A walk in the clouds

Dear muscles,

I am pleased that you have started doing well. To admonish the muscles that got me up there is cruel. Yet, it must be done. I did not like the way you jabbed when I straightened my legs, and tightened that way when I sat. I know I have been out of shape lately, but the rest after the half marathon demanded that.

It now feels like a good idea to appreciate those muscles that have done their part for me without letting me know of their presence. I now know you are there – “Hi!”.

Now, please go back to being inconspicuous. Thank you!

With regards,
Nutty Hiker in the Clouds

A bunch of friends and I did the Mission Peak hike on Saturday. Talking while walking is the best thing one can think of – slowly, we ascended, past the cows, and the fresh dung, with an enthusiastic dog that reminded me a lot of Snowy in Tintin’s adventures. Closer and closer to the clouds and then into the clouds. A light misty spray as walked in the clouds, and before we knew it, we were on the mountain top, walking in the clouds. How dreamy is that?

As my letter indicates, the old muscles don’t take lightly to being taken on a surprise hike up a mountain anymore. I had to be pretty firm with them.

But I am happily sore – how often does one get to walk on the clouds, while being in them?

School Uniforms

It’s like an eagle flew by and dropped this on my lap.

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/11/08/fashion/08cross.html?_r=1&pagewanted=1

This article helpfully sheds light on the increasingly different ways in which dress codes (or lack of it) cause problems at US schools. Some children have taken to cross dressing just to be “different”. Reminds me of that television ad for sauce

It’s different
What’s different
Nothing…it’s different
It’s sauce!

Why doesn’t the American Public School system just have uniforms and be done with it like the rest of the world? The argument that some families may not be able to afford it sounds thin to me. They have to afford some clothes, why not uniforms? The emotional scarring, the warring among the different factions within a school and frankly the jarring styles non-uniformity produces far outweighs the feeble consideration that people can’t afford uniforms.

Let’s start with a little exercise shall we? When children wear uniforms, let’s list the disciplinary problems pertaining to clothes alone:
1) Clothes are dirty/Shoes are dusty
2) Shirt not tucked in

Indecent exposure will immediately be reprimanded. Aside from cutting holes in your clothes, there is little chance of indecent exposure when uniforms are worn.

A school is an institution of learning – to treat it as anything else is sacrilege. While at School, what matters is the sharpening of the mind and honing of the senses – everything else is perfunctory, and should not occupy the minds of students and administrators longer than that.

So ….

I have been woefully inadept at keeping track of mergers and acquisitions lately. I think AT&T did the trick for me. For the first 62 times when, Cingular bought At&T and At&T merged with Cingular and Comcast became At&T and At&T became Comcast and AT&T provided services using SBC, I struggled but managed. The 63rd time was the charm – I gave up.

Why now I dread people asking me a simple enough question such as “Who is your cable provider?”! I wasn’t like that before. I liked people asking me who my cable provider was. I was the informed one see? Then, this game started. At first, I tried assigning aliases to the companies. At&T is A, and Cingular is B. So A buys B. With me so far? Good. Then, Comcast C came in, and bought B. Still manageable. Then, fricking B has a problem with his name and goes and changes it to A. So, C bought A, but actually B bought C, which makes sense since A bought B – hang on. A bought B, so B became …

By the time I figured it out, A&C formed a partnership of sorts, so A & B could be synonyms, buddies, pals. Then, C felt left out and joined in too, not by becoming their pal, but by buying them. Here is a helpful diagram:

at&t

I wonder whether their employees know who they are working for. I figure when they really want to know, they just look at their latest paycheck.

Ever the stickler for the dramatic, I just wring my hands up in the air and a note of exasperation seeps into my soul and you hear it when I reply “Oh, AT&T or Cingular or Comcast or one of those things!” It was upto people to go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/At%26T and figure it out for themselves.

When these poets come and tell you, something like this

You only think Life is tough
When you think you’ve had enough
But it will be better
If you can twitter
Or blogger
If you must

Or similar such rot, I’ve always felt drained and reached for a chocolate. Now, as though all the strain of keeping track of phone and cable providers were not enough for the regular taxpayer, this news comes along. Kraft is buying Cadbury’s

http://www.reuters.com/article/rbssConsumerGoodsAndRetailNews/idUSL044468320091109

I should finish with a silly punch though

What does it take to get a fruit and nut around here?
Ans: Some Kraft!

I’m a Queen

I finally succumbed. I ravaged around the aisles of capitalist America. I looked for deals. The process was made more difficult because procrastination in all things shopping has become my motto of late. Finally, I bought a dress. I should add an expensive dress. I should also add: A dress made of cheap material. The dress is hideous when seen by itself – it was a colour most men abhor in short. It was bright and had sparkles or glitter on it. A shiny dress.

But, on a little girl, it passed off as Princess robes.

disneyoniceprincessclassics1

The Princess strutted with the dress, a crown and wand to match for 3 whole days. I swear, if I went for a walk and saw a flower that colour, I’ll fall ill. I am not going for walks in fear.

