“Can you come here for a minute? Check and tell me if the dough needs to be a little softer. All the children love thenkuzhal only when it is crispy. Should I add a little bit more butter to it? ” My mom shouted to be heard over the noise of television from the living room. Looking at her bulging vocal chords, you would think that my aunt was standing a good 200 feet away in our neighbor’s yard but she was only standing 2 feet from my mom busy grinding the soaked rice and urad dal in the grinder. If the batter doesn’t ferment well overnight, the Idlis won’t come out good. And we have had Idlis for Deepawali morning breakfast for as long as I can remember. I could hear my Dad and Uncle animatedly arguing over the different possible outcomes of that day’s long awaited cricket match between India and Pakistan. Their voices were just as loud as the heated literary debate on television that was part of a special series of programs for Deepawali next day.
“Hold that thought. I want to add a bit of water to the Idli batter first before I get distracted again. If I take my eyes off for a second, I am liable to forget it. You know how forgetful I am getting to be these days.” My aunt fretted over the grinder some more before turning to my mother. Pinching the dough with her fingers, she nodded her head. “Yes, add a stick of butter to it and may be some more cumin seeds too. “ Watching my mom follow my aunt’s advice, I peeked in to the several big stockpots lined up at the southern wall of the room. So many sweets and snacks! The colorful line-up could bring a saint to his knees and I was only 9. Grabbing a fistful of murukku and thattai, I quickly stepped out of the kitchen before my mom or my aunt caught me. When the kitchen smells of sugar, cardamom, cumin, butter and deep fried oil, you can tell that Deepawali is here.
Grabbing the only empty chair in the living room, I settled down to enjoy the snacks and the debate on television. At least I tried to. It is not easy to follow the TV program when your many cousins and aunts and uncles are all gathered around you engaged in various spirited conversations. Giving up on TV, I turned my attention to my sister and 2 cousins playing cards on the floor. “You are a cheat. I saw you signaling to her. You let her know what your trump is, didn’t you? I will never play with you again.” My 12 year old cousin stomped out of the room. All eyes turned towards me. They wanted to know if I would fill in for my cousin at the game. Well, why not? With so much drama going on in the living room, who needs TV? Sitting cross legged on the floor, I picked up the cards and looked at the big grandfather clock on the wall. Another hour, at least, before we would all be called in for dinner. Just the thought of the slowly roasted potato curry and onion lentil sambar simmering on the kitchen stove even as we played cards, had me wetting my lips in anticipation. Onion sambar and potato curry are a delicacy any day but somehow they assume incredible taste and flavor during Deepawali. As my mind wandered to the big suitcase full of firecrackers in the bedroom that all of us were looking forward to getting our hands on early next morning, I knew very well that very soon I would have to viciously fight for second helpings be it for sparklers or potato curry as was the norm in all large families. Glancing around at the noisy room around me, I knew that I wouldn’t have it any other way.
--------------------------------
That was a nostalgic recollection of the night before Deepawali when I was about 9. I find it curious that I am unable to remember the color or pattern of the new clothes that were bought for Deepawali that year but somehow can clearly recollect the mixed voices of the many people sitting around me as well as almost smell the onion sambar and potato curry wafting from the kitchen that night. Goes to show that Deepawali is much more than fancy clothes, magical firecrackers and fattening sweets. It is an opportunity to make big and small memories with our loved ones. It is the only gift that matters.
Happy Deepawali everyone!
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Would you rather I ‘ewewewew….uhuhuhuh…..awawawawa’ ed?
Few things in life have left me this stumped. I am not usually so easily ruffled but the incident from last week has left me questioning my own ability to face the many curve balls that life tends to throw at us.
My kids and I went for a routine dental cleaning appointment last week. It all started out uneventfully with me exchanging the usual string of meaningless pleasantries with the receptionist at the front desk. Before I could finish enquiring after her hairdresser’s new neighbor from Bimini, we were herded in to a private room to meet a person that I have come to greatly admire. Our oral hygienist! Usually I can get away with colorfully exaggerating the truth with anyone. Well, almost anyone because this guy is very hard to fool. He can take one quick peek at my teeth and know the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God. All it takes is one little disapproving shake of his head to make me feel very small and that, my friends, is no ordinary feat considering the fact that I look like the poster child of ‘chubby cheeks’. Two minutes of facing him, his folded hands and narrowed eyes, I am usually ready to confess my sins, both real and imaginary.
