Tag: Family

đŸ« It’s a đŸ« Plum đŸ« Life! đŸ«

đŸ« It’s Plum Season đŸ«

I’ve written about the Joys of Jam Making.  I do love the fruitful camaraderie from plum season.

I waved at the Fed Ex truck driver as he turned into our street. The son said, urgency dripping in his voice, “Quick ma! Now you’ve established contact – you can give him some plums!”

I stared at him.

A beat.

Then. I started laughing.

The wag!

I have been accosting all those who come home with delicious plums, but this felt a bit much. Plum season in our neighborhood arrives with a splash. Suddenly, there are dozens of plums plopping all over the backyard. Ripe, tasty, beautiful plums.

đŸ« Plums in a Splash đŸ«

I cannot help missing the mater. If she were here, she would be making plum jams, plum chutneys, plum pickles, plum juice, plum rasam till we all heartily felt sick of plums. I myself have been going in and picking up plums by the dozen and bringing them in to share with friends. I can barely understand how quickly the bare tree, bloomed into the prettiest blossoms, and gave in to the light green beautiful leaves before sagging with fruits at every point.

It is a miracle, and yet, every year, I am mesmerized.

One day, I felt three plums hit me from the topmost branch. I was picking those that had fallen, and then realized that these three could have been the handiwork of squirrels. I looked up at them beseechingly. What was the point of all that exciting running around and chasing each other on fences if they weren’t helping out with the plums? As if responding to me, one cheekily stopped and held my stare, as if to say, “I have had my fill. A fella has got to jump and run!”

đŸ« Did You Know? đŸ«

Fruits arriving in bounty are a blessing. The children, despite my best retreats, continue to resist the lure of fruits. Every year I start it up – each time with a different taste-bud related tip. “Did you know? Your taste buds change over time?”

“Did you know having a fiber-rich helping of fruits helps your gut bacteria?”

“Did you know fruits help make you happier because the gut bacteria love digesting them?”

“Did you know this?”

Or

“Did you know that?”

To which, I also receive a plummy reply, “Did you know we don’t like plums?”

What I did not know until recently, is that not all plums dried become prunes. Of course I had a gooey rotting mess before I learnt that particular fact, but apparently, only a certain variety of European plums can be dried to be preserved as prunes. Oh well.

If I could send some plummy goodness via the internet, I would. But as it is, somethings still require physical proximity. But if you are in the vicinity, please stop by. We’ll have a plum time!

Moon, plum blossoms, this, that, and the day goes

Kobayashi Issa

21 Years of Blogging – My Blog is now an Adult!

21 years of blogging

Just like that, my blog has become a proper functioning adult. 

21 years of selectively writing about what matters to an ordinary person. Somehow, reflecting on the writing makes it seem like our lives were more adventurous, humorous, and fun-filled. 

Now, isn’t that a lovely gift? 

I was reading Bill Bryson’s book, The Body, and in it, he says something incredible about memories – that we can predominantly choose what we want to remember. That often our most colorful memories aren’t the original ones at all – but rather deepened by the feeling and retelling of it. We’ve seen it in the stories we love to tell each other all the time. Every time we laugh about our own foibles, it makes the memory a more endearing one, doesn’t it? 

Where am I going with all this?

Curating the blog’s theme

I realize that I am probably tending to what gets on my blog. I tend to actively gravitate towards what I want to cherish in life – beautiful moments, humorous moments, peaceful moments, intellectual moments: in short, moments of awe, curiosity, love, levity, and transformation. The negative rooted out like weeds (which is not to say that I don’t have them. I do, of course. Just in measured quantities on the blog.) 

Anyway.

There are no awards given for 21 years of writing 1-2 blog posts a week, every week for 1092 weeks. 5-9 posts a month for 252 months. The award is the writing, and the wholly generous readers who stop by to wave, hopefully feel a moment of peace, get a laugh or two, and encourage me endlessly. 

So, go ahead – this is a party! 

Get drunk – I mean on the posts in the blog. I don’t actually offer alcohol. Please head on over and randomly click on any month, read a few, and let me know what you think, or you know, just have fun. 

