tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74397840792404299092024-02-20T04:53:15.499-08:00Memoirs of a couch cucumber...I rebel against society by renaming popular slang phrases.. Plus cucumber rhymes better with couch, don't you think?Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-65563527056625194532022-02-16T22:20:00.010-08:002022-02-16T23:28:27.002-08:00Goodbye Amma & Appa!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqtMIpmkrnVrDxHsgj-SnpLJmeDlHGn2chU73kXpLxkFghB-m65pEYvHjya75sld90Fj8ODx2m9M4hch5E-VcgDWmcngdO937Z75RJ8p3YBBdlN0svL6E7lTUSgmii7L8tpjmSzG-uPDfvdiBKceW_U_r1ZfoobeIhfVUyDGPA2yeMZME-0v2FvNcULA=s1224" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1138" data-original-width="1224" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgqtMIpmkrnVrDxHsgj-SnpLJmeDlHGn2chU73kXpLxkFghB-m65pEYvHjya75sld90Fj8ODx2m9M4hch5E-VcgDWmcngdO937Z75RJ8p3YBBdlN0svL6E7lTUSgmii7L8tpjmSzG-uPDfvdiBKceW_U_r1ZfoobeIhfVUyDGPA2yeMZME-0v2FvNcULA=w200-h186" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJrdzzy9UcWlOAWs3UAHlJFDARYf-Ai0l6wxLpdpT-kOv5XVJ115pnS2OzAFQCQW6FG3sqcjGtnmxwtUY4vQH1qlpKs1e1tg5nBD_IX43reXYW17vkw4CbJjb-t6HgWhioyDvBV0BV_Fz6yFTSeHv5yIe-JqJsybd9lT1BklhHJTnJw2XOKL1I1S3vvg=s1063" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="681" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJrdzzy9UcWlOAWs3UAHlJFDARYf-Ai0l6wxLpdpT-kOv5XVJ115pnS2OzAFQCQW6FG3sqcjGtnmxwtUY4vQH1qlpKs1e1tg5nBD_IX43reXYW17vkw4CbJjb-t6HgWhioyDvBV0BV_Fz6yFTSeHv5yIe-JqJsybd9lT1BklhHJTnJw2XOKL1I1S3vvg=s320" width="205" /></a></div><br /></div><p>Dun, dun, dun.... That was the sound of someone banging on the heavy metal gate in the front. I looked up at the daily calendar and the clock on the wall to confirm that it was Tuesday 8 AM. I was almost ready to leave for school. I rushed to the Kitchen calling out "Amma, he is here." Amma was busy seasoning the sambar on one stove and stir-frying green beans curry on the other. "It is almost ready. Ask him to come inside into the shade Meena. I will be there soon." </p><p>I went outside to greet the old Thatha who was our guest every Tuesday for as long as I could remember and invited him to come and sit. He hobbled in slowly and lowered himself onto the bench in the shade. Poverty sat on him like a worn-out comfortable shirt and I remember him always wearing it with a contended smile. 'Tuesday beggar Thatha' as I referred to him, was a steady and comforting part of my childhood. Thatha always appeared at our door at 8 am sharp every Tuesday and my mom always served him a hearty hot meal on a banana leaf with a big glass of cool buttermilk and a banana on the side. Governments could fall and rise on a whim but Thatha's Tuesday visit and my mother's hospitality continued for years like clockwork and left a lasting impression on me.</p><p>This week, my mother drew her last breath. I stood by her bed with my sisters, held her hand and bid her goodbye singing her favorite hymns. As I watched her being carried out of the house for the final rites, I thought of her kindness towards the Tuesday Thatha and the very many people like him whose lives were made better by her. </p><p>My mother had the unique gift to connect with people around her. She genuinely cared about everyone's lives and wished them well. During our many walks to the local temple during my school days, people would stop her often on the street to share their problems and seek her counsel. They could tell her anything because they knew that she would keep their secrets. I have always been amazed by her talent at nodding. Her head never tired of the long hours of bobbing up and down listening to others' woes. It seemed to bring such comfort to people.</p><p>Daughter not getting married? In-law troubles? Rash in areas that shall not be named? Asking my mom to pray for them seemed to be the one-stop solution for many folks. There was an unanimous consensus in the neighborhood that the optimal way to reach God's ears was through my mother's lips. Folks were ahead of their times as outsourcing was actively practiced by our neighbors long before the word ever got popular. </p><p>No one entered our home and left with an empty stomach. It was just not done. On a normal day without visitors, my mother cooked 3 times a day for 10 people. That was just family, mind you. We were a bunch of picky eaters and I was the worst of all. I got hungry really fast and threw the most colorful of all fits if I was not fed right that minute. I don't know how my mom did not disown me for being such a thoughtless brat. I would have done it in a heartbeat. She always had my favorite food hot and ready anytime I came home, be it 5 pm after college or 10 pm after work. It might be a while before I could swallow tomato rice or vathal kuzhambu sadham without breaking into tears. </p><p>Outside of family, we had a constant stream of visitors at home while growing up. I remember her finally wrapping up things in the Kitchen around 3 pm one day to go rest before the evening chores started when visitors dropped in unannounced. Did she sigh and scowl like I probably would have? No. She greeted them with a big genuine smile and went back promptly to the Kitchen to whip up the next batch of food to feed them. Her famed hospitality continued even when she was sick and frail in bed at the end. When family members dropped in to check on her health, she called us closer with a weak headshake and reminded us to feed them before they left. </p><p>Talking about being in bed, 10 days before her passing, she was on oxygen support and had trouble speaking clearly. My sisters and I decided to take advantage of having a captive audience and practiced all the songs we were meaning to knowing very well that amma couldn't run away even if she wanted to. After one such singing session, she slowly opened her eyes and muttered something. As it was hard to hear her over the oxygen mask, I went closer to her and tried to listen. Still I couldn't make out what she was saying. 'Amma, what is it? Do you want us to sing you another song?' To which, amma slowly enunciated "Meena, put coconut oil on your hair and braid it. It is not like you have long hair. Take care to keep what you have." It took considerable effort for her to say it but that is my mother for you. Always caring like that. </p><p>Losing Amma 2 months after losing Appa, life feels strangely illogical. The 2 souls that loved my sisters and I without hesitation or reservation are no more. Navigating the rest of our journey without their physical presence seems like an impossible task but we have no choice but to try. We were loved and cherished every moment of our lives and I am so very grateful to both of them. </p><p>Hope you are together again on the other side with the rest of your family having a blast up in the Heavens. Love you both so much. We will see you in our dreams. Goodbye Amma and Appa!</p>Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-60970466540636105282021-12-31T17:41:00.006-08:002022-01-02T07:45:40.294-08:00Are you ready to unmask?<p><span style="font-size: medium;">As we are on the brink of ringing in year 3 of the pandemic, I am proud to say that I am
fully vaccinated and boosted against Covid-19.
But on the day of my booster shot last month, I did wake up feeling
anxious about getting back to a post-pandemic normal life. After a few days of pondering over my strange
reaction, here are some reasons why I think the idea of unmasking is not making me jump with joy.</span></p>
<p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"></p><ol style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">First, as a rule of thumb, I don’t
jump or twirl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I literally can’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t have the balance for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus, I am on an injury-free streak this year
and have no wish to jeopardize that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">I will have you know that my husband has
invested heavily in masks and sacrificed a lot for the safety of our family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In March 2020, you may remember that all the
world went crazy and hoarded up masks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was so hard to get our hands on any, but did I lose heart and wring my
hands? No sir, not me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span> I immediately went online and ordered a shiny, new sewing machine and before
it was even delivered, I got ready by cutting my husband’s many excellent
cotton dhotis into small pieces. When the sewing machine arrived at our door the
next day, it struck me that I had overlooked a small detail. I didn't know how to sew. Not a single button worth my spit. Still, all was not lost. I stored the machine inside a closet, placed
an order for masks with a manufacturer in China for only a small fortune and used up
all the cut pieces of dhotis around the house as rag cloths. I figured the money I saved buying rag
clothes would offset the cost of the masks from China. I love how these things work out in the end. Anyway, I am fairly positive that my husband has forgiven me for making <i>koththu parotta</i> of his dhotis. Every time I see the sewing machine in the closet now, I remember his sacrifice and consider wearing a mask a tribute to his generosity.</span></li><li><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">After many months of meeting friends
and family only on Zoom, I don’t know how I feel about seeing everyone back in
full human form with bodies, arms and legs instead of just neck and up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I worry about not recognizing them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With good reason, I must say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot of my new young students have only seen
me on Zoom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One such little boy knocked
on my door with his father a couple of months ago wanting to get my blessings
for Vijayadasami.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked dazed and disturbed
the entire 5 minutes he was here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
wouldn’t believe that I was the same aunty that he saw each week on Zoom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I had sprouted legs and all, you see. </span>I had to finally glare at him with squinted
eyes like I would in classes before he would give me a nod of
acknowledgement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></li><li><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Do you know how much money I have
saved from not going to beauty salons these past 2 years?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can probably invest in a small condo in
Alaska in another 6 months if only I keep up with this lifestyle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why bother buffing and polishing when no one
was going to see me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I scare myself
a bit at times seeing my own reflection but hey, I throw a towel on the mirror
and take care of that problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;">I am afraid my rusty social skills
need super heavy polishing before I can be pronounced fit to enter society
again. In pre-covid era, I have a vague
memory of curving my lips upwards while meeting people.
I think it was called smiling.