As my kids were the first ones to be attended to, I was politely asked to step outside the room and wait. This meant that I had at least 30 minutes of free time sitting on a couch waiting for my turn. I decided not to be frivolous and spend the whole time admiring the many shiny models of fake white teeth artfully spread around the room. It is not that I wasn’t entertained by those perfectly sculpted white teeth but you have to admit that if you have seen one set of teeth, you have seen them all. Anyway, unwilling to waste those precious minutes, I got busy indulging a great passion of mine.
There sitting in the middle of my dentist’s office, to the utmost horror of my children, I cleared my voice and started practicing a carnatic composition in ‘Punnagavarali’ ragam that I had recently learned. I am positive that I heard whimpering noises from behind the closed doors of the room but I chose to ignore it as always.
I confess, I do have this nasty habit of breaking out into song in public places with a blatant disregard to the sensibilities of those around me and I guess waving fingers in public by way of putting ‘talam’ doesn’t help my image either. Ok, so I have very little talent but honestly, does it justify my kids’ behavior? Every time I step out of my home and open my mouth, my children publicly disown me these days. Is that any way to treat the one that lugged you around for 9 months in a very small pouch inside of her? Is fairness just a fairytale, I ask you.
Call me the Queen of digression today. I haven’t even come to the point yet. At last my turn came to go in and see the oral hygienist. I went through the routine motions of pleading guilty to not flossing every night and eating sweets regularly before going to bed. This confession left me feeling cleansed so much so that I ended the session profusely thanking him for absolving my sins. In walked the Dentist now for one last check up of my teeth before I would be let out. I obliged her and dutifully lay down on the dentist chair courageously looking up at a light that could very well be Sun’s evil twin. So there I was, with my mouth stretched wide open so my dentist could quickly look in and pronounce me healthy until next visit and what did she do? Deciding to take a break right at that time, she relaxed, put her feet up and started sharing the happy memories of her recent vacation with me.
Please don’t get me wrong. I love my dentist. She is as awesome as awesome can be. It is just that I wanted to get out of that office before the combined sound of three growling stomachs got public attention. In a few more minutes, I knew that we had to start shouting to be heard over all that growling. As the clock continued to tick away with the dentist showing no sign of stopping, I decided to help speed things up. Angling my head towards her face all the while nodding enthusiastically to her remarks, I stretched my mouth open even wider (if that is possible) and put on the most pitiful look I could manage. My idea helped but only for a second. She came out of her happy memories long enough to stuff two pieces of big, thick rubber pads in between my teeth to help keep my jaws open and frozen in position.
And that is when I faced the toughest challenge of my life. The curiosity bug apparently bit my dentist when I had turned away for a second because now suddenly she wanted to know all about my family’s last vacation – our destination, transportation preferences, favorite cuisines, tolerance to sunburn and even more. Hmmmm.....wait a second! Wasn’t she the one that just put a rubber gadget between my teeth so I couldn’t move my jaws? Wasn’t it obvious that I was in no position to answer even nature’s call at that very moment let alone her questions? Did she know a secret way to talk with one’s mouth wide open? Did I not look pathetic enough lying on the table with my mouth stretched open trying to howl the answers to her questions? For that matter, did my ‘Ewewewew......uhuhuhuh....awawawawa’ really answer her questions? It just goes to show that one can never be prepared for everything in life.
Got any interesting dentist stories to share?
My kids and I went for a routine dental cleaning appointment last week. It all started out uneventfully with me exchanging the usual string of meaningless pleasantries with the receptionist at the front desk. Before I could finish enquiring after her hairdresser’s new neighbor from Bimini, we were herded in to a private room to meet a person that I have come to greatly admire. Our oral hygienist! Usually I can get away with colorfully exaggerating the truth with anyone. Well, almost anyone because this guy is very hard to fool. He can take one quick peek at my teeth and know the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God. All it takes is one little disapproving shake of his head to make me feel very small and that, my friends, is no ordinary feat considering the fact that I look like the poster child of ‘chubby cheeks’. Two minutes of facing him, his folded hands and narrowed eyes, I am usually ready to confess my sins, both real and imaginary.