“I mused for a few moments on the question of which was worse, to lead a life so boring that you are easily enchanted, or a life so full of stimulus that you are easily bored.”

― Bill Bryson, Lost Continent: Travels In Small-Town America

Is there more to life?

Is there more to life? Our lives? Most lives? I don’t know. But I know that ‘this one precious life’, as Mary Oliver puts it demands our attention. What you value, and what you remember over the moments of your life, becomes you, doesn’t it?

To pay attention, this is our endless and proper work. – Mary Oliver

P.S: WordPress tells me I have a significant achievement: World Domination – for receiving visitors from over 150 countries – with the sweet caption: The United Nations has nothing on you.

The Gravitas of Governance

The Paradox of Fame

We were in Washington D C – traveling on spring break.

Like the son said one morning as we legged it from the Senator Hart Building to the Capitol Building for a tour, “Anyone on this street could be an important person huh? A senator, judge, lawyer!” 

I paused at this – this was true. That guy shoveling a bagel into his mouth could be representing a state in the senate. That man, with an important looking suit and tie, and a crooked nose, could be working on the next piece of legislation. That woman with the heels could be presenting something today. 

Some of these folks were famous even. We just didn’t seem to know them. Huh? That is an interesting perspective of fame isn’t it? You can be thoroughly famous and yet be in the company of somebody who has never heard of you. Maybe we should ask a famous person what they think of this particular paradox. Does it seem freeing, or does it hurt their ego? Even if the answer completely depends on the person and their development/maturity in life, it would be lovely to explore this angle.

“Ma! Come! We’re going to miss the signal!” The son said, and we bustled off too. 

The Capitol Building

Later in the day, after the Capitol building tour, we were in line waiting to watch the House of Representatives and Senate in action. This, arguably, was the most exciting part of the day for the son, who likes the sort of thing that I tend to glaze over. Like what percentage of votes guaranteed a motion, or whatever it is that excites all those suit-wearing folks we had seen bustling to and fro in the morning. 

 

Wynken, Blynken & Nod

“Let’s go! “ The doors had opened, and we were being ushered into the House of Representatives to watch the session in action. I do not know what I had been expecting. But it was not what I was seeing. That much was clear.

We watched folks socialize and make small talk for quite some time. Were they showing each other pictures of their grandkids? Then, the session started, and at first, the son & I thought we were in on a joke. The updates from one state included the baseball high school league that had a good season? Fascinating? Yes. Informational? Depends on the kind of information that excites you. Stimulating? NO. 

A few more updates like this, and I was nodding off. I may have dreamt of penguins, but it could have been the pictures I saw on instagram before heading into the House of Representatives. After some time, the penguin grew a bony hand and nudged me deep. I jolted awake. There was a person who was somewhat passionately talking about the ICE, and the son thought it might be more interesting than the baseball updates.

We had a somewhat more fruitful senate session. In both the House of Representatives and the Senate, the only person who showed any sign of animation was the stenographer, who was typing everything with remarkable speed, and not relying on AI recordings at all as far as we could tell. She was on a typewriter after all. 

Flashback Time

The son & I exchanged glances. This was nothing like the West Wing episodes we’d watched. Where were the scurrying and worried looking staff lobbying folks in the hallway just as they walked into the voting rooms? 

“Reminds me of the time I was all excited to go visit a courtroom with my cousin when I was ten or eleven.” The son looked at me to see if I was sleep-talking and sleep-walking. “I had only seen court room scenes in movies, and they all looked impressive as they made impassioned arguments, perfectly quoted and researched in a speech style that bowled the audience over. Then, I go there, and I see a bunch of them mumbling here, and then moving over and mumbling something there. Then the judge came and he mumbled something. There was a stenographer who kept typing – god knows what. Then the court adjourned. I was so stunned!” He laughed. 

“Yes, it was a bit like that today huh? But I supposed we came on an unimportant day.”, he said, ever the voice of reason and looking at the possibilities and leaning into the considerate side of things. I smiled at him.

