Tag: Humour

The I-Miss-Hawaii Craving

We are just back from a wonderful trip to the vowel islands of Maui and Kauai in Hawaii.  Our eyes only need to close to pull up those magnificent beaches, trails and lookouts. We are not quite ready to be back in our zone yet, and sigh wistfully of the many things done and to be done on subsequent trips. (I can see the husband rearing up and saying ‘What?!’ )

Hawaii1

Whilst there, one early morning, the husband and daughter decided to go snorkeling in the ocean with a boat full of people, while the toddler son and I were left hovering on the shores waving goodbye to the adventurers in life vests. The boat turned and chopped its way out to sea. I glanced at the watch: the time was only 7:30 a.m. after all the elaborate goodbyes. I turned around to the son and said, “Hmm. Shall we go and have some breakfast and take a long walk?”

The son threw his arms up in the air and said, “Yeah! Oaks!”

Now, before you kindly point out to me that Oak trees are not endemic to Hawaii, (http://www.ask.com/explore/trees-native-hawaii) I would like to clarify that what the son is referring to is not the Oak as in tree or shrub in the genus Quercus (/ˈkwɜrkəs/;[1] Latin ) “oak tree”. He is referring to Oats as in Quaker Oats to be slurped down with milk for breakfast. My little man there wants his nourishment, not like the daughter, who will willingly go on for three days smelling a wrapper of chocolate, every few hours,  as sustenance . The son wants his meals. He is clear. He may not eat much, but he needs his nourishment on time.

I laughed and told him we may not be able to get oaks, but how about something else?

“Idli mammum!” he exclaims. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Idli) 

I tell you, you can take a South Indian to Hawaii, but you can’t squash the idlis out of him. I assured him, I will find something that he likes to eat and we got going.

I looked around for a coffee shop.

Seeing none, I made towards a store that had Whales displayed in the windows, because I thought the large animals would fascinate him, and I could ask for directions to a good coffee place there. We were near the store when he saw something that made his heart soar. The whales may be fascinating, but the thing that got the son’s attention was a packet of chips he calls Red chips (Doritos). “I likes this chips Amma” he said beaming. The whales can wait, but these chips, not a chance, he seemed to be saying. I know a good thing when I see one and promptly got him a packet of chips. He was a merry, content being for the time being and the pair of us browsed through the store.

We grazed among the trinkets and stood admiring paintings and books on whales, dolphins and oysters. We even stopped to admire the cuddly, plush toys laid out in perfect order. I picked up a couple of knick-knacks as gifts and stepped over to the counter when the old man behind the counter told me that I had the most adorable child in all of the population that ever visited his little trinket store. I was surprised. Really? Well, okay. If he was going to give the compliments without prodding, who am I to resist? Apparently, other children his age routinely created havoc with his merchandise. I smiled politely. It was nice of him to say so. “Especially little Indian boys!” he said shaking his head sadly. I was taken aback. What did he mean by little Indian boys, but I let the generalization pass, and smiled at him. “This boy has a disciplined and focussed mind.” said the man with a smile.

I looked down at the son, his forehead wrinkled in concentration at trying to extricate the next chip without chipping off pieces and straightened up to face the man and thanked him for his kind words.

I didn’t tell him the role the packet of chips had played in the focus-and-discipline part. Some things are better left unsaid. 

PS: The idli craving was only met after we came back to our home and launched ourselves at the menu at Saravana Bhavan. The I-miss-Hawaii craving can only be appeased when we go there next, what?!

Hawaii3

Hawaii2

The Siri Philosophy

It was a wonderful week-end morning and the family was lounging about the house as usual. The husband tried to stir us into action, but his attempts were feeble. He was too happy to be sitting and playing chess on his laptop or looking at some of the excellent things that people have to say on Facebook. Even if one were the strapping, active kind, one look at the daughter in her pajamas, hair looking straggly with a well-worn Harry Potter book in hand, would set you down firmly against taking action and let things be. The son and I were sending toy cars zipping down the highway in the living room. Even Time seemed reluctant to move on.