The only expression that my face can remember to make any more seems to
be a scowl. Know of a place where I can
sign up to relearn basic social skills? </span></li></ol><span style="font-size: medium;"><!--[if !supportLists]--></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Looks like Covid is here to stay for the foreseeable future and we may have to learn to live with it. The year ahead may yet be paved with anxiety and uncertainty but today, let’s give thanks to the power
above for keeping us safe from Covid these past two years and march ahead
together in goodwill looking forward to a better and just world. May we all come
out of this pandemic and live long, happy, and healthy lives. Happy New Year 2022 everyone.</span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-73884061761216532302020-03-28T09:44:00.002-07:002020-12-24T05:54:51.018-08:00My own, my precious!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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“That is some truly superior sambar and aloo curry Amma” my
daughter managed to say in the middle of frantically licking her spoon clean
like she may run out of taste buds any minute now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You don’t know how much I have missed your
food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You deserve a culinary award Amma”
chimed in her sister on her way to the kitchen for second helpings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remarks like these typically put a strut in
my gait and a smile on my face but not today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Don’t get me wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
recognize that it is not every day that children are happy to be locked down under
the same roof, as parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When they greeted
me with a smile this morning and started doing chores around the house with no threat
or coercion, I wanted to pinch my husband’s arm to see if I was dreaming. (Why
pinch my husband’s arm? Because therein lies the beauty of marriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When life presents tough challenges, you get
to lean on or pinch your spouse’s arm to figure things out.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So together we puzzled over the question ‘Why
aren’t these kids screaming and scratching at the walls, cursing at the coronavirus
for this indefinite lockdown?’ The obvious answer was college food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One semester away at college enjoying its assorted
offering of spice-less food and my kids have returned home as warriors brave
enough to face a quarantine at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Getting back to the sound of my flatware being licked clean at
each meal, I’ll admit that I am worried and I’ll tell you why.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the symphony of spoons scraping against
bowls and plates continue with each passing day, I often find myself slipping
quietly to do the only thing I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Throw open the doors of the kitchen pantry and gaze worriedly at the
stockpile of provisions; one item in particular.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I want it known that I am not unprepared for this
pandemic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day ‘social-distancing’ became
the national word and lockdown became the local mantra, I marched to the Indian
grocery store armed with a dozen extra-large cotton bags determined to stock up
but apparently so did the entire desi population.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When you are trying to beat 20 people to get
to the last packet of turmeric powder in the store, social distancing is not an
option.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yes, I do need the turmeric
powder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You don’t seriously expect me to
serve black sambar and rasam to my family, do you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s gross.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Believe it or not, I was agile and spry zigging and zagging through
the store loading up my cart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I owe it to corona(virus) for showing me that even
I could put a spring in my step.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway,
there I was, weaving in and out of the crowd, proudly joining my fellow humans
in picking that store clean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After
ensuring that there was nothing edible left in an aisle, we kept moving on to
the next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was eerily similar to the scene
in a movie I had watched, where aliens would destroy earth settlements
systematically, one town at a time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am grateful for whoever designed grocery store carts and
put 4 wheels on them for balance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Imagine
if they had only 2 wheels like a bicycle!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What would happen to people like me with zero upper body strength?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How would we push a cart that is filled up in
preparation of Armageddon? I guess it is true that God never gives more than what
we can handle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After doing a quick check of the cart inventory (mustard
seeds, check – have enough to season an ocean of coconut chutney, tamarind,
check – have enough to serve puliyodharai prasadam at the local temple for the
next 5 years and, most importantly, asafoetida, check – have enough LG bottles to
undertake the Ambani family’s next wedding order of rasam), I finally turned in
to the last aisle all set to load up my favorite 20 pound rice bags. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wait a second.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What happened here?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who took all
the rice bags?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, the horror! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that moment, I knew exactly how Gollum felt
when Sauron’s ring slipped out of his hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Oh, where art thou, my precious?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I would have gladly traded my wedding jewelry for the 4 bags
of rice in the cart ahead of me at the counter, but I couldn’t really fall at
her feet and beg there, could I? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With
social distancing and all, it wouldn’t be the responsible thing to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So finally, with a heavy heart, not to mention, a heavy cart
loaded with only 3 miniature 10 pound bags of rice, I walked back to my car praying
that my family will somehow find the courage the face the day we run out
of rice. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May we survive that nightmare and
live to tell the tale another day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hang in there, folks!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This too, shall pass. <span face=""segoe ui emoji" , sans-serif" style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol-ext; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji";">😊</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-16842637656051745732018-10-17T10:01:00.005-07:002020-12-24T05:55:43.937-08:00Navarathri Diary 2018<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span data-redactor="1">We are halfway through yet another vibrant Navarathri season in our town. Armed with spreadsheets that catalogue our golu invites, which is further cross-referenced by whatsapp and text reminders, we Desi women have been marching out early each day this past week with a single-minded determination to conquer the invitation list at least this year. Everyone knows that it is a losing game because 18 golu visits a day is just outside of insane city, but we do have fun trying. </span></div>
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<span data-redactor="1">Amidst the many joys of the season, one ailment continues to plague the golu-hoppers of our town this year too – severe gas trouble. Obviously, our intestines are not meant to process peanut, garbanzo, vatana, moong and green pea lentils, all in the same evening but when offered with so much love at each golu, what can one do except eat and burp? Sometimes you just have to take one for a friend.</span></div>
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<span data-redactor="1">It is not a big problem for me though. Just to avoid this kind of rude shock to my system, I try to stay bloated through the entire year but for the general population who are on a strict ‘air and water only’ diet, suddenly turning into a birthday balloon must be very scary. Well, here is how I handled it recently. After the 4th plate of sundal one evening early this week, I found myself at a risk of exploding. Hyperventilation induced by the stress of an impending wardrobe malfunction actually saved the day. Who knew that taking shallow breaths would help to keep your blouse from popping its buttons! </span></div>
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Thanks to my recent India trip, I am going around town this Navarathri season in bright-colored sarees and completely mismatched blouses. Apparently, contrast is all the rage these days. This new fashion is a god-send because none of the matching blouses fit me anymore.</div>
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<span data-redactor="1">Trying to go with the latest fashion hurt me in the accessories department though. Heeding to the advice of many well-meaning friends, I took a beautiful, embroidered bag with me on the golu rounds 2 days ago instead of my regular plain black handbag. It looked great. Everyone said so but big mistake! That miniscule, cute bag could fit only 3 almonds, half of a phone and 1 clementine. Where am I supposed to keep my key bunch, sunglasses, wallet, tissues, emergency biscuit packet, trail mix snack packet, water bottle and travel size advil? My black handbag might not be great to look at, I admit, but it can house the entire universe, if necessary. Fashion, my foot!</span></div>
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<span data-redactor="1">I saw planning at its best when I saw a friend bringing 2 big sack-like cloth bags with her to cart back all the tambulam bags of the evening. Wow! If she ever wanted to rob the US Treasury of all its gold, these 2 bags should do the trick. Very smart indeed. Inspired by her, I put a couple of cardboard boxes in my van to hoard my collections. A bit unsophisticated yes but it served its purpose.</span></div>
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<span data-redactor="1">One thing that was new this season was that golu hostesses decided to liven up their golus by offering interesting quizzes to the visitors.What is the new doll in our golu this year?Can you tell what this sweet is made of?As someone with a very diminished sense of smell and a non-existent memory, I am set up for failure in these kinds of exams.Only a few threatened to hold back their sundal for not giving correct answers.Most of the hostesses were kind enough to give me my consolation goody bag just for participation.</span></div>
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This Navarathri season has seen some of the most imaginative carpool arrangements ever arranged by anyone. 2 days ago, I overheard a conversation while waiting for my cup of payasam at a golu.Anu and Geetha were planning to pick up Latha, hit Kamala’s golu, then go pick up Sudha.Then all were to go hit 5 houses together after which Geetha had plans to swap to another van to continue her round of golus with another set of friends and then wanted Anu to pick her up at Bhavani’s house to go to the next 7 houses on their common list.NASA should take pointers from this group for the next space mission. Brilliant minds such as these are being overlooked everyday.</div>
<div data-redactor="1" style="color: #191919; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div data-redactor="1" style="color: #191919; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<span data-redactor="1">How is your Navarathri going so far? </span></div>
</div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-8269203150337497192018-01-25T12:23:00.001-08:002018-01-25T17:47:00.356-08:00Mystery of the misplaced calcium!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;">‘Meena, don’t do anything rash today. I hope you remember that it is January now.’ That was my husband on his way out to work a couple of weeks ago. He might have looked down his nose sternly at me delivering that warning, but I don’t doubt for a minute that he meant well. The same message was subsequently repeated to me by my children at regular intervals.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;">Their warning is not without merit, I must admit. January has proved to be a colorful month for me in recent years. It is when I usually trip over non-existent hurdles, slip on perfectly dry land and walk into very wide, visible walls. I may have become used to the January routine by now, but it seems like my family has not I don’t mind the resulting broken bones or torn ligaments as much as I mind the disbelief and skepticism that I invariably face while trying to explain my incidents to others.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;">I still remember the conversation I had with the front desk person last January at an after-hours medical facility.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><b>Lady at desk</b> – For insurance purposes, could you tell me about how you injured your left leg today?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><b>Self</b> – Oh sure. You see, my dogs were in the backyard fighting over a toy this evening. Do you have children or dogs? Then, I bet you know how hard it is to get them to share anything. Short of reading them moral stories from the Indian folklore, I have tried my best to imbibe the virtue of sharing in my dogs but, as you can obviously see here, I have totally failed. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><b>Lady at desk</b> – No, I don’t see at all. What happened to your leg?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><b>Self </b>– Wait, I am getting there. As I was watching through the window, the friendly banter suddenly picked up heat and guess what? I had never seen such sharp teeth before. That’s when I decided to step in and play the referee before things got out of hand. That was good timing even if I say so myself.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><b>Lady at desk </b>– Mrs. S, I feel like I should say ‘congratulations’ but WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR LEG?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><b>Self</b> – Well, I ran down the backyard deck stairs to pull my dogs apart. That’s what happened.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><b>Lady at desk </b>– Huh?? Did you hit your leg against something? Did you fall twisting your heel?</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><b>Self</b> – Don’t be silly, of course not. Do I look clumsy? I just ran 10 steps.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;">I still remember her dazed look when I was taken in to see the doctor who later pronounced my ligament torn. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;">While the MRI showed the soggy state of my ligament, the x-rays spoke of a whole new story. Apparently, instead of boosting the strength of my poor bones, all the calcium that I intake end up rushing to my heel forming little bone-like spikes there causing pain while I walk. So that’s what has been happening to my calcium!</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;">Many days, I had wondered about this so it was a relief to know the truth finally. I like a good puzzle as well as the next person but where is the satisfaction in an unsolved mystery? I was, therefore, glad to put the mystery of the misplaced calcium to rest. At least, I know now why my bones threaten to break on me at a moment’s notice. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;">The year before last, it was my arm’s turn. I had shoveled a small, 5 x 5 area of snow off my driveway only to find that I had torn the ligament along the elbow. Those days, I was still a bit afraid of being stuck in an MRI machine. I distinctly remember that room being eerie white, the inside of the machine being too small, and me being disproportionately big. Not an ideal situation really but thanks to the January phenomenon, I have practiced enough to outgrow my distaste and fear of the machine now. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;">This year, after catching my family watching my movements worriedly ever since New Year, I decided to be smart and take precautions. After all, I don’t enjoy the inside of the MRI that much. When Mr. Jenks called announcing school snow closings, I was already ready. I had made extensive plans for hibernation based on the weather forecast and had injury-proofed myself. I had stocked the fridge and the pantry enough to survive a five-year famine and had ensured that I wouldn’t have to step outside once snow started. When at last, the pitiful 2 inches of snow hit Richmond, I stood by the window watching the world swirl pretty in white. Every time I opened the fridge and was met with a parade of milk cartons, I patted my own back. Bring it on, fate! Let’s see how you get me to slip this year. Hah! <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;">2 inches of snow and our county, naturally, closed schools for 5 days. I never could get that math to add up but then I have never been much in mathematics. While the snow turned to ice and the ice refused to melt on the surfaces outside, I sat inside warm and safe in my private haven congratulating myself on at last foiling fate. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;">After 6 days of staying indoors, I was starting to turn moldy. I threw open the doors and stepped outside on the 7<sup>th</sup> day. There was no snow, ice or dampness anywhere in sight. It was as good a day as any. Enjoying the warm sun on my face, I walked towards the car with a long list of errands to run. Next thing I knew, my ankle had twisted from under me and voila, there was that familiar feeling of pain and the even more familiar sight of swelling. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;">Was it ego or simple pigheadedness that let me drag my feet for 10 days without seeing a doctor? I am not sure but I did will it to be a mild sprain. Yes, there was swelling but I could walk on it so why would I concede victory to fate yet? When you have plump feet like mine, it is very hard to distinguish general plumpness from injury swelling but at last, even I could clearly see that the swelling was not going down. With a huge sigh, I finally called my wonderful doctor who promptly ordered x-rays and sent me on my way to the Orthopedic office. </span><br />
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;">When I walked in to the room, the doctor said, ‘You look familiar’ and that prompted me to remind him that he had treated me last January too. He even asked about my dogs. That was sweet of him, I thought. He took one look at the fractured bone in the x-rays and said ‘Okay Meena, time to get you in a boot. Let me get someone to bring you a boot. You must wear it at all times except while going to bed.’ I hesitantly told him that I had the boot from last January but asked him if one could use the left boot for the right foot too. I was so amazed when he said the boot was universal. Go figure! Who would have guessed they made universal boots like universal remotes!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 22.8267px;">When he next made an attempt to get me a pair of crutches, I shook my head smiling and said, ‘I have them too doc.’ He was pleased, I could tell. How many patients come in to see an Orthopedic doctor already owning a universal boot and a pair of crutches? January is not completely without blessings, I thought as I came home to my wonderful, universal boot. </span></div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-13008982236567041482017-10-06T19:50:00.002-07:002017-10-06T19:50:15.869-07:00An avalanche of apples!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Tut tut,
click click, tut tut tut, click, click, click...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">That was me typing
furiously all this week looking up recipes involving apples. After making a few pitchers of fresh apple
juice, a pot of apple rasam and a bottle of spicy apple pickle, I ran out of
ideas but sadly, not apples. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Around this
time every year, most Indian homes experience an avalanche of fruits. It’s Navarathri season which roughly
translates to fun, comradery and an unholy amount of fruits for most people. It
is the season when Indian women systematically empty the local stores of all
produce and buy fruits by the truckloads.