“All this politicking has made me hungry.” I said, and we both agreed. The next stop was the famous food trucks. “They might actually have more insta followers than the senators!” I said cackling, and the son looked around to make sure there were no affronted senators around. “Relax! They are busy enjoying their lunch!” I said pointing to some folks in suits and formal wear. 

Law-making, governance and structure are all ventures with gravitas: what would we do if we didn’t have levity to brighten our days?

The Grind Before the Grand

I suppose the most important take-away from the day was how the day-to-day affairs of even the most glamorous sounding places is nothing but one moment after another. Showing up. Doing the work. Being present. The grand sometimes comes, but the grind has got to be put in.

The Beauty of Butterflies

It was one of those beautiful days March casually throws at you. When in one of these days, it is almost easy to forget that there are unbearably hot days or bitingly cold days – and what’s more you might have endured them as recently as the previous day or week. Halcyon days.

On one such day, I had no idea how I found myself sitting on a park bench and watching a butterfly. Well I do – always pottering about on a day like this, aren’t I? A neighbor caught sight of me after I had wandered around for a bit, and laughed, “I was wondering why you aren’t fluttering about with the butterflies, and there you are!”

Ectothermic Poikilotherms

Anyway, the butterfly was beautiful – aren’t they all? I remembered something I had read about butterflies. Jogging the science lessons in the old brain – They are ectotherms. Err… that means they do not exactly preserve heat well. Technically they are ectothermic poikilotherms. Seems like a such a heavy term to describe such light creatures, no? Like naming a baby Rajavardhan Gopikrishna Muthu Narasimhan, when Chikku would’ve done the trick.

I watched as it flitted about in the sunlight clearly trying to catch the sun’s rays and get a good days’ work in. I envied it somewhat. I myself had no intention but to bask in the glory of the day outside, not to head inside and look at some documents and spreadsheets. After a while, its industriousness must’ve rubbed off on me for I made my way in.

The Day’s Achievement

I can’t say I achieved much. But maybe that was the day’s achievement: imagine how marvelous it would be to answer the question: What did you achieve today?

With this:

Well, I mused upon a butterfly’s wings, and admired its flight.
I wondered whether it preferred the pink cherry blossoms to the white ones.
I wondered whether the rose bush or the lavender patch tempted it more.
I wondered whether the vegetable patch held any appeal.
I wanted to ask it which succulents flower had sweeter nectar – the aloe vera or the ruby lips.

In the end, I did none of that. Too lethargic to even whip out my phone for a good picture of it flitting. The images fluttering behind my eyelids are enough.

“The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.” — Rabindranath Tagore

Maybe that is the gift of the butterfly. In revelling in the present.

Bosco Ramos: The Dog Who Became a Mayor

The Stress & Strife of Political Life

Political life has never held much sway for me. Too many pitfalls, crests and troughs. I think there are far too many people wanting their own agendas taken care of, that makes it hard to sail straight. If everything someone does for you has an ulterior motive, it must endlessly exhausting for one wanting to live a quiet and straight sort of life.

Of course, there are those who enjoy navigating those very waters and are good at them too. More power to them. Then, there are those who do none of this and enjoy the arm-twisting and the power-trips. The more unscrupulous the better: for those this pursuit would probably be invigorating rather than draining.

What I am saying is this, and it is profound – the kind of thing that when given up as a truth from a crowd-wooing politician gets standing ovations: It takes all sorts to make up the world.

So, imagine my surprise, when I really wanted to meet the mayor, but could only take a picture with his statue.

Meet Bosco Ramos.

He served as the Mayor of Sunol for 13 years – from 1981 – 1994.

He won by a landslide raking in over 62% of the votes.

https://localnewsmatters.org/2020/12/14/how-a-dog-bosco-ramos-became-the-most-loved-mayor-of-sunol-in-the-80s/

If you had a bone to pick with him, he was there mingling among the residents in local pubs and restaurants almost every evening. For a political career to be scandal-free, it takes an enormous strength of character, which Bosco Ramos obviously had.

