followed by tireless house chases and consoling an upset morale, we found a cozy cute apartment in a villa by the fragrant Albizzia! It had a “lover’s balcony” overlooking a nice mosaic dome of the mosque. Despite nightmares of three little pathan suits, I managed to decorate our new home with a lot of love, colour and a newfound fighter spirit!

We cherished this place for two years until another “house attack “disturbed our routine life. This time we reached home after work to find the balcony knocked down!!! The owner of the villa, an uneducated old hag, as expertly advised by his manager, decided to extend his villa on our balcony side in order to have more apartments and in short, earn more rent!

This was a harsh reality of Abu Dhabi, until the Municipality/Baladiya and the Urban Planning Council acquired some power.

My warrior spirit was back, this time in a more professional manner! With a fake phone call and some kind help from our Arabic speaking friend, we managed to extract extra money in addition to reduced rent in return of the destroyed balcony! The opening was neatly “gypsum boarded” as per ‘architects instructions’ and later made into a nice “art wall”. I realized the perks of having creativity by my side through all these occurrences, to make good the “unaesthetics” of life.

We continued to love this home because of the next “nine months” that started with a sudden sweet realization. No balcony to look beyond, but a tiny bump that made me forget everything else!

Since the past two years, we are living in yet another home to accommodate three different flavors in place of two. This one is the best till date--- our abode of Love. Let me not say much about it, as who knows where the “house attackers” are hiding!

I still have some images of the three tiny pathans a(ROUND) their mother(I wondered if another XS sized pathan was shaping up inside:), their huge aluminium trunk and their funniest master bed full of mirrors(the baby maker), that I got to see later when we were moving out and they were moving in! I also have photos of the unbroken balcony….Maybe I knew, someday, in a quiet moment, I would write about all this…looking back at it with a smile.

For someone like me, who lived in Pune in a rock solid ancestral stone house for twenty four years and never moved from there till I got married, such “house attacks” were quite overwhelming! I remember crying a lot for missing the first apartment where my new life started…But after my rebirth from pregnancy, no attack feels more challenging than a panic attack!

~ Inspiring "House Attack" --- Art Installation ,Vienna
 Image courtesy : Pinterest

Tiny Tummies

...on a lighter note
The other weekend, we suddenly realized that soon it will be too hot outside for any kind of gatherings and that we haven’t really invited anyone home for a long time.

My husband(Mr Public Relations) hurriedly called some scattered friends for Friday barbecue.

Two different families with no connection with one another --- just the common factor of kids.
As usual my husband commits to such plans without consulting me. And I, too lazy to cook, try to find some short cuts ;)

We agreed that since the barbecue would form the major chunk of the meal, I should make some side dish.I chose pasta to go with the overall menu, though Mr. Indian Food would have loved any other Indian snack. But I did not listen and continued with my experiment. That’s when my mom called and I,very proudly announced my 'pasta plans' of yellow bell peppers, fancy mushrooms and a dash of cream cheese!
And probably around the same time, I ignored the amount of attention I was supposed to give to the rare attempt.It was a quite a disaster.Completely bland. Unaesthetic. It was one unified soggy mass of dough moving in the wok like a ball, dotted by yellow decorations, thanks to the bell peppers!...and Mrs Rescue's now useless suggestions from the phone!! Leaving aside my environmental concerns, I thought of throwing the wok away directly in the garbage chute and no one would know about the failed try. But just then the guests arrived. That instant, I cooked up an effortless idea --- Food for tiny tummies! That was going to be my expertise from now on. The flavorless low spice pasta was of course meant only for the kids!!! Bravo.
If they ate it, a feather in mommy’s cap. And if they didn’t… well …they were too engrossed in play or ate all the popcorn…something like that. I later caught people trying to add soy sauce and pepper to the pasta in their slightly tipsy state ;) ...but their kids had eaten properly...luckily for me!!!
“Well played” said my husband with a smile.

~ Phew...saved! Okay fine. You can hate me for this :(