Interestingly, they will not eat a single fruit from that purchase. Say,
a woman buys 100 apples. She will
distribute all of it to her friends who visit her golu giving the illusion of
an empty fruit basket. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Forgive me
for this quick detour. I have only recently
started to appreciate how math is interwoven in our everyday lives so here is a
brain-teaser for you. If I bought 100 fruits and distributed 2 fruits per
person, how many friends visited my golu? It is such a rush of power to know I can make
my own word problems. </span><span style="font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">😊</span><span style="line-height: 107%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Segoe UI Emoji", sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Getting back
to the fruit distribution conundrum, now that the woman had given away all her
fruits, where do you think she was headed next?
To her friends’ homes, naturally.
It was her turn to receive fruits now so she would patiently haul her
collection bag, visit every golu house in town and get her share. Odd? Yes, but also totally fair. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">This is my
story every Navarathri season too. At
the end of Saraswathi pooja last week, I was back to being in possession of
over 100 fruits. If you think, this is
the sum of all my problems (oh wow Meena) you have never been a performing arts
teacher on Vijayadasami day. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">I love
Vijayadasami. It is the one day when my
students lose the strained, constipated smiles and seem genuinely happy to see
me. I get warm smiles and cozy hugs generously
that day. To me, it is the best gift
ever but the parents of my students are not so easily impressed. They are convinced that nothing short of
multiple bags of apples, oranges, bananas, pears and clementine will convey
their love effectively to me. While I truly
appreciate the sentiment, I do wish they will take pity on me and throttle back
their love just a bit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">When my
doctor advised me to include fiber in my diet last year, I don’t think she
meant this much. Any more fiber and I will have the shiniest colon this side of
the States. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Last night,
I dreamed that I was being held hostage by a giant red apple who was holding a
banana to my head. An orange was shoving a clementine down my throat. I was so glad to wake up from the nightmare
right at that moment. It was scary
stuff. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After
consuming apples in all possible forms for a few days, I did what any teacher
worth her salt would do. I threatened my
students with extra homework unless they each took a bag of fruits home. A little harsh may be but hey, it
worked. The mountain has now shriveled down
to a manageable mound. Hallelujah! </div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-63289242887997198302017-01-19T12:11:00.000-08:002017-01-19T12:12:52.822-08:00Age is but a number!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was a festive evening.
About 20 of us were gathered in a friend’s place to welcome the New Year
together. As is the norm, we surrounded
ourselves with enormous amounts of food and beverages though I am not clear why
since everyone but the Sankaran clan ate like a bird. After the customary greeting at the host’s
door involving air hugs and Colgate-worthy smiles, we all settled down for an
evening of robust conversation. It is an
unwritten rule that once we cross the foyer, we go our separate ways – the macho
men to the formal living room and the little women to the cozy family room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were new saree fashions on display in the room that
evening which obviously required prompt admiration and in-depth analysis. Boutique names were exchanged as well as new
tailoring techniques in stitching blouses.
A few years ago, a ‘window’ in the back of the blouse was all the
rage. Bold women wore big, airy,
wide-grilled window styles while the modest sported tiny windows at the
top. The ones with the tiny windows were
never aerated enough but that is the price one pays for modesty, I
suppose. This year, it seemed ‘door in
the back’ is the style to die for. I am
completely in awe of this new style. It’s
like magic. In the front, you can see
the blouse but go around, it disappears completely. Exquisite fabrics basically held together by
a couple of strands loosely tied with beautiful beads at the end. One lusty sigh and it might all unravel like
a badly kept secret. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My experiences with tailors in India have not been good so
far. Every time I go on vacation, they seem
to want more cloth than before and then give me a small handkerchief-like blouse
in return. It is like we speak in
different languages. Last visit, I stood
before my new tailor and used my skill in playing charades to sign to her that
I wanted a blouse that would cover all
the front and at least some of the back and the sides. It was non-negotiable. I put my foot down firmly and told her that I
was NOT interested in doing any glamour scenes on the<span style="color: red;"> </span>big
screen and insisted that she used all the cloth that I bought. From the look of the blouses she delivered,
it seems my charades skill could use some work.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the evening stretched on, we realized that many of us were
dog owners. Nothing brings people close
together than babies or dogs. As most of
us were out of the baby circuit, we bonded big time over our four-legged babies
that night. We went around the room and
listened to each ‘mom’ proudly talk about her dog’s smart adventures. Cute furry pictures were exchanged, tales of
housetraining successes were shouted out.
We awwwed and ooohhhhed over each tale making every mom brim with
pride. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Alas, in all this drama, we neglected
to notice one woman in the room feeling lost.
‘I have a fish’ she blurted out suddenly. Conversation stopped for a minute as all
confused eyes turned to her. She cleared
her voice and said it again - ‘I have a fish’.
It took a minute for us to see that we were excluding her in the
conversation and being the only woman there who owned a couple of dogs and a
fish, I jumped in to set the score right.
She and her fish had the floor the next few minutes. With slacked jaws, we listened to her concern
that her fish might be constipated. We
tsk, tsked and offered to google for some solutions to her fish’s problem. She basked in the attention and apologized
for not having a picture of her fish to show us. We wrapped up the ‘show and tell’ part of the
evening with her promise that she will whatsapp the picture to us the very next
day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Age is but a number. 4
or 40, we can still feel hurt when excluded. We are happiest when we feel part of a whole
and be included in a peer group. There
is so much love and friendship in our hearts that it is not hard to make room
for one more, is it?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-91751507509697644512017-01-01T11:16:00.002-08:002017-01-01T11:26:50.927-08:00Unprovoked confessions! <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">For a
January 1<sup>st</sup> blog, this is not about my New Year resolution. I am loyal to my one and only resolution ever
- the elusive weight loss. It is the one
constant thing in my life that is overrun with changes. So once again, I dusted my old resolution last week, went
and enrolled in a nearby fitness center.
The front desk person recognized me from last Christmas and gave a warm
smile making me feel at home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Okay, now moving
on to something completely random.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">I don’t know
what is it about a kind face and a white piece of thread hovering over my
eyebrows that makes my mouth flap non-stop in a verbal diarrhea. The minute I lie on my beautician’s table, it
is confession time at a catholic church.
At her simple ‘How are you Meena?’, the floodgates of my heart and soul
open wide and dump on her truckloads of very personal and awkward information. Poor woman!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Just last week,
amid cans of wax and cotton strips, I found myself sharing my mother’s first cousin’s
health problems with her. When I told her
in detail about the cousin’s recurring fungal toenail, there was such empathy
and anguish in my beautician’s eyes. If
I didn’t know better, I would think that she knew my mom’s cousin
personally. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Next time I go
to my physician’s office, I should remember to add her to the approved people
on file to share my health information. If
you are wondering why, it is because short of letting her take my vitals, I
update her thoroughly on my health status every visit. I remember drawing an anatomy of a leg on a
piece of paper one time to explain to her exactly where my leg pain was. She didn’t mind that the drawing bore little resemblance
to my real leg and looked more like a skinny sugarcane. What was important was that she knew exactly
where my pain was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">It is not
just my health that I talk to her about.
We both have aging parents and that has strengthened our bond like
gorilla glue. From buying adult diapers
to Bengay, we cover many colorful topics in that short window. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">I am not a
secretive person by nature. Holding on to secrets is practically impossible for me because my brain is not
equipped to hold large amounts of data for long periods of time. Having said that, I have surprised myself
many times on my beautician’s table by talking about things that I didn’t know
were stored in my brain. For her every cheerful
‘so what’s new Meena?’, something very old will surface from my subconscious and
fall right into her very patient ears. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">She must
meet about 40 to 50 women in a day’s work.
Imagine the amount of useless information that gets dumped on her every
day. Wow! If I were her, I will probably hand out ‘self-adhesive
plasters’ for the mouth before admitting any clients in. She is bigger than me, I must admit, though only
in a figure of speech.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">If you have never
shaped your eyebrows, I want to assure you that it can be a very cathartic
experience. After a short session on her
table, I walk out feeling cleansed in more ways than one. Not sold yet?
Here is a better reason. It is
the most economical way to get a psych consultation and/or a counselling
session. </span><span style="font-family: "wingdings"; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "wingdings"; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">If you have
read through the above post, obviously, you are either a friend or family. Who else will put up with my foolishness? I
look forward to riding the next fun roller coaster year with all of you. May you all have many opportunities to LOL
and ROFTL in 2017. Happy New Year
everyone!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
Here is
wishing for another year filled with many things fun, ridiculous and foolish. </div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-30071823129557554802016-11-01T12:16:00.000-07:002016-11-03T04:49:59.995-07:00Ready to vote?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Presidential
election is next Tuesday in the US. The
date is tattooed in my heart and drilled in to my brain. I may forget to buy milk at the grocery store
this week but I won’t forget what is at stake come next Tuesday. Thanks to my friends on social media
educating me every day, I have never been more politically aware than I am
today. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Guess where
I am going with this? Probably not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">I have been
looking for a different career lately. I
change careers every decade in case you are wondering. Not that I didn’t enjoy poring over numbers
all day long or teaching music to lovely children but I do like to shock my
brain awake every now and then with a challenge. I looked at sports for a while but that was a
dead end for me what with my body coming apart at the seams like a worn-out
shirt. With its high potential for drama
and low need for a strong physique, national politics seems to be the winner
this time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">After
careful study of the two major presidential candidates of this election, I find
that I have all the qualifications required to run for President. What I lack, I am sure I will learn. While both candidates fascinate me to no end,
Republican candidate Mr. Trump is the delicious icing on my new career
cake. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">A study of
this man is such an education. His rise
from business to politics seems to be based primarily on controversies. How delightful! It gives me such hope. Apparently, I don’t need leadership or
intelligence or morality or even knowledge of global affairs. That is such a relief because I suck sideways
on history. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Please do bear
in mind while you read the following that I am an amateur in Politics still
learning my ways. </span>Here is what
I think a Republican party candidate needs to bring to the table to be nominated as President.<br />
<br />
To qualify, one must:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="line-height: 107%;">1.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Say outrageously insulting things about women
and minorities, preferably on alternative days.
This will help bring more supporters out from under the rock every day
where they are hiding and help keep the Press focused on your one-of-a-kind
mouth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">I admit that insulting people is not my strong point but with time, I
believe I can learn to do this. With an
awesome tutor like Mr. Trump out there, I don’t see how I can fail. If I promise to practice every day, will you
endorse me next time around Mr. Trump?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="line-height: 107%;">2.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Be an expert at slinging mud at their
opponent because, come on, who will respect a President that doesn’t spew
sewage at his or her opponent? By far,
this seems to be the one quality that is most cherished by the GOP candidate and
his supporters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">By the way, I am truly in awe of Mr. Trump’s usage of his twitter account
to accomplish this. Every day, without
fail, he flings mud or worse at Mrs. Clinton using pithy sentences on
twitter. I don’t know if I’ll ever be
as good at it as him but it will not be because I didn’t try. In high school, I once literally threw a
ball of mud on a nasty girl after monsoon rains. I do have experience in this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="line-height: 107%;">3.<span style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Know how to talk the big talk. Nothing that must make sense logically or
financially only that it should sound big and important. Like our Mr. Trump’s idea of building a big
wall in our borders to keep the bad neighbors from walking in illegally. Oh, wow!
That does sound very grand and big.
No wonder so many people love him and want him in the White House for 4
years leading us. What a leader indeed! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">If I want to have any chance of running a successful campaign like our
Mr. Trump, I must be smart and find something big like his wall idea to make ‘America
great again’. Otherwise, it will all be
hopeless and come to nothing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">The best strategy that I feel will help convince people to vote for me is to use the 'race' card generously. When talk of racism comes
and I hear heated debates of white versus black, I do feel left out. Brown matters too, you know. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">If I promise to brainstorm and come with an equally endearing campaign
like our Mr. Trump, hope I can get on the ticket next time around. Is it so wrong to want to be on national TV
and participate in the most-televised debates ever where I can call people
names publicly and know that no one will sue me? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Ready to vote?<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-85642765255357706582016-10-24T11:38:00.000-07:002016-10-24T11:43:59.218-07:00Tsk, tsk! Poor grandpa!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Dreams are
such interesting entities. Many people that
I have talked to believe that one’s dreams are basically repressed desires buried
within our subconscious minds. I am not
sure I agree with that because if you go by that logic, I am in serious trouble. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">In a recent
dream, I was crawling alongside a giant slug in the land of Mordor. Hmmm! It
annoys me to no end that I was so slow even in my dreams. When you are trying to stay clear of the scorching
Eye of Sauron and the morbid orcs that roam the land, crawling around with a
buddy in leisure is not the brightest idea.
