Nourish-n-Cherish

The mind cannot concentrate while that obtrusive thing is there. It doesn’t really occupy much space, but when it is there, you cannot concentrate on what you are doing, till you have made the darn thing disappear!

If you’ve used Outlook with the new mail notification envelope set to to ‘On’, you know exactly what I am talking about. The tiny envelope can permeate your most deep thoughts and make you zone out of them in a jiffy! I have tried turning the notification off, only to have some harried person sneak up to me behind my back and bellow – “DID YOU SEE MY EMAIL?!” After jumping a good foot in the air, I then sheepishly acknowledge that I turned the notification off, because it was disturbing me.

Then, I realise, it is better to be interrupted with the yellow envelope than with an actual 6 foot tall person hovering over me literally. I am always seated while the person is standing. The craned neck gulps involuntarily, and it may be construed as a sign of weakness in case there were email wars being waged, with tiny words as swords on the battlefield of an email template.

I found that constructing complex rules and moving them to a different folder helps – the notification does not appear, but people always seem to find a way around my rules. I would say: If sender personality like ‘bullfrog’ and mail subject is unsavoury and if contents not terribly important to saving world then move to ‘Folder I might get to later on’.

Invariably bull-frogs break the system: they alias themselves to be vermin, or spice up the subject to make it sound like it needs reading and end up popping up in my icon area anyway.

I suppose it would be nice to sit and read automated notifications every minute if one had nothing to do. But given few of us have such luxuries, I spend hour upon endless hour cursing the relentless interruption, and admiring the perfect envelope icon!

The mind cannot concentrate while that obtrusive thing is there. It doesn’t really occupy much space, but when it is there, you cannot concentrate on what you are doing, till you have made the darn thing disappear!

If you’ve used Outlook with the new mail notification envelope set to to ‘On’, you know exactly what I am talking about. The tiny envelope can permeate your most deep thoughts and make you zone out of them in a jiffy! I have tried turning the notification off, only to have some harried person sneak up to me behind my back and bellow – “DID YOU SEE MY EMAIL?!” After jumping a good foot in the air, I then sheepishly acknowledge that I turned the notification off, because it was disturbing me.

Then, I realise, it is better to be interrupted with the yellow envelope than with an actual 6 foot tall person hovering over me literally. I am always seated while the person is standing. The craned neck gulps involuntarily, and it may be construed as a sign of weakness in case there were email wars being waged, with tiny words as swords on the battlefield of an email template.

I found that constructing complex rules and moving them to a different folder helps – the notification does not appear, but people always seem to find a way around my rules. I would say: If sender personality like ‘bullfrog’ and mail subject is unsavoury and if contents not terribly important to saving world then move to ‘Folder I might get to later on’.

Invariably bull-frogs break the system: they alias themselves to be vermin, or spice up the subject to make it sound like it needs reading and end up popping up in my icon area anyway.

I suppose it would be nice to sit and read automated notifications every minute if one had nothing to do. But given few of us have such luxuries, I spend hour upon endless hour cursing the relentless interruption, and admiring the perfect envelope icon!

I watched Oscars like millions did. Some random points that came to mind:

I did clap when Slumdog Millionaire reaped in the awards, but the logical side of me couldn’t concede that the movie was worth 8 of them. I would call it a nice enough movie, but just that. Not great, not wonderful – tad better than mediocre. Another example of how right place at right time far outweighs merit.

And then, of course someone comes along and does an illogical thing, and basks in the narrow glow of publicity it brings. They gifted the children a concrete house and claimed they are working for the upliftment of conditions in slums. My head reels – how?! By moving the children who already made some money to a concrete house? How does that equate to “working for upliftment of slums”?

I loved the way Danny Boyle jumped up and down like Tigger in Winnie The Pooh when he won his Oscar. It was a helpful reminder that we all have a child in us, and sometimes takes hard work finding it.

I watched as the cameras rolled on the best dressed women. Speaking with a sense of negative fashion IQ , I am not the person most suited to make judgements I am afraid.

I scoured the crowd and found only 2 women wearing a pair of glasses, but the same was not true of Men. Are men more comfortable with glasses or are women more self-conscious about the bespectacled image?!

I am sure my Biology teacher still remembers my gifts with the pencil. I am probably the benchmark in that teacher’s mind, and let me tell you being a benchmark figure in anything is satisfying! I can readily imagine how many pupils would have been spared the agony of redoing their cockroach drawing, because all the teacher had to do was close their eyes and visualize the cockroach on MY page. Instantly, I could make people look like Michelangelos. How many people can live up to that boast?!