It is too bad that he died 13 years into his career.

Bosco Ramos in Calafia

I might’ve thought this was an article worthy of The Onion, but it’s true. One serendipitous day, we found ourselves meandering in the small town of Sunol, and there, right outside the Sunol Post Office is a statue of Mayor Bosco Ramos. He was a black labrador-rottweiler mix, and defeated two human-beings in the race for Mayor. 

You should’ve seen the son’s face when he found out more about this dog-mayor. His penchant for History is unsatiable: He is forever coming up to Yours Truly with fun-facts, and trivia such as: “Amma, did you know? California was named after a character called Calafia from the book written by <some long name>” (Garci RodrĂ­guez de Montalvo) 

He transformed into an enthusiastic puppy himself, yipping and yapping to have his photograph taken with the former mayor.

Image Courtesy: By Pedro Xing – Own work, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24008072

An Ode to Roger

I’d like to read more about Bosco Ramos. Was he a good companion when one was out on a nature walk? Did he hurry things along when the conversation started to get belligerent, or was he quite ready to bark an order or two?

I was reminded of Gerald Durrell’s companion, Roger:

In those early days of exploration Roger was my constant companion. He was the perfect companion for an adventure, affectionate without exuberance, brave without being belligerent, intelligent and full of good humored tolerance for my eccentricities.

family_other_animals

He goes on to say about Roger – who sounds like the ideal companion anyone could wish for, that:
If I slipped when climbing a dew shiny bank, Roger appeared suddenly, gave a snort that sounded like suppressed laughter, a quick look over, a rapid lick of commiseration, shook herself, sneezed and gave me his lopsided grin. If I found something that interested me – an ant’s nest, a caterpillar on a leaf, a spider wrapping up a fly in swaddling clothes of silk – Roger sat down and waited until I had finished examining it.

Now – what is preventing similar miracles from happening on a larger scale? Why can we not aspire to having more loyal, loving, patient leaders in all the important places?

The Magic Faraway Tree

I loved the Inside Out 2 movie – the one in which the newly minted teenager has a new range of emotions available to her, and the old ones either have a tough time acknowledging them or making space for them. In the movie, Nostalgia comes knocking the door too, and the other emotions all tell her that she’s got time. Nostalgia is for when you get older. 

Well, guess I have gotten older. December has become the time for nostalgia.

While younger, the Decembers seemed far and few between. But as I grew older, I noticed a familiar lament in my December posts – “Where did the year go?” Did it really go all that quickly? Every year, I asked the same – only I seem to be asking it more frequently. It is all very confusing. 

A time for nostalgia:

When I was around knee high, it was the time I waited to clamber up the Magic Faraway tree in my imagination. Winter vacations meant lots of winds, and rains thanks to the North East Monsoons in Nilgiris. This was the perfect excuse to imagine going to visit strange worlds everyday over the clouds, and far away. I am really excited to see that the movie about The Magic Faraway Tree is finally coming in Mar 2026. 

The Magic Faraway Tree | Official Teaser Trailer | Claire Foy, Andrew Garfield

I would love to see what they do with a generation of adults who all were enthralled with the stories, and are now trying to convince their children to try it out. But those of us who grew up loving the stories of Moonface, Silky, Saucepan Man and the many lands above the tree can relate to the term ‘life-changing’ being used for this series. I confess that when I gaze up redwood trees and tall giants,  I wonder about the lands above the clouds.

A time for resolutions:

We live in an era of social media. I don’t think there is any escaping that. I don’t know where we go from here. But what we thought of as spheres of influence etc are fluid, and not at all easy to understand. 

So, I thought about grand resolutions like ‘No social media’ etc, but I wanted to do something that wasn’t the equivalent of sticking my head in the sand and hoping the storm would blow away. 

It occurred to me while watching the trailer for The Magic Faraway Tree movie. It is a bold move to try to capture the magic of what a generation of adults felt as children in movie-form. After all, it was our generation that was enthralled with Enid Blyton’s Magic Faraway Tree. I know I have had to convince my children to read the books, because they had Harry Potter growing up. 