If I could shake my head disapprovingly at that slow-crawling Meena,
trust me, I would.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">All my
dreams are not messed up. There are some
that are relatively normal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">In one
dream, I was the prosecuting attorney arguing a murder case against a Colombian
drug dealer. I can’t seem to remember any of the arguments but the sweat that
broke out on the accused’s upper lip is etched in my mind. I must have been a terror in that court. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">My mom was
proud of me when I told her about this dream.
She said that she always knew that one of us in the family would become
a lawyer as my grandfather was a lawyer and his brother was the justice of the
Supreme Court. I can’t help but feel bad
for my grandfathers though. They had to
go to law school and pass the bar and everything unlike me. Poor grandpas!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">I really
must have lawyer in my blood. Last week,
I woke up from an intense courtroom drama that had my heart racing wildly. I was the defense attorney this time grilling
an eye witness on the stand. I am glad that
I took the time to watch Law and Order episodes in the 90s. It sure came in handy in that dream. I took the witness apart and tore through his
lies just like Sam Waterston does in L&O.
I do hope that as I age, my dreams will mellow down to mere misdemeanor,
traffic violation and family court cases because my heart may not survive the adrenaline
kick of the criminal ones. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">I must have
been Irish in a previous birth for how else can I explain the dreams where I cast
a circle, spin charms and whip up thunderstorms atop a cliff? I have a magic wand, pixie dust and the whole
magic package in these dreams. I confess
I cheated in a couple of them. I once used
magic to get groceries home without going to the store and another time, I made
the weighing scale lose 20 pounds when I was on it. I know it is wrong, okay? I know that using magic for personal gain is
against the code of honor for all sorcerers.
Power and vanity are not mutually exclusive, I found out. Magic can be very pretty too. One time I cast
a spell that had a dying plant come alive with young blooms. In a dream of course. Sadly, in real life,
plants and I are at war. They die when I
walk within half a mile radius. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">The night when
we watched the re-run of the Jaws movie, I found myself in shark-infested
waters watching creepy shark fins closing in on me. You would think that after watching Jaws,
Jaws 2 and Jaws 3 movies, I would know better than to kick furiously in the
water. Everyone knows sharks are
attracted to sound waves. Duh! Dreams have sound effects too, by the way, because I heard the same music that instilled
fear in the hearts of millions when Jaws was released. I woke up just before a
freaky great white snapped off my feet.
That was good timing all around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">This is my
favorite one so far. I was walking into
Kohl’s and get this - I went directly to the regular-priced merchandise. Oh wow!
That was so cool but even when I was in the dream, I realized that
something was not right because come on, everyone knows that all Desis go only to
the clearance section first. But wait. That is not the best part. Guess where I was? I was
browsing through clothes in the petite department. Hah! Talk
about wild dreams! </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">How colorful are your dreams?<span style="font-size: 14pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-81602288172742563472016-08-17T09:38:00.004-07:002016-08-17T09:43:40.095-07:00Meditation for dummies!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next to those who eat a bunch of leaves with an abundant topping
of 8 nuts for a meal, I have a healthy respect for those that can meditate. Meditation seems to be the new hot social
topic these days. Yoga, muscle-tearing exercises
and zero-carb diets have stepped aside for this new champion. When my friends were ready to swear on a
stack of invisible <i>Gita</i>s to convince me of the power of meditation, I
was convinced enough to give it a shot.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I confess that I was a bit smug going into this business. After all, how hard could it be? If dumping all thoughts from the mind and being
in a zombie-like state is meditation, I felt pretty confident about it. If you
are acquainted with me, you would know that I walk around in exactly that state
most days anyway. So one day, I warned my family to not disturb
me for a while, rolled my shoulders and closed my eyes. Just so you know that I was not fooling
around, I even switched off the TV. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thus began my personal epic journey. Well, more of a mini trip to the kitchen
pantry, if you must know. Who knew I had
so many active gray cells in my brain?
My mind, apparently, was a giant monkey on steroids. It jumped up and down, side to side, upside
down and any other direction I have neglected to mention. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Okay, so it was not going to be as easy as I thought which
only meant that I had to try harder next time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Posture could be the key to this, I figured, and tried to
sit crisscross on the floor like I had seen sages do in the old movies. Let’s just say that I had to ad lib the plan
at the last minute and forego both the floor and the crisscross sitting. One challenge at a time seemed wise. Next, I dug into my treasure box, unearthed a
couple of sandal incense sticks and lit them. Ambience is half the battle, after all. There, I really felt ready this time. Finally, sitting comfortably in my very red,
very designer settee, I closed my eyes and tried again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I brought to my mind a white jasmine flower that I had seen in
a pot in the back yard the previous day.
Did I tell you that I had decided to use a prop to focus my mind
on? A secret weapon to tame my monkey
mind, so to speak. I had a good feeling
about this already.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remembered the day a dear friend brought a cutting from
her jasmine plant for me saying that it thrived in her garden and gave her many
blooms. I wanted it to live and thrive
in my garden too so I gave it to my husband to plant and water. If you would stop being judgmental for a
second, I will tell you why. He is the
protector of plants in my house. The one
that who shields them from my very black thumb.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I peeked in yesterday, it had so many buds ready to
bloom. I wish I had learnt how to string
a garland out of flowers. It would be
nice to wear a string on the hair one evening. The last time I wore a string of jasmine on my
hair was last year when I had gone to India.
Both my mother and mother-in-law would insist that I keep flowers in my
hair whenever I visit home. I am eternally
grateful for having those two in my life.
They are such kind people. I
remember going to a wedding when I was there last year wearing more flowers
than what my fragile head had called for.
It was funny how people kept asking if age had mellowed me into a shy
person since I had my head down most of the time from the weight of the
flowers. Hah! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wow, wait a minute! That’s
not meditating! I just took the fastest
trip to India and back and still managed to make a few gigantic detours to LaLa
land. Okay, may be that prop was a bit too
stimulating for the mind. Time to zoom
in on something dull that is bound to not kick start my mind into overdrive. What could be duller than a bowl of oats, I
thought and went in search of a new room, a new chair to begin my next mini
epic journey.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you are thinking that focusing on a bowl of bland oats
would put any mind to sleep, you would be entirely wrong. My monkey mind jumped up and down with excitement
and decided to devise many recipes that would spice up the dull oats into a
culinary pleasure. Oats mixed in a
coconut, vegetables and green chilies gravy; oats slow-cooked in almond milk
and sweetened with a dollop of honey; oats mixed in a hot cup of pepper rasam
and more. I realize that I don’t have a
full handle on meditation yet but I do know that one is not supposed to drool in
the process. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you possess the ability to rein in your mind so it is not
bouncing all over the place, even if it is only for a few minutes a day? If so, you are my new hero replacing an
elderly uncle with no teeth that I once met who could still eat a plate of <i>murukkus
</i>with gusto. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I always whine to my husband (because he lets me) that I
haven’t gotten ‘THE CALL’ yet. May be,
if I tame my mind enough to listen, I might hear Him call.<br />
<br />
How do you meditate? <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-76968404087436054822016-07-05T07:08:00.000-07:002016-07-05T09:30:49.634-07:00What's in your bread basket today?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We were
watching a magic show on TV recently.
The magician looked fierce in his all-black attire and was a stark
contrast to the scantily-clad assistants surrounding him. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It reminded
me of an Indian movie’s dream scene where the hero and the heroine close their
eyes in their middle class homes separately and magically appear together in a
snow-capped mountain breaking out an intense, calorie-burning dance and song number in
the midst of heaps of snow. He, in denim jeans, sweater and boots and she,
in a wafer-thin saree and glass slippers.
I can’t help but feel pride that this world sees a woman as the stronger
of the genders. Strong enough to purr
and shake her naked hips in the freezing snow.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Anyway,
coming back to the magic show, it was basically 4 assistants and 1 magician
pulling weird things out of a box on that stage. And to watch this, you have to pay? What a heap of cow-dung! Next time you want to watch a magic show,
just come over to my place and I’ll do it for free. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I have a
bread basket in my kitchen. It has never
been known to contain just bread any day.
It routinely houses missing homework assignments, insurance papers, car
keys, sunglasses, coconut oil, candles for birthday cakes, highlighters, hair dryer,
stamp sheets, staplers and Bluetooth headphones, among other items.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I don’t know
how you go about searching for missing items in your home. Our family, at one point, had this tried and
tested plan full of theatrical effects. It
included a systematic search from room to room, starting from the bedroom all
the way to the refrigerator in the kitchen. If you had ever heard the muffled mutterings and
the desperate wailings mixed in with the sounds of a room being tossed, you would
have known that there was a search in progress at my home. Those were the days when we totally believed that
drama was the answer to life’s everyday pesky problems. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Today, we
just dive for the kitchen basket first because more often than not, we find what
we are looking for in there. I once
pulled out a couple of laundered underwear items on a desperate Monday morning
from this basket. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Someone wise
once said that we are surrounded by magic every day and have to only look to
find it. I may never pull out a bunny
from my basket ever but I think that a pair of clean underwear on a school day beats a bunny hands down.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">What have you pulled out of your basket recently?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-65565475171472434122016-04-04T10:57:00.000-07:002016-04-05T08:54:37.163-07:00Who died and made Samsung God?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div data-redactor="1" style="color: #191919; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
I have half a mind to sue Samsung. The nerve of that company!<br />
<br /></div>
<div data-redactor="1" style="color: #191919; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
Before I bought their S5 phone, I was riding my moral high horse with the confidence of one who had spent a lifetime doing it. I had almost perfected the art of looking down my nose. If you don’t believe me, just ask my daughters. As the lucky recipients of my daily lectures, they can and WILL attest to it.<br />
<br /></div>
<div data-redactor="1" style="color: #191919; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
In the days before their S5 smartphone, the minute one of my daughters sat down to peruse her phone, I would set my work aside to go sit with her and begin my lecture gently. I would start by pointing at the window saying how there is a beautiful world outside that is waiting for her attention. Please note that at this juncture, I would sport a soft smile. Then boom! I would switch tactics and with a stern face, give a grim warning that blindness is inevitable if she continued to glue her eyes to the little screen. This tactic throws children off their rhythm and is most effective. <br />
<br /></div>
<div data-redactor="1" style="color: #191919; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20.8px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
Anyway, gone are those days of moral surety and sweet lecturing. These days I am forced to walk everywhere with my phone all thanks to Samsung. Who died and made them God, I want to know. By carrying a phone myself, I have been made to forfeit one of my birthrights as a mother which is to lecture my kids. It is a hard blow indeed. One from which I have not yet fully recovered. I place the blame squarely (to the question 'why not circularly', I have no answers) on Samsung's head.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Samsung's S Health is a tracking app which keeps count of the number
of footsteps that I take each day. Could there be any worse invasion of privacy? I strongly
believe that a person’s footsteps are sacred and private to them. One must have the freedom to walk and not have
the world know all about it. It is
probably the only information Google didn’t have on me till recently. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This app not only adds up my steps, it sets goals for me
too. The nerve of the company! Want to guess how many I am supposed to take
each day? 10,000 steps. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Psssstttt! Get a
life! <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The grand total of my footsteps on the day that I discovered
the app was a whopping 187. If I hang
my head anymore in shame, it is sure to snap off my neck so I won’t bother.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So now I do what any Desi worthy of the name would do in
these situations. I find loopholes and I
cheat. I have started drinking buckets
of water so I could make many trips to the little ladies’ room with the phone
in my pant pocket. Each trip earns me a
total of 18 steps. It may not sound like
much but take 10 trips, it sure adds up.