As my kids were the first ones to be attended to, I was politely asked to step outside the room and wait. This meant that I had at least 30 minutes of free time sitting on a couch waiting for my turn. I decided not to be frivolous and spend the whole time admiring the many shiny models of fake white teeth artfully spread around the room. It is not that I wasn’t entertained by those perfectly sculpted white teeth but you have to admit that if you have seen one set of teeth, you have seen them all. Anyway, unwilling to waste those precious minutes, I got busy indulging a great passion of mine.
There sitting in the middle of my dentist’s office, to the utmost horror of my children, I cleared my voice and started practicing a carnatic composition in ‘Punnagavarali’ ragam that I had recently learned. I am positive that I heard whimpering noises from behind the closed doors of the room but I chose to ignore it as always.
I confess, I do have this nasty habit of breaking out into song in public places with a blatant disregard to the sensibilities of those around me and I guess waving fingers in public by way of putting ‘talam’ doesn’t help my image either. Ok, so I have very little talent but honestly, does it justify my kids’ behavior? Every time I step out of my home and open my mouth, my children publicly disown me these days. Is that any way to treat the one that lugged you around for 9 months in a very small pouch inside of her? Is fairness just a fairytale, I ask you.
Call me the Queen of digression today. I haven’t even come to the point yet. At last my turn came to go in and see the oral hygienist. I went through the routine motions of pleading guilty to not flossing every night and eating sweets regularly before going to bed. This confession left me feeling cleansed so much so that I ended the session profusely thanking him for absolving my sins. In walked the Dentist now for one last check up of my teeth before I would be let out. I obliged her and dutifully lay down on the dentist chair courageously looking up at a light that could very well be Sun’s evil twin. So there I was, with my mouth stretched wide open so my dentist could quickly look in and pronounce me healthy until next visit and what did she do? Deciding to take a break right at that time, she relaxed, put her feet up and started sharing the happy memories of her recent vacation with me.
Please don’t get me wrong. I love my dentist. She is as awesome as awesome can be. It is just that I wanted to get out of that office before the combined sound of three growling stomachs got public attention. In a few more minutes, I knew that we had to start shouting to be heard over all that growling. As the clock continued to tick away with the dentist showing no sign of stopping, I decided to help speed things up. Angling my head towards her face all the while nodding enthusiastically to her remarks, I stretched my mouth open even wider (if that is possible) and put on the most pitiful look I could manage. My idea helped but only for a second. She came out of her happy memories long enough to stuff two pieces of big, thick rubber pads in between my teeth to help keep my jaws open and frozen in position.
And that is when I faced the toughest challenge of my life. The curiosity bug apparently bit my dentist when I had turned away for a second because now suddenly she wanted to know all about my family’s last vacation – our destination, transportation preferences, favorite cuisines, tolerance to sunburn and even more. Hmmmm.....wait a second! Wasn’t she the one that just put a rubber gadget between my teeth so I couldn’t move my jaws? Wasn’t it obvious that I was in no position to answer even nature’s call at that very moment let alone her questions? Did she know a secret way to talk with one’s mouth wide open? Did I not look pathetic enough lying on the table with my mouth stretched open trying to howl the answers to her questions? For that matter, did my ‘Ewewewew......uhuhuhuh....awawawawa’ really answer her questions? It just goes to show that one can never be prepared for everything in life.
Got any interesting dentist stories to share?
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Refund Rantings!
I have had it. The time has finally come to take a stand in this matter. Enough is enough. I don’t see why I should be stuck with a defective product. Am I not entitled to some customer satisfaction? Is it so unreasonable for me to demand a full refund for something that I am not happy with? Ok, so I don’t have a receipt to show as proof of purchase to the store. Big deal! Well, come to think of it, I don’t even have a store to take it back to but that is hardly the point.
Be honest and answer these for me. What would you do if you buy a product that falls apart at your first touch? Will you not be outraged? Will you not march straight back to the store and scream for a refund? Yes, I am mad as hell but once you know my reasons, you will understand why. I am not given to such angry outbursts often. Folks usually find me patient and mild-mannered. But in the past few months, my patience has been wearing thin and for a good reason.
I am in my thirties, look the picture of health on the outside and put together like a very cheap and tacky Burma Bazaar watch on the inside. If it is not my gallbladder, then you can be assured that it will be my foot. Fix the foot and watch my shoulder tendon snap. Heal the shoulder just in time to hear my voice croak. Treat the voice only to have the doctor pronounce my knee cap ‘inflamed’. Do you know how tiring it is to keep a mental list of all the failed parts of my body? And that is why a big whiteboard is hanging on my kitchen wall now so I can save my voice and report my daily health failings to my family. Mm/dd/yy – problem part –symptoms is the format that I am using these days.