I seemed to have passed some of my varied talents in the field to my daughter. When the tummy was bulging and I was wondering which genes of mine I would like her to have, I am quite sure I hadn’t asked for this one to come from me – but apparently it has. A while ago, my daughter proclaimed to her Aunt that she had drawn her a picture, and my sister being who she is demanded that the groaning masterpiece be scanned and sent to her. I complied – I mean nobody EVER wanted to see my pictures, and if somebody wants to see the offsprings, the proud parent can’t be stopped! So, there it was sailing through the cables under the misty waters waiting to be revealed.

Here it is: it is a wrench giving it away free on the Internet like this, but one can’t be selfish.

Quick as a whip, my sister’s exuberant interpretation made it across.
There are fire-crackers on top…shows celebration time

There are hearts…shows that she loves us all

Two little faces with a mop of hair…shows the kids celebrating

A red dustbin…shows that you clean up after you celebrate.

All the colours ….shows how interesting and colourful life really is!!!

Modern art can be interpreted in multiple ways, but really I think she was way off!

1) The dustbins are cupcakes – you need food during a celebration!

2) There aren’t only 2 happy faces, there is a sad one too stuck in the corner to make all sorts of people make up our world

3) And, the sun was drawn in two places – high up and below somewhere. That should symbolize the rising and setting of the sun! Just the same way that the celebration starts so too must it end.
While I was explaining this to the husband, the artist pops up in her classic tone, and says:

“Actually, those are not crackers – they are trees! “

“So, what is that thing on top of the trees?” I ask

“Those are fountains!” “Oh … and the hearts say you love us right?” I ask pleading for her to endorse at least one intepretation of ours. She does no such thing and scoffs at me and declares – “Those are flowers – some are heart shaped, but there are trees, fountains and flowers with sad and happy faces!”

And, that is the artistic touch of the future! I think the whole family needs to attend some classes in Art.

Having said that, we sat down last night after dinner preparing Valentine Day Cards for all of my daughter’s friends in her class. While I joked about how I did not classify the activity as important enough to rank high up in our list, I enjoyed it all the same. It made a nice change from the regular. She drew little pictures in every card and wrote out her name arduously. She particularly liked to draw Saturn for some vague reason, and I must say, it was one of her better attempts at drawing. (That is saying something!). So she drew Saturn on a couple of cards. I am not sure whether Cupid and Sani “Bhagawan” have any qualms, but if they did, my daughter just took a brave stab at attaining mythological peace.

More than the cards and the drawing, I like to think of Valentine’s Day as a day of love – I am pleased to hear that similar sentiments are being voiced elsewhere too. Instead of marking a day for lovers, it is nice to mark a day of love for all your friends and family.

So, here it is: Happy Valentine’s Day – may Love spread and eradicate the darkness of hatred!

I am sure my Biology teacher still remembers my gifts with the pencil. I am probably the benchmark in that teacher’s mind, and let me tell you being a benchmark figure in anything is satisfying! I can readily imagine how many pupils would have been spared the agony of redoing their cockroach drawing, because all the teacher had to do was close their eyes and visualize the cockroach on MY page. Instantly, I could make people look like Michelangelos. How many people can live up to that boast?!

I seemed to have passed some of my varied talents in the field to my daughter. When the tummy was bulging and I was wondering which genes of mine I would like her to have, I am quite sure I hadn’t asked for this one to come from me – but apparently it has. A while ago, my daughter proclaimed to her Aunt that she had drawn her a picture, and my sister being who she is demanded that the groaning masterpiece be scanned and sent to her. I complied – I mean nobody EVER wanted to see my pictures, and if somebody wants to see the offsprings, the proud parent can’t be stopped! So, there it was sailing through the cables under the misty waters waiting to be revealed.

Here it is: it is a wrench giving it away free on the Internet like this, but one can’t be selfish.

Quick as a whip, my sister’s exuberant interpretation made it across.
There are fire-crackers on top…shows celebration time

There are hearts…shows that she loves us all

Two little faces with a mop of hair…shows the kids celebrating

A red dustbin…shows that you clean up after you celebrate.

All the colours ….shows how interesting and colourful life really is!!!

Modern art can be interpreted in multiple ways, but really I think she was way off!

1) The dustbins are cupcakes – you need food during a celebration!