When I watched the counter climb up to 502 steps by 5 pm last Tuesday, I
almost cried. Who would have thought I
would cross 500? <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two days ago, when my kid passed by me with a load of washed
laundry on her way to her room upstairs (climbing 17 steps in the process), I
was sorely tempted to slip my phone in the laundry basket. If not for the law-abiding aka desi chicken gene
in me, I would have walked away with 40 bonus steps that day. It may not have been technically mine but I
don’t think we should get carried away with little details like that. The important thing is to watch the counter
climb. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
The other day, I was putting trash and recycling out at curb holding the phone between my teeth as there was no pocket in my pants. I never knew I could be so shameless and determined at the same time. Life teaches you all kinds of lessons.<br />
<br />
Usually, I am not comfortable with the current social norm
of greeting in gatherings. Every time we
go to a party, there is a fresh epidemic of hugging. From best friends to general acquaintances,
everyone wants a hug. I do my best in such situations though. I stand stiff like a tree in an embrace and do a ‘there,
there’ kind of awkward pat on the backs of all those super-loving people. After S5, I am beginning to see the advantages
of this hugging business. It gets me
close enough to slip my phone in and out of active folks’ pockets and purses. This way, I get to relax in a chair munching the
bajjis and pakoras while the active friends help my counter climb. If I can hug them, they can carry my phone. Friendship is a two-way street, you know.<br />
<br />
Is your counter climbing?</div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-38651470377802069692016-02-04T08:04:00.000-08:002016-02-04T08:35:18.851-08:00Whoopi saves the day!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Can you see what is
happening? Pleasssssse tell me.” That was my frantic plea to my family, one
evening this past winter break. Bruce
Wills was just about ready to jump off the bridge in Die Hard 3 and I was taking
a well-deserved break from the tiring task of chewing non-existent nails when
it happened. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Du-doom, du-doom, du-doom…….<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was the collective
pounding of 4 hearts in front of our TV.
Samuel Jackson and Bruce Willis were lighting up my living room with
some serious action. My dog lying next
to me suddenly yelped. Caught up in the movie,
I might have squeezed his neck a bit too much.
Oops! I felt bad. I took my eyes off the TV for a quick second
to turn and apologize to Luke. Guess
what happened when I turned back to the big screen. The movie was not there. It was a bad case of that ‘<i>Poyindhe</i>,
its gone’ ad on TV. Oh no, where did it
go? Who changed the channel? I turned murderous eyes looking for the one
with the remote control. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The remote was lying
untouched at the end of the couch. Uh??? I hurriedly swallowed the fiery words that
almost got out. My husband and daughters looked up at the ceiling and muttered something after watching me put the
brakes on fire-breathing. It could have
been a silent ‘thank you’ but I can’t be sure. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turned my eyes back to
the TV. Wait, I see something. Is that someone running? No, wait!
Was that an explosion? Squeezing
my eyes to a slit, I strained to see beyond the shades of grey on the
screen. I could hear the compelling
voices of the classic duo so gave thanks for at least having the sound. Well, I suppose I thanked the power above a bit too
soon. The audio faded out now finally leaving
the 4 of us gawking at a 60“screen that had no picture and no sound. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then I remembered that trick. I got up and thumped the floor hard with one
foot. I had seen Whoopi Goldberg do it
in Sister Act. One whack hard enough to trigger
an earthquake in the next town but who cares?
One, it was in the next town; two, it worked. At least the sound was now back. Smiling widely, I took a bow and sat
down. This time, I decided to forego the
edge of the seat and sit back comfortably.
After all, there was nothing to watch.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Grabbing a bowl of
popcorn each, we all agreed to take turns in thumping the floor in case sound
went out again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wonder if Whoopi Goldberg
knows how much she has touched our lives? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-56029444220180780652015-12-06T07:51:00.000-08:002015-12-06T08:09:29.120-08:00Hope is eternal!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has been a roller coaster of a week for me as, I am sure,
has been for a lot of us whose family dropped out of contact in a flooded
Chennai. A week of unsuccessful, not to
mention, frantic phone calls and whatsapp messages trying to reach the
unreachable. A week of listening to ‘This
route is not available, please try after some time’ in Tamil, English, Kannada,
Telugu and other unidentifiable regional
languages of India leading to the pulling of what little hair was left on my
head. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
News of reservoirs being opened to dump excess water, water
entering houses to sweep away hard-earned belongings, cars submerging under
water throughout the city, power outages everywhere….what was, just a week ago,
an active and thriving city turned into a devastation of nightmarish proportion. To one who is averse to checking news of any
form, Facebook was my one point of contact with the real world outside this
past week. Pictures and news of the
devastation poured in through the social media giving my flighty imagination a
boost to soar high. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I imagined my aged parents wading in chest-high water trying
to get in to a rescue boat that the army sent to evacuate the area. I imagined my mom losing balance and falling
in the water. I imagined my Dad holding
a knapsack of his important documents over his head trying to help my mom to
the rescue boat. I imagined my sister
and her kids all alone in a dark house that was slowly filling up with
water. After reading a FB post that said
40 crocodiles had escaped from a nearby park, I imagined the rescue boats on
the streets being escorted by crocodiles on all sides. All in all, I imagined way too much but that
is nothing new. I have been known to
knit a king size blanket from a 2 inch thread all my life. <span style="font-family: "wingdings"; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "wingdings"; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What my fertile imagination neglected to show me was the
incredible acts of kindness shown by strangers throughout the state helping one
another. Thanks to FB, I saw people
opening up their homes to give shelter to those that had lost theirs, strangers
cooking and distributing food and medical supplies to all they can, college
students wading in chest high water to rescue people marooned in their
buildings with no food or water. I saw
humanity surface and stand tall against all odds. I saw the rich and the poor work together to
save their city. I read stories of
Hindus and Muslims and Christians and Sikhs working together to provide relief
to those affected around them. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What is it about disasters that bring out the best in us, I
wonder. Why aren’t we able to bond like
this every day and break through the walls of religion, caste and language? Why does it take a devastation of a massive kind
for us to put our differences aside and stand together? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This very moment what do I feel? What am I proud of this day? I am NOT proud to be a Tamilian. I am NOT proud to be an Indian. I am NOT proud to be a Hindu. This day, I am proud to be a part of the
human race. It gives me incredible pride
to stand with those that see the suffering of others and feel their pain. In today’s world of constant chaos, of terrorism
and bickering, I feel hope watching a flood-ravaged city practicing the rules
that Mahatma Gandhi lived by - tolerance, compassion and kindness. It gives me hope for the future. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
May TamilNadu rise up
from the ashes and live to tell this story of incredible human kindness. May the people that lost a lot find the strength to put back
their lives together and move on. May God
have mercy on TamilNadu and put a cork on the rains that is still lashing out at the
battered city. May we all, who live far
from the disaster, find it in ourselves to donate money generously to help our
friends and family back home. As
someone said on FB, may the Bay of Bengal also find a good psychiatrist soon and get
out of depression. :-)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-89061502413749443572015-11-17T11:29:00.002-08:002015-11-19T06:02:11.380-08:00Driving with Meena!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
I took a short road trip with a favorite niece of mine yesterday. In her early twenties, she is everything that
I am not. Young, hip-hop and adventurous,
she is also ridiculously smart. She
munches on Math for a snack and sips on Science for a drink. Poor child…she has problems that way but all
her brain power turned to unrecognizable mush yesterday after 3 hours in a car with me.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am an excellent driver.
No one can say otherwise. Safety
is the name of the game when I am behind the wheels. If your self-worth is somehow tied to your
ability to beat others, get in your car and drive by my side. There are days when you can get off your car
and walk on the road and still be faster than me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seeing the gap between our car and the one in front of us, my
niece turned baffled eyes at me yesterday and said “Chithi (aunt), do you
realize that there is enough gap here to fit an entire continent?” to which I
smiled proudly and nodded. Unsure of the next move, she asked gingerly “How
do you feel about stepping on the gas Chithi?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have a feeling that this particular moment will be etched
in her memory forever. In fact, I bet she
is lying in a bed somewhere this very minute wondering what bad karma put those
words in her mouth that opened the floodgates of my unsolicited wisdom. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And she won’t be lying in a bed with her eyes closed, I
guarantee you. She will be staring up at
the ceiling in a trance-like state. How
can I be so sure? Because this is a genetic
gift from my Dad to all of us. Whenever
we put on our thinking caps, we tilt our heads upwards towards the ceiling and
just stare. It is as though we are imploring
the powers above for some divine assistance.
The truth is none of us have
mastered this art of staring at the ‘mOttu’ like my Dad. We try but we just don’t seem to have his
dignity.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rambling back to my niece’s question "How do you feel about stepping on the gas?" I opened my mouth and
let the wisdom of my age spew at her.
I am not kidding when I say spew. It was like empty-your-guts kind of puking.
I left her in no doubt about how important a human life is and how much I value mine in particular.
I even quoted from Swami Chinmayananda thanks to listening to my husband's many glorious "Hurray! I got THE call; now let me help you get ready
for yours" spiritual discourses. Hope I did
him proud when I continued asking my niece questions like “Where do we have to go in
such a hurry?”, “Will the world stop revolving if we are late by a few minutes?”
not to mention, the quintessential ‘Will it be worth it”? What little wisdom my
4 molar teeth gave to me, I wanted to imbibe in her.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
As the official navigator of our trip, she told me that I needed move to the right lane but I had 4 miles to do it. The minute her lips closed, I put on the indicator and started begging the motorists on the other lane for a little space prompting my niece to assure me that there was no need to hurry. So now I had to explain how it is better to do things ahead of time 'just in case'. I quoted eloquently from the life of my Dad who made us all go to the railway station and wait in the platform several hours before the train would come on each of our vacations. And he always said 'Just in case' too. I even remember helping the janitor sweep the platform sometimes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With her ears profusely bleeding from my ‘<b><i>thou shall
not drive faster</i></b>’ and '<b><i>thou shall prepare ahead ,just in case</i></b>' lectures, she was exhausted and put her seat back, closed her eyes and quietly slipped in to a painless sleep. That left me and my restless mind all alone
on the I-95 corridor behind a wheel. So I did what I usually do to entertain myself while driving. I started singing but I decided to give my
niece a break at last. After all, I
recognize pain when I see it. Switching
from my usual boisterous aka obnoxious voice, I went to a softer rendering of a
krithi in Varali ragam. I really didn’t
mean to put talam while singing but one thing led to another and before you
know it, my voice had risen to dangerous levels and my niece woke up to find me
waving my hands in all directions and singing at ear drum-piercing decimals. When she looked around, she found that other
motorists, after one look at me, were slinking away from us clearing the road
ahead for our journey. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All except one. This
guy was behind me for a while, I think.
When I woke up from the coma of singing, I realized that he was
tailgating me. Seriously? Tailgating me? I decided that I shall deal with it swiftly
and with a vengeance. My niece was
afraid now as I am notorious for my temper. ‘Chithi,
what are going to do?” she asked in fear.
My face contorted in fury, I looked at her and said “No one
tailgates me and gets away with it. No
one. (I have always wanted to say that.) This is how we deal with it. Watch and learn M”. And then I changed lanes and gave way to the
other guy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yeah, that is how you deal
with it. Now let me see how he tailgates
me. That should teach him to not mess
with the likes of me. Hah! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-24257579881860288252015-11-10T07:18:00.000-08:002015-11-10T17:01:29.013-08:00Deepavali - an introspection!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
A typical <i>abcd </i>(American born confused desi), my
daughter asked me yesterday ‘Amma, what is Deepavali?’ The first answer that popped into my mind, of
course, was that it is the day that Indians all over the world make lots of deep-fried savories and sweets and indulge themselves in to gluttony. When my kid put her hands on her waist and
glared at me, I realized that I had inadvertantly voiced my thoughts. Chastising myself, I quickly scanned through
my mental pages for that story of the death of the demon Naragaasura that led
to the celebration of Deepavali and explained to her that the day symbolizes sweeping
away the dark and bringing the light into our homes. When she nodded and walked away, I patted
myself on the shoulders (because my back is wayyyyy in the back) for that
grown-up like answer. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, that question lingered on my mind throughout the
day. Yet another Deepavali has come by
and as always, I have been focusing too much on the frills of the festival
ordering sweets and snacks, buying new clothes, making plans to celebrate with firecrackers
and getting together with friends and family to party. Where in all this is the sweeping away of the
dark and the evil? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This question left a very distinct uneasiness in my mind
yesterday. I went through the day taking
comfort in the routine of washing dishes, doing laundry, making pav bhaji and
taking classes all the while knowing that I must face the question
eventually. I even made it to bed last
night successfully feigning happiness. The
churning of the stomach as I woke up today told me that it was time to deal
with it and take stock of all the dark that hides in me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ego, I fear, is the worst dark in me. This little monster has had a free run in my
life for way too long. This Deepavali, I
will try to sweep it out and brave this world without that protective cloak. My inspiration to lead life with a
willingness to humiliate myself actually comes from an unlikely source – my dog
Leia. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is truly no dog in this world that she cannot be
friends with. She can browbeat every
aggressive dog out there just by being passive.