I must pluck you from this torpidity and show you what happens when the husband thinks we are not doing anything. Take for example a drive in the car : Point A to Point B. There we are, all buckled up like good citizens and looking out the window dreaming or thinking about something. The daughter is most probably thinking of the book she was reading last or the TV show she was watching.  The son drinks in the welcome sight of cars and trucks on the road, like an elephant out on a saunter in New York City. I am either looking out the window enjoying the scenery or fiddling about with something in my handbag (there is always a real estate issue in my handbag). The husband casts one sideways glance and I know what is coming even before the words have left his mouth. He takes it upon himself to employ our time better. He shoves a cellphone in my hand and says, “Look at the alternate routes to get to Point B.”

I was naive enough to do this before, but not anymore. “What is wrong with this route?” I ask.

“Nothing, there may be traffic in this route.”

I don’t see any traffic snarls up ahead, so I refuse to check out alternate routes. To this, he adds, okay check the current route for traffic and see whether we need to change our route. I have now figured out the only thing that shoots this line of thought in the bud. “Shall I drive?” I ask innocently. He gasps and clasps his steering wheel with love and says no more.

I saw a similar glance now, when he looked up from the laptop. I put on a seriously busy face and rushed the toy cars about like nothing before and made a fake police car siren and weaved the police car through the traffic. The husband saw that there being no need for spurring me to activity just yet, went after the daughter, who still was looking blissful in her pajamas. “Check the weather forecast for the next few days.” , he told her.

A few minutes later, I heard a loud conversation going on with Siri. The daughter thinks Siri is hard of hearing, uses an ineffective hearing aid, and does a fair bit of lip reading to understand her. She shouts out her questions at it in slow, exaggerated mouth movements.

SIRI. WHAT. ARE. YOU. DOING.

Siri is patient with her usually and answers nonsense or picks from links on the web. A little while later, I heard her boom out that the temperature is going to be in the 80’s and very warm in the coming days. But the conversation with Siri was not over yet. She was going on with it like a long lost friend marooned on an island and dying for her company.

WHY. DO. YOU. THINK. SO. SIRI.

It is at times like this that I doubt the machine learning algorithmic part. For Siri’s response was “You look at things that are there and ask ‘Why?’. I dream of things that aren’t there and ask ‘Why not?’”

This response was clearly too philosophical for the daughter, for she asked Siri to not get ‘technical’ on her.

Screen Shot 2014-04-08 at 12.36.05 PM

The husband, in the meanwhile, is now curious to see how Android performs for the same thing and whips out his Android device. An all-out Android Vs. Apple war is set to take place in the living room. Poor Android now not only has to compete against Siri, but has the added disadvantage of a South Indian accent thrown at it in normal conversational tones.

“What is the temperature like in the next few days?” asks the husband.

Android disappoints him by saying that it cannot understand the question. A few more tries get him vague answers. “What question did you ask Siri for the temperature?” asks the husband of the daughter. The daughter shakes her head and says he is going about the whole thing in a wrong manner. “You know? Warm up to it first, get friendly, and then ask the questions. You have a better chance of getting the right answers.” she says firmly.

I think I have enough philosophy to last me a few days and take off for a shower. Get friendly with Siri. My foot.

The Circle of Research

I am speaking of research almost as if it were a breathing force like Life itself, and bear with me while I lay out my thinking for you. We have all heard many times before the great Circle of Life and whenever we see our progeny show traits from long forgotten ancestors, we smile indulgently and invoke the sacred chant of the Circle of Life. Why then, do I attempt to use the same term for the circle of research?

It is because I have seen this a hundred times before. One day, I get up fresh to the breaking research that fats are bad for me and that anything other than fat is good. So, I toughen my resolve and gorge on potatoes and rice to keep me alive. It is a sacrifice staying away from the butter and the ghee, but I do so, because my well-being in very important, and I must do all I can to help the old engine chug along and all that. Sound logic, so far?