2) There aren’t only 2 happy faces, there is a sad one too stuck in the corner to make all sorts of people make up our world

3) And, the sun was drawn in two places – high up and below somewhere. That should symbolize the rising and setting of the sun! Just the same way that the celebration starts so too must it end.
While I was explaining this to the husband, the artist pops up in her classic tone, and says:

“Actually, those are not crackers – they are trees! “

“So, what is that thing on top of the trees?” I ask

“Those are fountains!” “Oh … and the hearts say you love us right?” I ask pleading for her to endorse at least one intepretation of ours. She does no such thing and scoffs at me and declares – “Those are flowers – some are heart shaped, but there are trees, fountains and flowers with sad and happy faces!”

And, that is the artistic touch of the future! I think the whole family needs to attend some classes in Art.

Having said that, we sat down last night after dinner preparing Valentine Day Cards for all of my daughter’s friends in her class. While I joked about how I did not classify the activity as important enough to rank high up in our list, I enjoyed it all the same. It made a nice change from the regular. She drew little pictures in every card and wrote out her name arduously. She particularly liked to draw Saturn for some vague reason, and I must say, it was one of her better attempts at drawing. (That is saying something!). So she drew Saturn on a couple of cards. I am not sure whether Cupid and Sani “Bhagawan” have any qualms, but if they did, my daughter just took a brave stab at attaining mythological peace.

More than the cards and the drawing, I like to think of Valentine’s Day as a day of love – I am pleased to hear that similar sentiments are being voiced elsewhere too. Instead of marking a day for lovers, it is nice to mark a day of love for all your friends and family.

So, here it is: Happy Valentine’s Day – may Love spread and eradicate the darkness of hatred!

I like being a sandwich!

The daughter had a chest phlegm and a cough. We heard vivid descriptions of her friend, drinking 3 coloured medicines everyday! She has red Tylenol in the morning, purple Tylenol in the evening and pink Tylenol at night. As a parent, I can intepret this to mean 3 different medications, possibly anti-biotics, for a bacterial infection, and further that the said friend was coughing like her. So, off to the Doctor’s office she went.

“Good Evening Honey! How are you?”
“I’m fine!”
“So, do you have any little brothers and sisters”, asked the Doctor by way of making conversation, and probably checking to see if they were any more minions waiting to be treated.
“No…just me”
“But, you know I have a little sister – she is 3 and half in India. And I have another sister – but she is 5 and a half” (My nieces, and yes, the “half” components of their age are very important. )

“So, she comes home and regales the conversation, and says – “I am in the middle, like a sandwich!”
I join in and tell her, I am in the middle too. I have an elder sister and a younger brother, so I am a sandwich too!

“Yeah! I like being a sandwich!!” we yelp and the doctor rests easy in her knowledge of my four and half year old’s 3.5 and 5.5. year old sisters from a different continent and we are happy being the middle layer of a sandwich – it is a complex world!

PS: And all, this conversation has made me hungry. I think I will go and make myself half a sandwich (the half is very important!)

Anthropologists are forever finding evidence on some tablet or inside some godforsaken cave, telling us all about life in the era. I mean when we see caves full of paintings showing tigers being strung with a sleek bow and arrow, we know that the cavemen weren’t launching supersonic jets, followed by rockets to the moon and just dumbing themselves down in the paintings. They really were slaying tigers with sophisticated weapons of their time such as bows and arrows. Then, as time went on, people discovered the funny thing that starts with an ‘h’, that essentially is between drawing and script writing, and used that to depict what was going on. Mythology grew from a combination of bad paintings and imaginative minds. There was some record-keeping albeit one left more to imagination than to facts, but something.

The clay tablets yielded slowly to the tree bark, and the cryptic grew more descriptive. The three barks became parchment rolls and then the Chinese saved the day by coming up with paper. So far so good – you see paper, you can figure out what is written there. You see a tree bark with a sign engraved
Z *big heart sign* X, and can figure out that Z loves or loved X, and was daft enough to proclaim love on a tree bark, after probably getting his or her hand chiseled a couple of times with the rough stone used to engrave their undying love. But, we still know what happened, so long as the bark survives, we know that Z and X were in love at some point.

The printing press and full blown books were a blessing. Suddenly, everything you needed to know about any nook and corner of the world was available in some book somewhere. Then, you did not even need books to get information, all you needed was access to the net. E-reading became cool. Now as we move on towards paperless functioning, a most disturbing thought just struck me, and I do not wish to be taken frivolously here. I am as serious as a rabbit running from a fox on a wintry night can be.