You growl, she will bring her best toy and share with you. You kick at her, she will come and lick your
face and wag her tail. You intimidate
her by any hostile behavior, she will completely ignore that and call you to
play. What can one do in the face of such passiveness except offer a hand in friendship?
There must be some truth to Gandhiji’s strategy of winning a war through
non-violence. This Deepavali, I take an
oath to emulate Leia and follow her strategy of meeting all hostility with
friendship. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ego is just the beginning of a long list of dark in me. Impatience, a tendency to procrastinate, a
temper hot enough to sting those around me, a fear of breaking conventional
boundaries, a fear of confrontations, an almost impossible set of expectations
from my children, a loving husband that I constantly take for granted, my
family by birth and marriage that I love very much but never take any
initiative to keep in regular touch…….my mile-long flaws glare at me from the
mirror. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If you expect me to conquer all of them in one Deepavali,
you are the uncrowned leader of the LaLa land.
<span style="font-family: "wingdings"; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span> I doubt if my heart can take annual introspections like this so I am happy that after ego, I still have enough evil lined up to cover a decade of Deepavali festivals.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Wishing all my family and friends a joyful Deepavali. May peace reign in our hearts this day and
forever.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-89474905930986268982015-07-03T16:45:00.003-07:002015-07-06T08:07:04.403-07:00The secret to any successful relationship!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I goof up a lot. Big and small, I make them all. Enough to know not to judge anyone harshly. And I do own up to my mistakes…eventually! My goof ups can be broadly categorized in to two kinds – one is the common, run-of-the-mill, meenasankaran variety while the other is the spooky, unnatural kind. I own up to the first one and blame the second on the powers above.</span><br />
<br style="color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Take last night, for example. I was caught once again in the middle of a Physics Jeopardy camouflaged as a family discussion. The relativity of time and space was the hot topic of the night as we had just come back from watching the movie </span><em style="color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Terminator 5</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">. Arnold Schwarzenegger’s creepy full-toothed smile at the end of the movie was too funny but did anyone want to talk about it? No! It was all “Time is not constant,” “Traveling near the speed of light can warp time and space,” and some such nonsense. It was a trying time for me as usual. Pretending to be intelligent for a whole half hour is no easy task and honestly, I was getting tired of it. I decided that I was going to have my share of the conversation and racked my brains looking for an interesting scientific topic. </span><br />
<br style="color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Hah! Yes, I got it. Excited, I stood up and blurted, “I know what plants require to stay alive”. There was a general look of confusion in the room. Happy to have everyone’s attention at last, I declared with a beaming smile that all plants needed sunlight, water and </span><em style="color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">chloroform</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> to survive. When roaring laughter erupted around me, it was my turn to look confused. It was when my daughter asked me ‘Are you planning to kidnap a plant Amma?’ that I realized that I had mixed up chlorophyll and chloroform. Oops! Still, I thought it was an overkill trying to literally roll on the floor like that. Anyway, after a bit of well-deserved sulking, I had to admit that I had goofed up once again. </span><br />
<br style="color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Now, coming to the other kind, I react very strangely to the news of an impending birth of a baby in a family. Naturally, I am happy for the parents-to-be and wish them both tons of fun changing diapers in the wee hours of the night. After putting the goodwill aside though, the news of a pregnancy causes very abnormal gastrointestinal problems for me. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">For example, say you are pregnant and you share the happy news with me. After hurriedly offering you the customary congratulations and wishes, I’ll rush home and immediately start my regime of medications. When you start your pre-natal vitamins, I will break open a bottle of Tums. When you pop a folic acid supplement, I will pop a calcium one. Why? Because at the end of your first trimester, I generally have full blown heartburn; at the end of your second trimester, my heartburn will move up the ladder to acid reflux and when you are ready to push that baby out on that hospital table, I will almost positively graduate to an Ulcer. I have concluded this to be the result of acute stress – the pressure of making it to see a baby within a few days of its birth. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">You see, historically speaking, I have never been known to visit a baby in its baby state. Usually the baby grows up and walks on its two legs and comes over to meet me. This is not for lack of trying on my part, I will have you know. I go to the store well ahead of the birth and buy cute little baby gifts and have them ready in gift bags. Then I wait for the call. After I had successfully chewed off all my nails, the call usually comes announcing the baby’s birth. This is the make-it or break-it moment. The moment that could change my soiled record. But then, it all begins.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">My car falls apart; a ligament around my knee tears like a soggy </span><em style="color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">papad</em><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">; my shoulder hangs out of the socket; I start talking funny delirious with fever; an allergy specialist declares that I am allergic to the world around me and orders me to live in a sterile bubble. After I win the war with all these elements one by one and at last pick up those gift bags in exhaustion, my dogs start throwing up. Just about this time, I tend to give up and halt all attempts to try and go see the baby. There is a greater power at work here and who am I to question it? Now the wait begins for the baby to grow up and pay me a visit. When they do come around to finally seeing me, I make it a point to pull out their pending gifts and show them the little baby boots, the plush blanket and the tiny little newborn dress that I had bought for them. Children are much more forgiving than the parents, I tell you. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Luckily I have borrowed an ingenious method from a cousin of mine that very effectively deflates the anger of those annoyed parents. For that matter, this works like a charm on anyone. Every time I see a hostile person, I offer them a profuse apology. I am never stingy with my apologies, you see. I simply walk up to them with a sheepish smile and say ‘I am soooooo sorry’. Just like that. Sometimes they are confused because at that point in time, I had not committed my mistakes yet. In confusion, when they ask for a reason, I tell them ‘Just put it in my account and keep track of it. I am sure you will need it at some point.’ </span><br />
<br style="color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I believe strongly that this is the solution for all relationship problems. All one has to do is walk around saying sorry randomly and remind folks to put it in their account. They can pull one up and use it the next time you goof up. In my humble opinion, one can never apologize too much. We never know when we will need them, do we?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">On that note, I want to say how very sorry I am. If I haven't offended you already, I do hope that you will credit this to my account for future use to be used against any mistake I have yet to make. Because I do believe that a willingness to bow and concede to the opponent is the key to any and all successful relationships! </span><img alt="" border="0" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.indusladies.com/forums/images/smilies/yes.gif" smilieid="73" style="color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" title="Yes" /><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Here is another one (just in case) to cement our relationship! Very </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Tahoma, Calibri, Geneva, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">SORRY! I am feeling very relieved now. I think I have enough apologies lying around in my account to cover a couple of hundred mistakes. Whew! </span></div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-49681181913966499062015-05-25T11:49:00.001-07:002015-06-22T05:24:55.786-07:00Documentation for Dummies!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">'M, come here for a minute and bring X and Y with you' my husband called in a voice that suggested that we were about to have a family meeting. This is a routine matter for us. Every once in a while, he will call, we will gather; he will speak, we will listen; he will dismiss and we will disperse. I always think in hindsight that I should have taken a notepad with me because the words of wisdom he doles out in these family meetings deserves to be passed down to generations. Sometimes I wonder how he manages to walk up straight without sagging under the weight of all that knowledge and wisdom. It can't be easy for him, I am sure.</span><span xmlns=""></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span xmlns=""><span style="font-size: 12pt;">To my 'Can't this wait? I have <em>Sambar</em> on the stove and it's not ready yet', my husband gave an indulgent smile and said no. Of course not! Switching off the stove I walked behind him looking back only to make sure X and Y were following. The next challenge was gathering around the toilet bowl in the pea-sized bathroom which was the venue of our current meeting. If you haven't seen our family recently, you probably cannot understand the mammoth (pun intended) difficulty of fitting the four of us around the said bowl but after a bit of creative maneuvering, we all took our rightful place and waited for the meeting to commence. As my husband cleared his throat to begin, I realized I had once again forgotten the notepad. Darn it!</span></span><br />
<span xmlns=""><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span>
<span xmlns=""><span style="font-size: 12pt;">'As you all know, this toilet has been leaking for a while now' he stopped and looked at us for confirmation. Promptly we all nodded and he continued 'so I have come up with a plan to prevent water getting wasted so much'. X, Y and I gazed at him with undiluted awe. He deserves a halo behind his head, I thought reverently, as he got ready to share another one of his many master plans with us. </span></span><br />
<span xmlns=""><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span>
<span xmlns=""><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Bending down to point at the knob below, he said 'Remember to turn this counter clockwise every time before you use this bathroom'. He paused to see if we were following and we did what we always do best. We nodded vigorously anxious to relieve his mind of all doubts. How could we not follow him? He even demonstrated 'counter clockwise'. That is how good he is to us. I can't believe how fortunate we are to have his guidance in complicated matters like these. Satisfied that we got it, he proceeded 'After you flush the toilet, wait for 20 seconds and then turn it clockwise until you can turn no more'. </span></span><br />
<span xmlns=""><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span>
<span xmlns=""><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Uh oh! Oh God, please no! Not Math! Not at a time like that. I could see myself in the bathroom reciting 1 one thousand, 2 one thousand, 3 one thousand………………….I looked at X and Y in despair but they are made of sterner stuff than me. They were looking at my husband with a look that seemed to say 'Is that all you got'? Unfazed by that, of course, my husband continued to patiently demonstrate the knob-turning technique until he was sure the process was etched in our little brains. Such was his training that I found myself practicing the turn unconsciously in the air while watching TV last night. </span></span><br />
<span xmlns=""><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span>
<span xmlns=""><span style="font-size: 12pt;">'But <em>appa</em>' Y interrupted his training session and asked 'What about when we have guests at home?' Thrilled and thoroughly pleased by this intelligent question of Y, my husband beamed a smiled at her and proceeded to solve this new problem. His ability to instantly provide solutions to problems is spooky, I tell you. Give him a problem and he will give you a solution right away but if you are the kind that needs some hand holding with implementation, I suggest you knock on a different door with your problems. How much can one person do? He can't both think and act now, can he?</span></span><br />
<span xmlns=""><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span>
<span xmlns=""><span style="font-size: 12pt;">'This is what you do' he laid out the plan for us. 'Make a document that gives step by step instructions on how to turn the knob and how long they are supposed to wait before turning it again. Be sure to take a picture of the toilet bowl and put an arrow in red (he really pays attention to details, doesn't he?) to indicate the position of the knob. X, you are good at drawing, right? I want you to draw examples of clockwise and anti-clockwise motions and put it under the bullet points. After all, we want to make it easy for our guests to enjoy our bathroom' he finished. </span></span><br />
<span xmlns=""><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span>
<span xmlns=""><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I blinked the tears of pride that were welling up in my eyes. Such thoughtful and thorough documentation instructions are worthy of a Fortune 500 company's IT department. And here is my husband, brimming with the milk of human kindness, using his skills so you can pee in peace (using the instruction sheet that is soon to go on the wall over the toilet) if you ever plan to stay over in our home. </span></span><br />
<span xmlns=""><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span>