Then, along comes the next piece of research that tells me that carbohydrates are bad and gasp! The potatoes and rice that I have been eating with a sense of sacrifice, have been doing nothing but harm to me. There is a state of great panic and the research articles tell me that whatever I do, I must lay off the carbohydrates (long association has formed a close bond with these fellows, but I have to sever ties) and I look away from the fried potatoes to the fried vadas. Apparently, since the vadas don’t have carbohydrates, and are fried in excellent oil, they are nothing but fat and proteins and therefore, very good for my soul.

Life goes on and so does research. I have always been an avid reader of research that helps me quantify whatever I am doing. By these standards, I have been embracing the articles on moderate exercising, fresh air and all the wonderful things that it does to your body. My Google news feed has learnt the kind of things that interest me and only show me things that I like to see.

So, imagine my chagrin that when I used a new laptop, I saw a news item telling me that too much exercise reduces one’s life expectancy. I assure you I am not guilty of too much exercise or excellent eating practices, but what if I was? What if I had embraced exercise and diets according to all those excellent research articles?

http://www.webmd.com/fitness-exercise/news/20140401/too-much-running-tied-to-shorter-lifespan-studies-find

Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to calm my frenzied nerves with a pound of dark chocolate.

The Smartphone Challenge

I had volunteered to help out for the variety show at the daughter’s school and part of the rigmarole was to just keep an eye on some kids for some time. All very vague and intriguing thus far. I stepped smartly into the room, confidence oozing at every step till I drank the scene in front of me. It is surprising the number of ways in which children can affect you. These children had sass and verve, not to mention talent and energy. They were there for a talent show after all. One look into those eyes convinced me that they thought nothing of smashing up the egg crate and making omelets on your head or bundling up stray cats in twin sized bedsheets, but will not do. It did not help that they were dressed up for the occasion. Fairy queens, station thugs , band majors and kung fu masters swam before my eyes.

I bleated out a tentative “Hi” to the children and told them to make themselves comfortable.

Lesson #! : Do not tell children to make themselves comfortable in a room where they are not supposed to touch the walls with greasy hands, touch the books on the shelves, play with the water faucet in the corner, switch on the computer or do anything related to art projects.

As I said this, another volunteer (AV from now on) came up to me and whispered that the room was not to be disturbed from its current state and the children were to remain in the room for a span of three hours. I felt my legs buckle beneath me. Three hours? What were they supposed to do? Could they play, I asked anxiously. The volunteer gave me a sad look and pointed out to the manhole sized circular carpet in the middle of the room and said, they may play there. 45 children on that carpet? As I was thinking of what to do, one child switched on the computer. I walked over to plead with the software engineer to hold off on Computer Science for the evening. He was dressed like a balloon for an unfathomable reason and glared at me. “But I am hungry!” he said.

“Well, switching on the computer is not going to get you wafers, do you have a snack? “ I asked.

“Yeah! Wafers! Do you have wafers?” said the ballooner filling out in anticipation. I gave up.

I used a voice that has not been used for a while now and boomed to the class to ask if they had snacks. They did. I just told them they could eat whenever they were hungry. This AV came up and whispered in my ear that they weren’t allowed to eat inside the class. I shot her a belligerent look. Really!  I think I might have alarmed her a bit for she sizzled up to me and said, “Maybe they can go out and eat and come back. Just keep an eye on them from here. Tell them they are not to move beyond that tree.”

Lesson #@: Do not assume children want to eat during snack breaks.

“Yes! We can all go out and eat!” said a voice and the ballooner floated door ward with a bunch of kids in tow. The situation was quickly spiraling out of control. How was I to know how many children were there, how many were out eating snacks and which of the children I was in charge of? I have always suspected children of being more spiritual than they let on, and it was confirmed now. Most of those headed out were apparently going to snack on air for they had nothing to eat in their carefree hands. I called out to them, but  retreating backs from a dull classroom to a glorious spring evening elicited no responses and I was left there looking defeated and helpless. The AV came up to whisper something in my ear again. Apparently, the children were looking gleefully at the playground beyond the tree and this was not to be allowed. I shook her away. This, I felt was a bit much. Come on! Go tell them yourself, I said a tad severely.