That’s what Halloween did to me.

There were Halloween parties and carnivals starting on Friday and lasting well into the Sunday. Vampires with rosy cheeks and cuddly skeletons apart, I had my fair share of princesses. They all looked adorable as they clamoured around with a trick-or-treat. 

You know how Shakespeare said “A rose is a rose by whatever name you call it” ? Folks I know, have bandied this about often enough to make it a philosophy. A book is a book, a tulip is a tulip, a lilac is a lilac and a phone is a phone… I’d go on, but in the interest of the general public, if you’d like more examples, please feel free to email me. I’ll spend considerable time giving you more. Me being the astute observer and all that, I deduced that a Princess is a Princess.

Turns out I was quite wrong. You have to be specific.

Which princess?

The purple princess?

BAM – please go back to your basics lessons and get that straight.

Is it Snow White or Cinderella or Ariel?

I didn’t know it was a Science. Well, my daughter wanted to be Ariel in a mauve dress. Apparently, Ariel dresses only in Green and Blue. So, I bought a mauve dress and stuck an Ariel wand on her.

I thought myself resourceful at the time. I even went so far as to call myself creative. I managed to convince the daughter. She declared that one can’t be Ariel just with her wand. So, I explained to her that she could be ANY princess this way. She agreed and I beamed.  The world was happy, the sun shone…

What a shock I was in for?! I have been decried and shunted out from the parlours of the learned because of this egregious error. Princesses and fairies with and without baby teeth pointed out my mistake without reservations.  I am rattled I tell you. I am going to apply to the Institute of Fairy Tale Sciences this Winter. I need your faith in me to secure admission.

Add to that the previous trip to Disney on Ice – Princess Classics, where all things female and younger than 20 were dressed as Princesses including my young one; and I have been a Queen a long time now. A Queen,  lacking in the knowledge that Ariel only dressed in Green or Blue. Oh well…

 

No Comic Task this

Well…well. It has been a while since I picked up a comic book. The guffawing over Tintin much to the chagrin of the mother who was trying to get a quiet afternoon rattling with the noisy Singer machine, while the rain pounded at the window and the wind whooshed menacingly, is tucked away in the recesses of a past.

Tintins were great. The Thompson and Thomson, Professor Calculus and of course the Captain (“BLISTERING BARNACLES” – I’ve forgotten his name, Harold ? Haddock! Yes!). The point is, I haven’t lost myself in the comic book world for a long time. A friend of mine lent me his book “Persepolis” and I must thank him for it.

The complexity of generations of bumbling in Iranian history, so well presented through the endearing voice of Marjane Satrapi had me lost in the book.

If one is looking to get a glimpse of Iranian culture, this isn’t the book. But to get a perspective of turmoil and how human beings find a way of adapting – this is a good book. Stark contrasting images, the humour and of course the appalling mystery of what humans perpertrate on one another in the name of ruling are etched into my memory.

The book had my eyes stinging in the final page (Caution: my tear ducts are very loosely controlled. I cried for Finding Nemo and Shrek!) But I loved Persepolis and am waiting to read her remaining works.

Happy Diwali

Here’s wishing more peace and happiness to everybody on Diwali.

Most people know I have the patience of a hen sitting on a reluctant egg to hatch with creative projects. In fact, it is documented legend – I have cut off sleeves, necks and diameter from projects in my youth. Aah – youth. The enthusiasm of youth and the euphoria of new wool would cause me to make statements such as: “I am going to knit a full hand sweater for my father”

The father beamed, the mother held judgement. Once the armies saluted the effort, I would start on the ambitious sweater. I liked knitting, I just thought my father was rather large for a teenager to knit a full hand sweater for. As time went by, the sweater would grow…..quite slowly, since there were more pressing demands on my time, such as thinking about nothing. (It is surprising how many hours of youth has been spent in this fulfilling occupation!)

The sweater would slowly and steadily morph into a half sleeve sweater for then then short and lanky brother.  I am not sure about the psychological scars one gets from wearing sweaters knitted by elder sisters as a hobby, but the brother bore them well. I am not sure he would take kindly to them now, but then, he was a star. He was so intent on getting out there and playing that he wore anything.

This time, our creative pursuits were Diwali oriented. The daughter and I played with Rangoli this time around.

rangoli 

Then as though playing with the powders weren’t enough, we had to mess around with the pulses. I actually stepped out and bought Masoor Dal for the Diyas. Now, I have 2 pounds of masoor dal with no recipes to boot. But, the rangoli looked good.

dals

Happy Diwali all of you! And please point me to recipes using 2 pounds of masoor dal, while you are at it!

What’s a Bloke to do for some Peace?