How easy is it to judge or critique someone? So instead this year, I am going to try and appreciate all that goes into making bold moves. The adults who grew up loving The Magic Faraway Tree will be the bulk of the movie-goers. Many of these adults would have navigated life for a few decades now – some world weary waiting to see if the world still can bring that touch of magic to them, some cynical to the point of wondering whether there is anything good left in this world, some still hopeful and loving – nurturing the soft wondrous parts of life in them. The movie has to kindle magic in all of them. That is a bold move.

What are you nostalgic about and what are your resolutions for the New Year?

Social Media Cringe Scales

Going… Going …

“What do you think I should put up today?” the son asked us one evening. The daughter was home for the Thanksgiving break too, and we were making more noise than was necessary while snacking and exchanging the news of the day. 

“How about this? Going 
. Going 
. “ I held up my phone, showing him some of my pictures of fall colors on the phone. When had he become this much taller than me? The beautiful fall colors glistened and sparkled, and I could feel my nerves dancing with the rays of the sun shining through them. 

“Amma! That’s – there’s no need to be all poetic and cringe.”

“What’s cringe about that? The fall colors are going
going
 but not yet gone. Huh?! Get it? Not yet gone!” 

Scales of Cringe

He rolled his eyes. I swear his eyes roll more when his sister is around. I have statistical evidence. 

There are categories of social media posts apparently. They fall in scales of cringe, try-hards, to meh. One child who wished her father a happy birthday was in the try-hard category. I found that unfair. “Come on! So sweet of the child to wish her father. You know? That reminds me – where’s my post wishing me on my birthday huh?”

The pair of them exchanged looks that suggested I’d lost it, and giggled some more.

“So what if you have a few posts on the scale of 6-7?” I said, looking as smug as it was possible for me to look, while attempting the cool, nonchalant look.

“On my goodness! Did you just? I can’t – okay! That’s going to be my post. My mom just made a 6-7 joke!” he said clutching his stomach and laughing. 

My Mom!

I narrowed my eyes at the fellow. “There’s no need to say ‘my mom!’ in that tone of voice.”

He laughed some more, and the daughter ruffled his hair, looking proud.

“I am not sure I appreciate this your-mom thing being used as an insult.”

“I know your mom wouldn’t either!” the daughter said, cackling some more, and joining in.

I huffed and I puffed and drew myself to new heights. 

The daughter patted me patronizingly on the head, and said, “Now now Mother! There is no need to be all small and mighty!” 

I gave up. Newly minted high-schoolers and newly minted adults having ice creams with chocolate chips and melted brownies crushed up in them, cannot be expected to be sane. My mom would agree. 

Bring in the Horses!

“We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable. So did the divine right of kings. Any human power can be resisted and changed by human beings. Resistance and change often begin in art, and very often in our art, the art of words.”

Ursula K. Le Guin

What will we fill our heads with?

This is an oft remembered quote for me. Every time I see patterns of behavior that I hope will be changed for humanity’s arc, I think of this. Sometimes, in order for things to change, it has to reach levels of intolerable.

Maybe that is where the attention industry will reach, and it this feeling of overwhelm that will herald in a new system of reward.

We had our hands full with survival in humanity’s infancy,  
   we filled our heads with myths and legends of heroism, superhuman strength, superhuman abilities.

We evolved and figured out ways of relatively sustainable food sources, 
   we filled our heads with epics, art, and music.

We figured out mass production,
   we  filled our heads with science fiction and fantasy seeking out other planets, other environments.

We figured out how to amass our thoughts and search/retrieve with ease, 
   we filled our heads with social media.

We are figuring out meta-cognition,
   what will we fill our heads with then?

Some days it isn’t the woodpecker who brings on the musing. It is the memory of a gas station.

The gas-station quandary

I had stopped the other day at a gas station (for gas – the clarification is necessary. These days we can stop at gas stations for milk, chips, entertainment and so much more) . Now, I don’t know about you, but I usually like to see the steady increase in the gas the tank is taking in. 12.00, 12.11, 12.12, 12.13, 12.14, 12.14, 12.15, 12.16.