“But they don’t listen to me!” she said in response, looking at a girl sitting in the corner of the class playing on her cellphone. She was the only one not interested in legging it outside. “Maybe I should have asked them all to borrow their parents smartphones. What will we do?” continued the AV.  I could only shake my head at this reliance on smartphones.

It came as no surprise, therefore, for me to read this news item:

http://www.cbsnews.com/news/parents-absorbed-in-smartphones-scold-kids-more-harshly-in-study/

It is also a no-brainer to draw upon its corollary, viz, that children who spend an inordinate amount of time on the cellphones have less patience with things less stimulating. We may have forgotten that smart phones are a convenience and no more.

It happens in every battle I suppose. The turning point. I know Yudhisthira felt it in the Kurukshetra when Drona was tricked into believing his son was dead. It was what turned the battle in the favor of the Pandavas again. This was that moment for me. I refused to be bogged down by not having technology. I summoned the brave teacher nestled deep in me and raised the conch to my lips, “Please come in children! For an evening of fun and frolic. Let’s play some games!” I boomed.

The AV was shocked. “What games? They are not supposed to touch anything.”

I calmed her down saying they were children and I believe in their ability to open their minds and try out something new.  I set about figuring out some games. I saw the eager eyes march back into the classroom. True, that our real estate was limited, so running and catching, hide-n-seek etc were out. But there was a game that was great fun when we were kids. Land and Sea. This sophisticated game was easy to play. When I said “Sea”, you jumped into the carpet and when I said “Land” you jumped out. I used varying speeds to play the land-sea game and it was a roaring success. Half the children were out in time, but I kept daring them to go again and again. The game lasted a good 45 minutes.

Land or Sea?

With the help of the older children, we played a variety of games: pass the parcel, whisper nonsense messages and pass them down to see how it gets garbled along the way and such. Several children beamed and laughed happily saying this was the best evening indoors they’d had.

Before we knew it, three hours of fun had passed and the older children who had helped me out received a beaming thanks from me. Only one child was too engrossed in her world to join in on the fun. She was still using the phone. “Games?” I asked her as she left the classroom. “Yeah…pretty good. Can’t stop!” she shrugged. Her friends tried to pull her in several times, but she was too far in her phone-world to stop.

When I read about this person who took down his top grossing app because it was being too addictive, I had nothing but admiration and respect for him. He saw what his creation was doing to people and chose to forgo his excellent fortunes and pull out.

http://gizmodo.com/wait-what-flappy-bird-creator-is-removing-the-game-1518969676

Every generation faces its own challenge. Ours, it seems, is the smart phone.

Live Like a Hibiscus Flower

It is the first day of Spring according to Google. We, of course, have been enjoying the excellent effects of spring and its bountiful air for the past few weeks. The robins are out, the blue thrush are cackling, the humming birds are as quick as they ever were and the squirrels are still bustling about looking busy and sincere. The cherry trees are in full bloom. For one to feel truly blessed, all one has to do is stand below a fully bloomed cherry tree when a squirrel is up there on its many branches tooting out something to nibble on. The little movements create a rush of movement and the cherry petals dislodge themselves from their fragile mooring to the flowers and float down, bathing you in a rush of happiness. One can squeal in happiness, but that would startle the sincere fellow doing you the favor of showering petals and scuttle away from the tree. It is all in good fun. 

