Gold @ End of the Rainbow

I love my cell-phone, but do not want to tell it that. You know…keep it in its place, before it gets ahead of itself and starts interfering with my life more than normal kind of thing. So, I bemoaned the constant need for the cellphone that fell on deaf ears because the husband was on the cell-phone and I went out for a walk with the infant. Just the stroller, baby and I.

The day was beautiful. The temperature was just right, the rain-bearing clouds had parted just enough for some sun rays to peep through, and put some rainbows our way. A few birds were tapped on their shoulders to cheep and the snails were up and about. All in all magical.

I passed a corn field and I stopped. The clouds were still gathered rather low over the fields and the farmer, being a hard-working sort of bloke, had started harvesting in a haphazard manner. He had just cut a path out in between some pretty tall corn plants. The rain had done its bit of good work and left a muddy, sloshy trail. Just looking at that made the heart come down a notch. The gloomy clouds, the muddy slippery path that one has to walk through…. But ….behind the fields, the hills provide a backdrop. The hills were flooded with sunshine – the golden beautiful kind of light that comes at dusk. I was admiring the whole ‘dark-difficult-path-leads-to-light-later’ thing and reached for my cell-phone. The picture was perfect. I didn’t have it on me. I tried cooing to my baby, but he had taken in the beauty of the thing and fallen asleep.

The need to expunge this profundity engulfed me and I found the first man walking – a wizened old Mexican man, who, I am pretty sure did not understand what I was saying. I got cracking.

“You see the symbolism of the whole thing?”
“A hard path, sometimes hard to navigate, but at the end of the road, beautiful sunshine just waiting to shed its light on you.”
“Si…Si.” Smile.
“Lovely huh?”
“Si…Si”. That is what I was telling him. “See..See” and he kept repeating it back to me. “ see…”

Seeing this was going nowhere, I smiled once more and passed from his life only to come back into it a mile later as I stood mesmerized by a beautiful rainbow. The whole arch – perfect colours and bent right over the neighboring houses. Picture perfect was putting it mildly and of course I did not have the cell phone on me. Damn!
“See the rainbow?”
Now, I had to stop and see this Si-man and saw a tiny hint of gold glinting through his side teeth. In that evening light when everything looked magical, the golden tooth looked sinister. Was this what people meant when they said you would find gold at the end of a rainbow?

Raindrops came on without warning and the Si-man and I parted ways. Me ,running helter skelter with a baby sleeping peacefully in the stroller, and he, making a mental note to take another road next time. I passed the corn field and the whole outlook was gloomy – I saw that I had not the time to make it home without soaking the infant, and found refuge in a friend’s home nearby. Counting my blessings as I sipped gratefully at her tea.

I loved the spontaneity of the evening, but may just carry my cell-phone next time.

The Eleventh Commandment

I don’t know about you, but when little babies are given formal sounding names, it seems outlandish. I mean who names a tiny bundle of joy Mrityunjay or Giridhar? A lot of people do, and I have nothing against Giridhars or Mrityunjays in general. I just think they should be called Gimpies or Meerkat when they are cute and cuddly.

When do they stop being cute and cuddly you ask. Well…that is an occupational hazard of being cute in the first place. I know some people who look like you could safely drive a bus across their chest – they could take down an army with an upper cut. When one sees them striding down regally upon the red carpet, the urge to salute is over-bearing and yet they answer to the name of ‘Kutti’ or ‘Bolu’ or ‘Chinku’. ¬†That is life.

It well maybe that my little lump of sugar who came into the World on a very special date (11-11-11 in room number 11 incidentally) grows up to be a force to reckon with. I would wish nothing but joy and success for him. But I can’t call him with that terribly official sounding name just yet.

May I take the opportunity of welcoming Goofy alias Guppies Appy till then.

I take my aunt-ly duties seriously and am in the process of writing several songs for him.. you know welcoming him into the world and all that. The songs, however, are a work in progress and tend to evolve with his current activities.

Gup Gup Gup Apple
Guppies is my name
Appy Appy Guppy Tippy
Chikoo Gubban Dee

While grandparents, aunts and uncles await His Highness’s Commandments, he sleeps to the Gup Apple song like a wee bird.

PS: He is also the 11th young person in my parents’ life counting the daughters and sons (including the sons-in-law and daughter-in-law, grand sons and grand daughters)

Less work * Less stress = More Money

To prove: The product of less work and less stress equals more money later in life.