<span xmlns=""><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Is it any wonder that we adore him? <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span></span></div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-13574755382787456762015-05-10T08:25:00.001-07:002015-05-10T11:47:29.923-07:00Happy Mother’s Day!<span xmlns=''><p><span style='font-size:12pt'>Honestly, I was the worst child ever. How my Mom put up with me when I was growing up is beyond my understanding. If I had been her, I would have disowned me in a heartbeat. <br /></span></p><p><span style='font-size:12pt'>It is no exaggeration when I say that I was brash, demanding and outright obnoxious. Without considering how I will be leaving my Mom to face the fire-breathing dragons of our Land (my Dad and Uncle in righteous anger) for my adventures, I would happily hop off to play cricket and kabadi with the boys on the street. Knowing very well that playing board games or putting <em>kolam</em>/<em>rangoli</em> might have fetched my Mom some brownie points for good child-rearing over summer vacation, I had thoughtlessly opted to borrow (or steal, if you want to be technical about it) my Uncle's 2 wheeler to take a joy ride around the neighborhood. One time, I overheard my Dad's sister giving helpful pointers to my Mom as to what she could do to make me better. <span style='font-family:Wingdings'>J</span><br /> </span></p><p><span style='font-size:12pt'>That's not all. When I felt the first pangs of hunger, I needed food right that second. I mean, right that ticking second. The fact that I woke up hungry most days and went through the day in a constant state of hunger is a whole different matter. And, it is not like I would eat anything my Mom cooked. No way! The Meena's 'approved' list of dishes was, yes, pathetic but definitely non-negotiable. Naturally everything I liked had a direct or indirect connection to potatoes therefore making them 'oh no' items for all the adults in the family. <br /></span></p><p><span style='font-size:12pt'>My mother would wake up at 4 am most days and claim her Kitchen kingdom with the enthusiasm of a 5 star hotel chef on his first day of work. When people talk of multi-tasking, I snicker. Discreetly of course because hey, I know it is wrong. My mother was the true mistress of multi-tasking. A quick peep in the Kitchen window would show her starting her day at the stove by putting water and milk pot side by side for the morning coffee ritual. From then on, it was a whirlwind of action getting breakfast and lunch boxes ready for my Uncle and my Dad who would step out of the house by 7 am. <br /></span></p><p><span style='font-size:12pt'>When I say lunch boxes, it is the nothing like the totally pitiful ones that I pack for my daughter to school here. No sandwiches and yogurt cups then. Sambar rice, yogurt rice, one healthy veg, one koottu or keerai (palak), papads all packed nicely in 2 steel carriers by 7 AM. A well-played first innings indeed. After a short 2 minute tea break, the second innings would begin with my sisters and I creating a tornado in the house to leave for school at 8 am. Off she would go to whip up a spicy tomato rice for me, onion sambar and a plantain roast for my elder sister, rasam and a beans curry for my younger sister. As we rush out of the house without so much as a 'thank you amma', she would wave us off with a smile and enter the Kitchen for the last and final innings of the morning. It is now time to cook 'pathiya' food for my aunt who was bed ridden with a painful rheumatic arthritis. <br /></span></p><p><span style='font-size:12pt'>You may think, sure a lot of mothers those days cooked and cared like this for their families. You would be right but what makes my mom special to me is that after almost 5 hours of cooking, she would find the time to sit by my aunt's bed side and talk to her about the morning activities and ask for her advice about next day's menu and simply keep her company. Who does that, you tell me. God must have had a bad 'Math' day when he put a dozen people's quota of goodness into my mother alone. <br /></span></p><p><span style='font-size:12pt'>My mother lived her life as an example to us. What little I have learned about helping others, I learned watching her. There was an old man in our neighborhood when I was growing up. We had nicknamed him 'Tuesday begger' as he always came to our door on Tuesday mornings alone. He had principles too, you know. He would beg only once a week in each neighborhood. Politicians should have his scruples. He would come in the morning before we would leave for school. In all that morning madness, she would take a plantain leaf, place it on a plate, serve hot rice with sambar, vegetable, a glass of buttermilk, one banana and feed him. She would wait for him to finish his meal and pour cool water for him to wash his hands and send him off his way with a one rupee coin. Who does that, I ask again.<br /></span></p><p><span style='font-size:12pt'>Today, my mother is just weeks shy of 80 and is recovering from a knee surgery. She is the most loving, generous and compassionate person that I know and I consider myself blessed to be her daughter. <br /></span></p><p><span style='font-size:12pt'>Happy Mother's Day Amma! I hope to be at least half as good a mom to my kids as you were to all of us. Thank you for putting up with all my nonsense all these years. <span style='font-family:Wingdings'>J</span><br /> </span></p><p><span style='font-size:12pt'><br /> </span> </p></span>Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-43745701577105739122015-04-24T05:41:00.001-07:002015-04-25T03:58:54.756-07:00Happily ever after!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span xmlns=""></span><br />
<span xmlns="">'Mom, call me… need to talk to you ASAP', my daughter had sent me a message few weeks ago. Between the time I saw the mail and managed to get to a phone, my mind had assumed its favorite 'Sivaji ganesan' role and overacted as usual. Even as I dialed with shaky hands, I imagined her lying helpless and pale in bed at her college dorm burning up in fever yearning for her mom to be at her side. </span><br />
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<span xmlns="">Like I said, my mind over(e)acts at times. Being the only active part of my body, I think it tries to balance the scales every now and then by going in to overdrive. When my daughter picked up the phone at the first ring, I pounced with <em>'A, are you okay? Are you in pain? Don't worry, Appa and I will come and get you soon. Take a couple of advil and lie down until we get there.' </em>Next to seedless green grapes, Advil is the most popped/prescribed item in my diet. </span><br />
<span xmlns=""><br /></span>
<span xmlns="">While I stopped to gulp air, A interjected with a puzzled <em>'Amma, who said I was sick?'</em> Apparently, all she wanted was to discuss her course selection for the next semester with me. Really A?? You couldn't say that in your email?? How many more grey hairs would you have me 'henna-rinse' each month? As it is, the petition to increase my beautician budget from 3 months ago is still pending with her Dad. Anyway, I was glad she was okay.</span><br />
<span xmlns=""><br /></span>
<span xmlns="">Also, she was not completely without worries. Driven by a goal to finish her degree early, she has been cramming her semesters with tons of gruesome science courses and has been juggling her time between her classes, labs, homework and volunteering. I have never seen anyone with such clarity of mind in setting goals but knowing where you have to go doesn't automatically make your path easier, I guess. </span><br />
<span xmlns=""><br /></span>
<span xmlns="">Sometimes I wonder how the kids of this generation handle so much pressure without falling apart. If I have to live their lives for a day, I will take up my Dad's offer from childhood without blinking where he had often offered to buy me 4 cows and 4 sheep to shepherd as an alternative to going to school. Cattle will stomp on Chemistry any day, if you go by Sheldon Cooper's 'Rock, paper, scissors, lizard and spock' logic. What puzzles me most is how these kids dress up. How come they all wear their underwear inside their pants and not outside like Superman? Then how will this world recognize them for what they truly are? You would think all their fancy education would tell them how to dress the part. Duh! </span><br />
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<span xmlns="">I cannot recall a single day from my childhood when I had worried about life after college, about paying off college loans, landing internships or finding part-time jobs to fund further education. Life was much simpler for us. We were the 21<sup>st</sup> century version of Jane Austen's Bennett family. </span><br />
<span xmlns=""><br /></span>
<span xmlns="">My sisters and I were raised lovingly by a large joint family whose collective aspiration was to get us all married as soon we graduated. </span>My mother aka Mrs. Bennett's visits to the local temples fetched her not only divine blessings but also information about families with eligible bachelors in the 20 mile radius. I don't recall her stepping out of our house without our horoscopes in her purse. Next to the 'sundal' prasadam, our horoscopes were the most popular item distributed in the temples those days.<br />
<span xmlns=""><br /></span>
<span xmlns="">In anticipation of someone knocking on our door to check on our availability in the marriage mart, my Dad and Uncle were forever in a 'ready' state to prostrate at their feet for that favor. My Uncle loved us as his own so much so that he handwrote our 'assets' painstakingly on the back of our horoscopes before they were distributed around town – 'Fair complexion, docile (a small lie never hurts anyone, he believed), sings well, can put 'kolam'/rangoli and excellent cook'. His love for us knew no bounds really.</span><br />
<span xmlns=""><br /></span>
<span xmlns="">Coming back to our stress-free childhood, my wise sister attributes it to a 'lack of expectation' from us. All we had to do was graduate and get ready to pick our wedding clothes. I am happy to say that my sisters and I rose to the occasion and completed the task set for us with flying colors. We, the Bennetts, lived happily ever after and never had occasion to wear our underwear on top of our pants. </span><br />
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<span xmlns="">How about you?</span></div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-3998255593506095702015-03-12T05:23:00.000-07:002015-03-12T07:11:34.658-07:00Meet Bob!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 14.4pt; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="color: #002060; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Many months ago, I
walked into a store and met Bob and my life has not been the same ever
since. Thanks to Bob, I find myself
looking at life these days through a pair of slow-motion spectacles where all
frantic movements have trickled down to mere frame-by-frame motion
sequences. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #002060; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Bob was one of the
two sales people in that store that day.
He had a sweet smile and kind eyes so naturally I picked him over the
other salesman. Wearing an answering
smile myself, I walked towards Bob and asked to see a few products in the store. What followed was the longest 2 hours of my
life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #002060; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">It is important to
mention here that I dragged my kids in to that store with me after assuring
them that I will get them both an ice cream cone as soon as we got out of there. ‘Just a few minutes’ I promised my kids. I didn’t know that Fate was holding its jiggling
tummy and laughing at me right at that moment. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #002060; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Watching Bob go to
work was a revelation. I learned that Bob
did not believe in rushing things. Have
you ever watched words take a slow tumble out of someone’s mouth, letter by
letter? I did. I almost cupped my hands in front of his
mouth at one point to catch those precious words but luckily caught myself in
time. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #002060; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Our conversation
mirrored a chess game between a chess master and an amateur. My mouth opened, hurled out the words and
shut itself while Bob had to think deep and hard before he would allow a word
to form in his mind. I felt tears of joy
burning at the back of my eyes every time we were treated to a full sentence. My daughters had to pinch my sides to keep
those tears under check. It has been
many months now but the fading pinch marks in my side still brings dear Bob to
my mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #002060; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">In my heart, I know
Bob meant to show us the products before Sun went down the horizon that
day. I have to believe that. He had no meanness in him, you see but
seconds stretched to an hour as Bob walked between the stock room and the sales
desk. He had such gentle movements. It was like watching a swan gracefully sway
through the room. The carpet heaved a
sigh of relief beneath his shoes each time Bob glided over its surface. Why, you ask?
He left not a single shoe mark, that’s why.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #002060; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">After the 8<sup>th</sup>
trip back from the stock room, Bob seemed a bit tired. Sure, who won’t? I wished the other salesman would bring Bob a
glass of water to drink. After all, he
hadn’t moved an inch in the last hour.
Standing in the same place and chatting easily with the 10 or more
customers I had seen come in to the store in that hour. It just didn’t seem fair. Sure, he sold stuff to those 10 people, but hah,
big deal! .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #002060; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Glaring at his
colleague for his lack of compassion, I suggested to Bob that he take a break
to rest his legs for a while before resuming his 9<sup>th</sup> trip trying to
bring us the product we actually wanted and not the ones that he could
find. He looked at me with such
gratitude. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #002060; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">As the clock ticked
by and crossed 90 minutes, Bob managed to walk out at last holding what I was
looking for. If it weren’t for my
creaking knees, I would have leapt over the sales desk and kissed him in sheer
happiness. Instead I broke out the 10,000
watts smile that I usually save up just for my husband. Waking up from their naps in the corner sofa,
my kids were now looking hopefully at me.
I smiled at them reassuringly and whipped out my wallet to close the
sale and be on my way out. Not so fast,
said Bob. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #002060; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Apparently computers
puzzled Bob. It was really sweet the way he looked at the
tip of his pointer finger carefully each time he used it to push in a key on
the keyboard. After each push, he would gently
lift his eyes to the screen and smile as he saw his hard work translated on the
screen. The whole thing was nothing
short of a well-choreographed waltz.
There was a rhythm and a beauty to it.
He was gentle with those keys. Every now and then, the fingers will hang
suspended in air while he would look confused at the computer screen. Fearing the wrath of my daughters who were
drilling holes in my back, I decided to step in and move things along. Gently, I scooted over to the other side,
peeked at the computer and walked Bob through the steps of running my credit
card and closing the sale. The sheer joy
on his face at the end was well worth the wait, I thought. My daughters somehow didn’t think so. </span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #002060; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">Aren’t you happy
you met Bob today? :-)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-12489599118865930822014-11-17T08:27:00.001-08:002014-11-18T05:47:22.259-08:00got tissues?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It is seriously starting to embarrass me. Just this week alone, it has happened about
half a dozen times. I weep for the
weirdest reasons these days. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I am afraid to go to concerts anymore. Poor musicians! After enduring hours of practice, there they
are on the stage pouring their hearts out expecting to enthrall their audience and what do I do? Clap in appreciation like everyone else
around me? Oh no, I don’t. I sob hard into my ‘dry-clean only’
saree! At the last concert, the lady
next to me took one look at my bawling face and gingerly scooted her chair as
far away from me as possible. Really, who can
blame her? <o:p></o:p></div>
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3 days ago, I had an urge to read ‘Thiruvasagam’ at 5 am in
the morning and with an iPad next to my bed table and Lord Googleswara at my
fingertips, what is to stop me? There I
was leaning back comfortably on a couple of pillows fluffed up for my morning
reading and into the first 10 verses of Sivapuranam, sure enough my eyes
started to leak. My husband woke up in
confused concern when I greeted him not with a ‘Good morning Sankar’ like any
normal wife but with a weepy ‘Thiruchitrambalam Sankar’. Poor guy!