What if future historians are like me? It could very well happen that one gene triumphs in the coming generations and that gene is my technology retarded gene, couldn’t it? It is not that I can’t operate technology – I just can’t keep pace. By the time, I figure out how to use the remote to change the setting on one contraption, the remote changes, or worse the contraption is gone. Let me think of some gramophone records that my father prided himself on – in fact, I reluctantly got him to get rid of the foghorn after decades, knowing that we could never listen to another gramophone record again, and the space is better used in conserving the tape recorder for the next 2 decades, before it too meets the same fate.

So, some songs that were only there in the gramophone records no longer exists, same for some songs on tape too. You get the picture. Now, with the internet, and the blogosphere, most news and creative writing as moved to the e-medium. What if future generations are unable to retrieve these great gems of the era- voltages may change, servers change, the electronic medium destroys just as soon as it creates.

Well, I suppose the graffiti on the world heritage sites would still tell us who loves who, but what if future archaeologists only get the Harry Potter books, and believe life was that – they have no method of knowing it was a fantasy world.

I haven’t even started on the Modern Art phenomenon yet. If those were the paintings left for interpretation, I can barely imagine what it would come out as.
Pray tell me what you can make out of this?http://www.milesmodernart.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/04/modern-art-41108-24×48-w.jpg

I can almost hear you sigh that if these are the kind of gems of writing the future is missing, they are better off without it. But I stand by my notion that 50 years from now, when there is no paper, record retrieval will be all the more difficult, and a blip in Earth’s history – 500 years later, that era might well be a dark one

PS: Ahhhh..hieroglyphics that is the “h-word”
PS1: How curious it is that I typed this blog out, and then couldn’t connect to the net to publish it, and had to snuggle up to the husband to help me?

See what I mean and what I fear for?

I noticed a number of times when I have been granted ownership of the vast landmass of America, including its culture, population, interests and quirks.

I find any objective questioning and/or reasoning can grant me ownership.

All I have to do is hang on to my mother’s hand and question why on earth she is preparing Payasam for the n-th time, and she would say her voice dripping with incredulity – “In YOUR America, you may do it differently, but we make payasam when the son-in-law visits. “

“Yes….but this is technically part of the same visit, we just went out yesterday! Besides, do remember that I am very much an Indian citizen. Should I show you my passport?”

“I cannot serve food without sweets when the sons-in-law are here!” she would voice in a tone of finality, and go about gathering the ingredients anyway.

“There’s another thing! Why do you have to serve? People can perfectly serve themselves!” I say to no one in particular. But since I now own all of America, why should I worry about who serves anybody else food?

When I am not visiting India, I can still feel rich anytime! All I have to do is call home. 70% of the time, It would be the occasion of some festival. We don’t begrudge any of the 3500 Gods/Goddesses their birthdays, or anniversaries or the general tendency to want to keep awake through the night. There is of course a special sweet dish to mark every occasion, and all I have to do is ask the reason for that particular savoury on “X Jayanthi” or “Y Krittikai” and immediately America becomes mine!

In MY America, I don’t have to do anything – except get to work early in the morning, slog through the day and jog back home for a back-to-back session with classes and children and the dishwashing and the cleaning and the cooking.

Green chillies always bear the brunt of a sore person’s temper at the food table and rightfully so in my opinion. There are certain cooks and cook’s assistants who cut all the vegetables and the chillies in exactly the same dimensions. While I like to see vegetables cut a certain way, there are certain types, especially chillies that I like to see stick out! It is also for this reason, that I don’t take endearingly to the chilli hidden in the omelet or the oothappam. That to me is guerilla warfare.

When I am having lunch, you can visualize a person who stuffs food in the opening where usually the mouth resides. One day if my nose were to shift downwards, I would be in a sorry state indeed. I gape at the computer screen, and immerse myself in the mundane-surfing routine that my lunch time allows me to do.

So, you can safely assume that I am not on a chilli-weeding routine while tackling my lunch. I might catch a peek of the dangerous thing if I were expecting it, but the hiding in batter/egg variety freaks me out. One minute, I am stuffing the faithful mouth, and the next I am shooting up from my seat with the green from the chilli and the red from the taste coursing through my veins and bursting forth in pink spurts on my face. My nose inexplicably starts watering and so does my mouth. When the nose and mouth do that, the eye feels the compelling need to keep them company and before you know it, you have liquid leaking from all the open pores in the face. I feel my ears turn beetroot, my tongue refusing to quiet down, my hand reaches for the tissue – one for the eyes and another for the nose, because obviously once can’t do for both.

I once read somewhere that drinking hot water quietens your tongue quickly. Nope – now you have the hot water and the burning to deal with! Sugar doesn’t help either. And no, I don’t think honey with warm water would help. What would? Time perhaps.