What's in your bread basket today?

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. 

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.   

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. 

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.

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. 

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. 

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.

What have you pulled out of your basket recently?

Who died and made Samsung God?

I have half a mind to sue Samsung.  The nerve of that company!

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.

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.

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.

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.  

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. 

Psssstttt!  Get a life! 

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.

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? 

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. 

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.

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.

Is your counter climbing?

Whoopi saves the day!

“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. 

Du-doom, du-doom, du-doom…….

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 ‘Poyindhe, 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.   

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. 

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.   

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. 

Grabbing a bowl of popcorn each, we all agreed to take turns in thumping the floor in case sound went out again.

 

I wonder if Whoopi Goldberg knows how much she has touched our lives?