His life with me seems to be one endless soap opera.<o:p></o:p></div>
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All this crying is exhausting. I had to recently switch handbags just to
accommodate a bigger Kleenex box. I run
through tissues like there is no tomorrow.
It is bad enough that I bawl in public but to do so without the
assistance of a tissue box? The idea
does not bear thinking. If it weren’t
for Costco and its value-priced tissue boxes, I might have been forced to take
a second job to dry clean my clothes each week.
I guess it is true what they say about God opening one door when another
closes. Yes, it is true that He gave me
a faulty eye faucet but He also gave me tissues to deal with it. His compassion chokes me right up. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The saga continued yesterday in my music class. Two teenage boys were in my classroom doing an exceptional job singing
a composition in Hamsanandi ragam. I
closed my eyes in appreciation and seconds later, the tell-tale signs of a
brewing Tsunami made themselves known – my lips were trembling, nostrils were
flaring and from behind the closed eyelids, tears started to peep out. All in front of two boys with budding
mustaches! Talk about embarrassment! It took all my willpower to suck it in and blink
it away. Poor, poor kids! It is
such a tender age to be traumatized this way. A boy should have the right to sing in front of his teacher and not have her wail and whimper all over him. And which parent will want to pay for trauma therapy in addition to music lessons?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Either I am getting old or it is payback time for all these years
of teasing my Dad for crying alongside the poor women of Tamil TV drama, not to
mention, crying in patriotism at the achievements of Indians in the world of
Science, Philosophy, Sports and Technology.
My gut feeling says it is the latter.
The only difference is my Dad sobs in to his somewhat-white-looking cotton towel and I sob into my 20<sup>th</sup> century pristine white disposable
tissues. Life does come full
circle. <br />
<br />
And so, it begins again! </div>
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Till next time, <b><i>Thiruchitrambalam</i></b>, my friends! :)<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-9126355717269871712014-01-17T08:49:00.000-08:002014-05-20T17:34:54.895-07:00Loo loo, skip to the loo....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It has been one of those roller coaster weeks that make absolutely no sense. Yesterday, I felt the need to ponder on the complexity of the human mind that can delve so deeply into non-existent problems that it can crush the soul with the weight of the world. Today, I woke up to wonder on the meaning of a nursery rhyme that defies all logic.<br />
<br />
Loo loo, skip to the loo<br />
Loo loo, skip to the loo<br />
Loo loo, skip to the loo<br />
Skip to the loo, my darling<br />
<br />
Why, oh why would anyone skip to the loo in the first place? Skipping, in my mind, constitutes an act of youthful energy that expresses sheer happiness. A child may skip to the park after school to play with friends or to a Carnival anticipating cotton candy and Ferris wheel rides. What, my feverish mind wonders today, would prompt a child to bounce and skip to the loo? If you ever catch a child doing that, be sure to take the Mom aside to talk about the importance of fiber in her family's diet. <br />
<br />
Fly's in the buttermilk, shoo fly shoo<br />
Fly's in the buttermilk shoo fly shoo<br />
Fly's in the buttermilk, shoo fly shoo<br />
Skip to the loo, my darling<br />
<br />
Hmmmm.......I am not quite sure how to interpret this really. If my kid finds a fly in her cup of buttermilk I will probably tell her to remove it and drink it up or dump the glass and pour another one but that is just me. There is a Mother somewhere out there that advises her child to happily (otherwise why skip?) take refuge in the loo to tackle this problem? Running away never solves any problem, doesn't she know? You can hide in the loo for as long as you want, but when you get out, the fly is still there floating belly up, right? Like I said, the entire thing defies logic.<br />
<br />
Lost my partner, what'll I do<br />
Lost my partner, what'll I do<br />
Lost my partner, what'll I do<br />
Skip to the loo, my darling<br />
<br />
That is tragic, I agree. Losing a partner can be crippling, I am given to understand. And the loss may induce gastrointestinal turbulence for sure but we are not talking about grown ups, are we? What kind of a partner skipped out on the child - spelling bee partner?, crayon bee partner? or ballet dance partner? Explain to me how skipping to the loo helps them deal with this loss.<br />
<br />
Come on folks, lets get serious here. Do we really want to condone defeatism so blatantly? Should our children grow up believing that running and hiding is the answer to all the problems facing this world? Imagine that one of these kids gets elected as President of the United States in the future. And there he is sitting in on a routine meeting with his senior staff in the Oval office at 7 AM one morning only to be interrupted by the Defense Secretary bearing news that North Korea is threatening to fire its nuclear weapons just for the heck of it. Are we going to sit back and watch our President skip to the Loo on TV? What if he decides to stay there until the crisis passes humanity? You may think it is just a catchy rhyme now but heed my warning. This could have serious ramifications to the future of this world.<br />
<br />
Oh but hold it! Before you jump off the cliff in to an abyss of despair, catch this last verse. It might just bring salvation for the poet of this verse after all. <br />
<br />
I'll get another one just like you<br />
I'll get another one just like you<br />
I'll get another one just like you<br />
Skip to the loo, my darling<br />
<br />
Now, that's the spirit! 'Life goes on so embrace the challenges with a happy face' is what it says and what a great lesson for all. Learning that no one is indispensable can be an invaluable lesson in humility. I believe that teaching our kids that when you step off the train, someone always boards to take your place is as important a lesson as Algebra and Trigonometry. <br />
<br />
On that philosophical note, I thank you for reading this post which barely skirts the edges of sanity to the end and will suggest that you always take my words with a pinch of salt. :-) <br />
<br />
Now all I have to do is learn to skip without pulling a muscle. Skip to the loo, my friends and you shall find answers to all your problems in there. Good luck and a belated Happy New Year to all!</div>
Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7439784079240429909.post-59363972170059344232012-08-15T22:25:00.000-07:002012-08-17T02:50:24.917-07:00The nine yard nightmare!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
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By some cruel and sadistic fate, I have been steadily growing rounder
with each passing day. If you were to
stand on a hilltop watching me climb the curved road below, it may seem to you
that a perfectly circular roller is fighting gravity tooth and nail to roll
upwards laboriously. But hey, I am not
here to groan and moan about my weight loss woes again but to let you know of a
prodigious idea that I have had. I have
decided to cash in my plump karma chips at last and go trick or treating on
Halloween this year with my kids as ‘a perfect mathematical circle’. I will get to enjoy a sack full of candy
without spending an obscene amount of money on a weird costume. Beat that, hah! </div>
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I amaze myself sometimes with brilliant ideas like these. Last summer, I had another such one. It all started with a traditional family
religious ritual that required me to wear a nine yard saaree and serve food to women
sitting cross legged on the floor in front of a plantain leaf. If you think serving food wearing a nine yard
saaree was hard for me, you should have seen me sitting on the floor a little
later trying to eat out of the leaf myself.
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First of all, which sadist designed this saaree, I want to
know. I bet you all the gold on Wall
Street that it was a man because there is no way a woman would have asked me to
wrap 9 yards of material around me without at least throwing a lifeline in the
form of an in-skirt to hold it all together.
I refuse to believe that a woman could do that to another. So I have just a few questions to ask the guy
who came up with this nine yard <i>madisar</i>
design. </div>
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Are you out of your scrambled mind? How do you expect me to hold the folds at my
waist AND bend to loop the tail of the saaree through my legs? And if I fall on my poor head while bending,
what happens to those folds? Do you seriously
expect me start over until I crack my head again? More importantly, given the fact that I have
9 yards of cloth to cover myself, why are my legs playing peek-a-boo with the world? </div>
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Anyway, I gave it my best shot last summer. I took step-by-step lessons from my sister
who makes the household goddess Martha Stewart seem like a clumsy gypsy. In spite of her showing me precisely how to
tie the saaree, I bungled it and managed to tangle myself up in a knot. Sisterly love saved the day as she helped
untangle me before begging me never to ask her for help in tying this saaree. Next I watched some
how-to-wear-a-nine-yard-saaree videos on youtube but that was no roaring
success either. Finally I threw my
inhibitions to the wind and let an elderly woman in the family tie it for
me. I assumed the pose of the Christ on
the Cross and stood resigned through the whole ordeal. </div>
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Finally it was done.
I was at last wearing a <i>madisar</i>
saaree. I looked totally weird but never
mind that as I was used to it. I had important
duties waiting for me. There were 9 hungry
women sitting cross-legged on the floor in the other room looking expectantly
at the plantain leaf in front of them. I
would not let them down. I had to go serve
them food. I squared my shoulders and
started to march towards the kitchen to fetch the food. </div>
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Wow! ‘Not so fast, my
dear’ said my legs. With a look of
horror, the cook caught me just in time before I crashed into her kettle of
payasam. Since I was a quick study, I
quickly learned the trick to walk without tripping – to walk like a
penguin. I have mastered this penguin
walk so much so that if I were to get stranded on North Pole someday, some
penguin family may just adopt me.</div>
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There I was standing over the first plantain leaf with a
bucket of payasam and 9 pairs of eyes turned and looked hungrily at me. I looked down and the leaf seemed
frighteningly far away. How was I going
to get the payasam all the way down there?
Praying to all the supreme powers of this world to help me to not fall
on the leaf while bending, I planted my feet apart and gingerly bent down and
scooped a cup of payasam on one side of the leaf. By the time, I crossed leaf# 4, I was giddy with
pride. If you are a newcomer to the
world of nine yard saarees, the trick is in planting your feet wide before
bending. Just remember that. Yes, you will look like a cricket batsman
taking his stance but it beats tumbling down on the laps of the hungry folks on
the floor.</div>
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The nine yard saga continued with my turn coming up next to
sit on the floor cross-legged and eat the sumptuous meal. Have you ever seen a penguin sit cross-legged
on the floor? Neither have I and hence I
had no one to take pointers from. After
a few minutes of trying to elegantly sit down like all those other women in the
room, I gave up and simply plopped down like a sack of flour on the floor. Okay, now I was in business. The 12 course meal was served and looked
enticing on the shiny plantain leaf and I eagerly reached my hand out to taste
the sweet pachdi only to find my arm stop a bit short of the destination. Come on….you have got to be kidding me. I knew just then how the squirrel in the ‘Ice
Age’ movie felt about the elusive acorn.
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I may not be ‘accomplished’ in the Jane Austen sense of the word
but what I am is resourceful. If I
couldn’t bend down to reach the food on the other side of the plantain leaf, I
decided to get the food closer to me. It
was really quite easy. I glared
menacingly and intimidated the women serving into lining up the food items
closer to my reach. My glare, I am told,
can scare the life out of the Lord himself.
There was hardly any choice for me.
Really! Either that or like a
fool, I had to look helplessly at the food and drool over the sight of it the
whole time and I will have you know that I am no fool. </div>
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Anyway, that was when the idea bulb went on once again in my
head and I found a tailor who took my nine-yard saaree and tailored it for me. Hallelujah!
No more ‘Christ on the Cross’ pose for me. No more walking around like a penguin. No more fear of looking like a mummy. All I had to do was to slip in, tie the pant,
wrap the cloth once around and voila, I would have myself a <i>madisar </i>saaree. </div>
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Well, the reality did not quite go like that. Two weeks ago on my current trip to <st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">India</st1:country>, history
repeated itself and I found myself practicing my penguin walk once again. </div>
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I figure some ideas of mine are just more brilliant than the
others. </div>
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Meena Sankaranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00691594996452828769noreply@blogger.com2