The month of the Nobel has passed. I don’t know about you, but for me the Nobel month seems to tick me off robustly in the ear when I am popping balloons and being frivolous and wasteful. All nobel laureates are apparently hard-working, have worked all their lives and shall work rather hard till the day they die. Losers!

I shall tell you why I classify them so harshly.

There is a news article that is getting so much attention, it makes us young folks quiver. Think of the facts: I thought I had a system going. Do an honest day’s worth of work everyday as long as your mental and physical faculties allow you to and life will go on. It will take care of you in its own way. When the head needs hair and/or dye and the skin needs ironing and the back needs straightening, we should still be able to eat, live and love. Work now and enjoy the fruits later – Karma Basics 1.

But that is not what the news article tells us. It tells us that older Americans are at least 47 times richer than younger Americans —-> Exhibit 1

There are scores of articles claiming stress has increased and workload has increased dramatically in this generation as opposed to previous generations. —-> Exhibit 2

Putting two and two together, or rather 1 and 2 together; I place before you theorem number 1:
The product of less work and less stress equals more money later in life. [Q.E.D]i.e.Quod Erat Demonstrandum

I have a plan so brilliant in place that I might easily land the Nobel Prize – all I need is for someone from the committee to read this blog.

I just plan to grow old. To occupy the vast amounts of time that I will have at my disposal, I shall jog the odds of getting richer than previously imagined by taking up regular correspondence with those optimistic fellows who claim that I am in the unique position of inheriting what half the country of Lisuavia craves for. I have in my list around two score countries just waiting to tip their wealth into my bank account.

Then when I grow old, I can be 48 times richer than someone in the work force and laugh.

24 * 7 = 24 + 1

I confess to being a bit dim-witted especially when people add and subtract hours from my life at random. I have complained (often) that I don’t have enough time. I have wished for my day to magically incorporate 48 hours instead of 24, but I want that so that I would be able to do things that have to be done and get cracking on things I enjoy most like staring idly at the waters on the lake with a book in hand (you know…give myself the illusion of satiating my mind), or watching that bird befriend that cow. I don’t want an hour tagged on and then several hours worth of work tagged on because of that extra hour.

Somehow, it seems to me that the daylight savings phenomena can be explained away with these equations:
24 hrs = x work units
Adding 1 to both sides
=> 24 + 1 = x+1
But what really happens is this
24+1 = 24 * 7
I am no Mathematician, but that doesn’t sound right to me. And I’ll tell you why. Systems that run automatically at a given time are all suddenly confused. One spends the next few days soothing them and cajoling them while they whimper.

In the good old days of yore, one started work in the fields when the sun rose and stopped again when the sun set. In the current days, one starts work before the sun rises and stops again after the sun sets. The goal here is to see as little of the merry sunshine that encourages the flitting of monarch butterflies as possible. So, why bother with this daylight change? All systems run time-based. I know several people who only eat by looking at the clock – “Ah! 8 o’clock, time to breakfast”, they say and hunger or no hunger will sit again in front of a full-ish looking meal at half past noon. Why upset these systems?

As usual, I have no real say in the matter, which should technically stop me from saying anything. But you know how I am…

I have to be up all week-end trying to explain to large systems, small systems, weepy systems and whiny systems that this is how it is. One hour set back for all of you.

“Why?” they ask and I say “No Idea…”

The Witch and the Lady bug

When a witch comes at you with her face painted in that fiery manner one associates with potion preparation Рwhat do you do? You quail and hide, or at the very least, beat the retreat. More so, if you are a beetle or a bug Рthey say these creatures are the sprig and parsley of potions. You fly away as fast as your little wings carry you, right? Wrong! 

You give a hearty cackle that you know will make the witch stop in her tracks and set aside that glowing wand of hers for a minute and crush you with a magical hug before heading out into the Halloween night, and you look after her forlorn that she gets to run out while you have to be carried into the evening for a spot of Halloween trick-or-treating.

The daughter was a witch and the infant brother a lady bug. Last year, I had managed to carve some pumpkins (amateur effort as it was, it was a pumpkin all the same) This year, we hastily managed this:

… and making dosas shaped like witches on broomsticks – sigh.

All in all, we sent October packing with a resounding Halloween success. Tucky was hailed as the youngest Halloweener in many circles and he seemed to like the attention. Next year pumpkins – next year. I shall come after you with a carving knife so sharp that you shall squeal.

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