A smile on my face when I see our car gulp in the gas like it’s a thirsty horse after a long run. The silly comparison makes me cringe a little, yes, but then I had seen a few horses trot in their pasture once just before stopping to fill gas, and often when the mind wanders at a gas station, I think of these chestnut beauties throwing their manes back and feeling the breeze.

But the other day, my attention was pulled towards a screen perched over the meter showing me advertisements on what they think should occupy my attention for the three minutes I was there. Combined with all the flashing billboards, and the moving screens, and the flashing games mobile phones are full off, I felt off-kilter. 

How did we get here? 

When did attention become such an important commodity that we sacrifice almost everything at its altar? Peace, quiet, steady study, calm, concerted effort – everything giving way to drama, loudness, frenzied movement, and quick reward systems. 

What can be done so that the opposite is rewarded again? For it is clear we are driven by reward. 

Can there be a small quiet reward to our brain when we quieten a loud intrusive distraction? 

Bring in the horses

I smiled at that. “Monkey brain!”, I chided myself. Though I have to admit, I am not sure what the attention span of monkeys are. I hope monkey mothers are not yelling at their children as we speak – “Human-brain! Distracted all the time. Swing. Leap. Onward and forward!”

I forced myself to bring in the mental image of the horses I had seen all those years ago before getting to a gas station, and they came. Reluctantly at first. CNN was asking me to get affronted about something, and thoughts of monkeys and horses could not pull me away easily. But they finally did. They cantered into the mind’s eye, like William Wordsworth swaying daffodils, and the brain quietened down. The green pastures the horses trotted in bursting with flowers, and I felt a calm. By the time I pulled out of the gas station, I had needed help from a menagerie to pluck my attention.

What would it take to become focused on something so beautiful and deep, that nothing matters?

How many of you are flibberty-gibbets? What would the social order be to reward that and what would be incentive enough to disrupt our current trend?

A Timely Prank

“We have all been a little low on sleep lately!”, I whine to the brother who is asking me why I sound like a cactus.

His brows raised in question. Well. May have. But I know his facial expressions well enough. When his foliage moves, it means he is conveying something.

“Well – your little nephew has gone and joined the Athletics Team, which means he opts for the 5:00 a.m. practices on some days. So, there I am moonwalking at that godly hour!” A loud laugh startles out of him at that, and it takes me a minute to realize the unwitting pun there.

“Literally da! I slept only by 1:30 after my nightly reading etc, and was up again at 5 and walking under the divine light of the stars!” I said.

Remember the prank?

“Huh! Life does come a full circle. Do you remember us doing the same thing to you once? Oh! Remember the prank?!”

I didn’t. Sleep deprived. Cactus-like symptoms. Also old.

The son, on the other hand is agog. “What is it Maama?”

“Well – your mother was always getting up early to go and train for athletics. Wouldn’t let any of us snooze in. 6 a.m out in the fields. Very annoying. So one time, we decided to prank her. Remember this was the time before smart phones. We relied on clocks – wall-clocks, alarm clocks and grandfather clocks for the time. So, we changed all the clocks. And woke her up at 2:00 a.m. “ He stops to chuckle at the memory. I am beginning to remember it now. The knuckle head.

“She got ready, wore her shorts and tee etc – not once glancing out of the window. It is only when she steps outside with her shoes that she realized that it isn’t dawn yet. No pinkening of the skies. No birds chirping. Nothing.”

The son looks far too pleased at this reminiscence. “That’s awesome Maama! That’s so cool! “

“Yep!” The smug Maama in question preens at this. A satisfied baritone to his voice as he says. “It was truly priceless. She was too tired to be angry, too sleepy to be anything, and she just fell asleep – just like that with all her athletic gear on. “

Careful!

I smiled at the memory. It was coming back to me. That was funny!

“Serious respect for all the work Maama- changing the clocks! Staying awake.” The awe in the son’s voice. Goodness!