I try to slumber through without a post. But the tantalizing world just wouldn’t allow me to go on about the important task of twiddling and spinning my pen on the desk. I mean the Dorothys** of the world have to call and discuss something. Forget the Dorothys, I say. I have discovered the joys of spinning a pen, and nothing is going to distract me from my noble pursuit today.

 

See how it spins?!

pen

Then, there is the important twitter about Obama winning the Nobel Peace Prize. What is that all about? Let the man breathe, let him take his dog for a spin. You can’t straddle a fellow with responsibility like this. Now, he has to go about talking to Taslama Bin Laddoo Boondi about peace, because he won the Peace Prize! I mean, when can he do his job as a President?

 

The man, for better or for worse, I can’t say which, proved to be an excellent orator. Now, grocers want him making speeches on organic produce, islands want him making a discourse on the prudent use of tidal waves. Add to that the strain of making the Peace speeches, what’s the speech writer to do?

I like to imagine that in the past, there were drawings to see the most strenuous jobs in the White House. The chef competed with the Chief Gardener, who competed with the Building Security. In this draw, I would have to vote for Speech Writer. He is already nose down into writing the finest speeches, and now, he is clobbered with peace?

Ah well…spin the pens on your desk for inspiration I say. It is a tough world with tough demands. Mental faculties have to be preserved.  I mean: What’s a Bloke to do for some Peace? Win the Nobel Peace Prize of course.

Let there be Peace!

** For you sticklers, Dorothy is a figment of my imagination, with whom I have interacted in my dreams, if ever.

Birth and Talent

Rahul Gandhi is quoted as being open minded about caste. Laudable and all that. But given the opportunities the man had, if he HAD placed importance on caste – shame on Education! (See: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rahul_Gandhi)

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/I-dont-believe-in-caste-Rahul/articleshow/5099167.cms

If you breeze over the comments, you will find folks asking for reservations to be removed too. The point is not that, comments such as “In the future, when you become Prime Minister” concern me. It is not “In the future, if you become Prime Minister”, it is “when you become Prime Minister” like a royal passage of right.

People have to work hard to get to their state of being, in order to be responsible to themselves and to society. This sort of entitlement in a democracy is trying; because we are still stating that birth is better than talent.

What next?

Have you heard the shocking news of the suicide bomber who marginally achieved his target? He was supposed to kill the Deputy something minister for Saudi Arabia. He became a victim to his own ass. attempt, but failed

http://www.stratfor.com/weekly/20090902_aqap_paradigm_shifts_and_lessons_learned

This man, had the “stuff” tucked neatly away in his ass – that’s right! Up his anal cavity! It managed to destroy him, but not the shocked Deputy something minister for Saudi Arabia.

The last time somebody said liquids are hazardous, airports made people regurgiate their saliva when thirsty. No liquids allowed beyond check point. Fair enough. Rather thirsty than an entry in the obituary was the general consensus. I have blogged on this particular phenomenon here:

https://nourishncherish.wordpress.com/2006/09/26/bladders-and-airlines/

Now, if people start carrying *dash* up their *dash*, what are the measures to be taken? The mind boggles. As it is, we take off jackets, shoes, purses and are allowed our personal intimates for decency during the process. But, if the most personal of spots is the culprit, what would the regulation be?

1) Show evidence of having gone Potty atleast 5 minutes prior to check-in? What do people with chronic constipation have to do? (What? We have to cover all angles, don’t we?)
2) Remove the g-lines?
3) Sit on a hot spot during the check-in process. The seat would alternate with heat and coldness alike.
4) Make you lie face down through the baggage checker scan.

Do come up with your own speculations! I am eager to see the ideas lurking out there!

I am brimming with pride. I am now a gardener par excellence. See the fruits of labour in our little patch? It could be argued (with merit of course!) that I did nothing towards the venture other than provide a square foot of land in the garden.

tomato

 

However, my links to the greatest feats of gardening are close. I had a friend in School, whose parents won the Annual Best Garden of the Year award in the Nilgiris Flower Show for many years in a row. I have walked in that garden and admired the roses. I am an authority when it comes to admiring flowers. Like art patrons are essential to Art, folks like me are essential to gardeners, what?!

If plants could move, I have no doubts that they would have happily fled my backyard in search of wetter pastures. In fact, I firmly believe that the untimely showers which wreck a day in the park for some are because my plants yearned for water.

I am not an insensitive person- far from it, just forgetful. If I heard the grumbling, I would have been on top of the case, watered them to floods and generally nursed them till they yearned to be left alone. As it turns out, these lovely trees and plants are remarkably quiet. So, I have gone for days, letting an apricot wilt away wistfully, while the pines in the backyard nearby shed their dew on this tree to keep it from shutting down. I know a phenomenal amount about insects in plants (that is to say, I can see them sometimes, but don’t know what to do beyond that)

For this tomato though, the seed was planted by the youngest, and the water fountains were turned on the by the eldest in the household. I am the proud presenter of the rich tomato – completely organic, since I know nothing of sprays or fertilizers.