I have a nagging suspicion that God outsourced the manufacturing of my body parts to China. Why? Because the way I am falling apart like a wet sand castle at the beach characterizes all the items sold in ‘Dollar’ stores across the United States with a stamp ‘Made in China’. Or maybe He entered into a secret partnership with the giant pharmaceutical industry with a promise to manufacture 'me' who will help drive their stock prices up by using every medicine that passes through their factory floor. Either way, I smell a stinking conspiracy here.
Call it paranoia but recently I have started noticing that every time my husband looks at my father, there is an unspoken admiration in his eyes that seems to say ‘How did you know when to unload her onto my head?' Mind you, there is no malice, only an acknowledgment laced with awe for my father’s timely great escape.
Yesterday, I heard my husband pleading on the phone with an insurance agent to allow him to buy additional insurance for me. Poor guy! I really do feel for him. He is so traumatized watching me disintegrate right in front of his eyes that he has 911 stored on his speed dial. And of course, all credit goes to his unique begging skills for securing fully approved credit accounts with all the local hospitals where the lovely staff insist on buying us all little trinkets during each of my visit. Their love and affection for us come as no surprise to me. After all, they do owe me big for the generous bonus they get every year.
Coming back to the point, I refuse to take this injustice lying down anymore. I hereby file an official complaint against God for manufacturing me with so many defective parts and demand a full refund from Him. Did I hear you ask 'What refund?'. Well, all I want in way of a refund, is for Him to take out all the substandard parts and put back limbs, bones and muscles that actually function according to specification. All I want is to not fall apart like a Lego tower carelessly built by a 2 year old. Is that too much to ask?
Be honest and answer these for me. What would you do if you buy a product that falls apart at your first touch? Will you not be outraged? Will you not march straight back to the store and scream for a refund? Yes, I am mad as hell but once you know my reasons, you will understand why. I am not given to such angry outbursts often. Folks usually find me patient and mild-mannered. But in the past few months, my patience has been wearing thin and for a good reason.
I am in my thirties, look the picture of health on the outside and put together like a very cheap and tacky Burma Bazaar watch on the inside. If it is not my gallbladder, then you can be assured that it will be my foot. Fix the foot and watch my shoulder tendon snap. Heal the shoulder just in time to hear my voice croak. Treat the voice only to have the doctor pronounce my knee cap ‘inflamed’. Do you know how tiring it is to keep a mental list of all the failed parts of my body? And that is why a big whiteboard is hanging on my kitchen wall now so I can save my voice and report my daily health failings to my family. Mm/dd/yy – problem part –symptoms is the format that I am using these days.
I have a nagging suspicion that God outsourced the manufacturing of my body parts to China. Why? Because the way I am falling apart like a wet sand castle at the beach characterizes all the items sold in ‘Dollar’ stores across the United States with a stamp ‘Made in China’. Or maybe He entered into a secret partnership with the giant pharmaceutical industry with a promise to manufacture 'me' who will help drive their stock prices up by using every medicine that passes through their factory floor. Either way, I smell a stinking conspiracy here.
Call it paranoia but recently I have started noticing that every time my husband looks at my father, there is an unspoken admiration in his eyes that seems to say ‘How did you know when to unload her onto my head?' Mind you, there is no malice, only an acknowledgment laced with awe for my father’s timely great escape.
Yesterday, I heard my husband pleading on the phone with an insurance agent to allow him to buy additional insurance for me. Poor guy! I really do feel for him. He is so traumatized watching me disintegrate right in front of his eyes that he has 911 stored on his speed dial. And of course, all credit goes to his unique begging skills for securing fully approved credit accounts with all the local hospitals where the lovely staff insist on buying us all little trinkets during each of my visit. Their love and affection for us come as no surprise to me. After all, they do owe me big for the generous bonus they get every year.
Coming back to the point, I refuse to take this injustice lying down anymore. I hereby file an official complaint against God for manufacturing me with so many defective parts and demand a full refund from Him. Did I hear you ask 'What refund?'. Well, all I want in way of a refund, is for Him to take out all the substandard parts and put back limbs, bones and muscles that actually function according to specification. All I want is to not fall apart like a Lego tower carelessly built by a 2 year old. Is that too much to ask?
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