“Careful! I might do the same to you one day!” I said in my most threatening voice, and they both laugh. 

How easy it is to flit between decades? There is something comforting in the rhythm of life and circle-of-life and all of that isn’t there? The son skipped to school, satisfied with his morning story from maama, still chuckling at his yawning mama. 

I need a nap.

Ephemeral Fashion: The Humor in Childhood Wardrobes

We were sitting around waiting for an event to start, huddled under a shamiyana-like structure. The rain was pouring – the way it pours in the Nilgiris. All the metaphors and mythos of Great Rains seem very likely, and just like that the skies clear up, and one wonders what happened. Where the rains went and how life goes on as though nothing happened. Dramatic skies are truly nature’s mystics. 

Anyway, there we were, sitting around under a canopy waiting for the event to begin, when a young fellow walked past us in his too-big uniform. The seams of his pants were getting wet from the puddles from the recent rains, his shoes a size bigger, his blazer two sizes bigger, and I couldn’t help smiling. 

I caught the smile on my friends faces too, and we exchanged a quiet moment of reflection. How as children, we were really never properly dressed. All our new clothes were slightly big. Prudence, economic necessity, environmental concerns – whatever the name given, ‘too big’ was the style. 

Goldilocks Style

There was a phase in life when we were dressed in either too-big-new-clothes or too-small-old-clothes. Goldilocks could’ve had a philosophical lesson or two if she’d stopped by and seen us. Life truly taught us the beauty of ephemeral pleasures with clothes – that brief, all-too-quick time when your clothes fit perfectly is never long enough to feel well-dressed. Sigh. 

“Those dreaded hand-me-downs!” I said and shuddered, exchanging a look with the sister, and she gave me one of her joyous cackles. You see? The sister and I have very different bone structures. Hers was what my mother approved of and called Healthy. Mine, on the other hand, made my mother scrunch up her nose, and wonder about what she could be doing better to help things along. But such is fate. The sister’s hand-me-downs, therefore, swamped my scrawny frame (Oh! How I miss those days of being nonchalantly petite and being able to tuck into stacks of buttered toasts without a second thought?!). I perennially looked like I was dressed in pillow covers. Very house-elfish fashions for Yours Truly. 

Nostalgia

That’s how we found ourselves going down the path of “Oh gosh – do you remember?”

And “It should’ve been outlawed. Remember when 
” 

The mother was a self taught seamstress and she spent her evenings after school (she was also a high school Physics and Maths teacher) sitting and stitching all manner of clothes for her children and herself. The father escaped. Men’s fashions were where she drew the line. The lucky man! 

https://nourishncherish.org/2012/06/12/what-the-well-dressed-man-is-wearing/

It was a matter of great pride for my mother who learnt tailoring so she could stitch our clothes, alter them when necessary etc.

Frilly Fashions

The mother had no access to fashion magazines, and in those days of Doordarshan, one could not get many inspirations from television either. So there we were. There was a phase when she learned how to stitch Frills. Victorian tailors couldn’t compete when she was in this phase. All our clothes had frills all over.  Years later, I pointed to one monstrous pink dress in a photograph, and asked her what she was thinking of, and she looked confused. 

“Frills made you look bigger and better. “ she said.

Obviously. No irony, no sarcasm. I didn’t have the heart to tease her then. She was still so proud of her frills. Never mind that it made me look like a strawberry in pineapple clothing.

When finally I put my foot down and refused any more of her creations, she conceded to have the school tailor, Paada, stitch our clothes. A distinct improvement but still not exactly fashionable. Where would he get ideas in a village nestled in the Nilgiris with a population of less than a 1000 people?

I can’t tell you how grateful I was for uniforms. As we sat there looking at growing children dressed in slightly loose and big clothes, I felt like the universe really does have a sense of humor.

I truly understand now Bertie Wooster’s pride in his article he submitted to Aunt Dahlia’s newspapers on ‘What the Well-Dressed Man is Wearing’. Trying to capture the ephemeral is what Art is all about, isn’t it?