Cherry Blossoms
Cherry Blossoms

One day, the toddler son and I went on a longish expedition instead of taking a walk down a well-beaten path. That was when we saw a Crane. There it was looking magnificent and pure white in its marsh and pecking at something. I have always wondered how it maintains its pure white coating. With all the excellent bleaches and cuff-n-collar liquids in the house, I can never really get white to remain white for very long. I suppose it requires a certain interest and dedication in that sort of thing. I am hopeless at it and the family is better off dressed in darker hues. Which is why I sat there gaping at the crane standing in the marsh looking pure white. Fantastic I tell you. Fantastic. I must take lessons in maintenance from it.

Crane Missing the Panda
Crane Missing the Panda

The son was obviously pipped too at seeing this beauty for he grabbed my arm and said that the Crane was missing the Panda. My mind swirled for a second to get its moorings, and then I laughed. You see, we have been watching the excellent Kung Fu Panda movies and short animation clips recently. Crane, Monkey, Tigress, Viper, Shifu, Mantis and Po are welcome visitors in our drawing room. We have all become great fans of the series and often remind ourselves to unleash our Inner Po and take life lightly, or learn to live like the Hibiscus flower. (The hibiscus flower only lasts for a day it seems, but in that time, not only does it live its life, it also ekes its happiness and cheer into the world around it.)

In short, we have been mooning around fields and traipsing up hills, creating those little bubbles of memory that we can throw our minds back to whenever we wish.

Whatever may be the circumstances, step out and take a deep breath. Maybe, you too can sigh like the toddler son and say, “Hmm…I am happy Amma!”

Happy Spring Everyone!

The Dosa God’s Warning

It was a lovely afternoon as we sniffed the fresh rain-scented air mingling with the Eucalyptus tree’s heady smells. We were headed to a regional park about an hour’s drive away from where we lived for a birthday party. Our friends, had wisely selected a Regional Park Reserve for the party, so there would be plenty of fresh air and nature while enjoying each other’s company. I could only admire their choice, for the day was beautiful and this park was one we had never been to. Lush green forests rose on all sides, and every time we peeked out a curve, we could see the glistening blue waters of the bay in the distance.

Now, every year, when January rolls in with the fog, rain and murky resolutions, we tell ourselves that we must spend more time outdoors on hikes and trips. The reason we don’t keep that up diligently all year-long is so that we can use that as a resolution when January rolls along again. I am sure it will be a tad tiring to have to look for new resolutions every year, wouldn’t you agree?

As the car climbed the hills, I stuck my head out wistfully and sighed, saying the things that nature taps me into saying each time: How I love fresh air, lucky that we live so close to mountains and forests, blessed with the ability to enjoy these things in cheer and spirit etc. I went a step further this time and said a bit critically, maybe, that we really should stop sitting home and eating dosas and get out more often. I should have known that one does not insult a perfect dosa without having one’s nose broken. The Dosa Gods are benevolent, but they will not let you go scot-free would they?

The daughter, meanwhile, was bristling with the injustice of it all. “We didn’t have dosa! You made me eat carrots.”

“Which I see you did not.” I added smartly, and she chuckled to herself.

We spent some time looking for the right area, because the park was large, and cellphone reception was spotty. It was the daughter who spotted it first. On the side of the road, by some yellow fox flowers, and dark green ferns, was a gleaming van. “Amma look! You need not stay home and eat dosa. There is a dosa van right here!”

I felt my broken nose where it was snubbed and it felt raw. You could have knocked me out with a feather. There was a dosa van indeed. What’s more? It was for my friend’s party. If that was not a Dosa God’s warning, I don’t know what is. But the Dosa Gods are good: we were in time to enjoy some excellent varieties of Dosa with good people. The simple dosa rose in reverence in my eyes.

The Dosa God's Warning

The Dosa God’s Warning

As we took a walk back to our car, what do you think I saw? Wild carrots growing on the path. I stopped to show them to the daughter. She was as excited as I was. I had never shown her carrot plants before and I glowed with her as we admired the beautiful carrot leaves. We saw loads of ants attacking the wild carrots. Never one to waste an opp. when I see one, I told her about all the excellent properties of carrots. A mellow cheese dosa in her stomach made her receptive to the unsung carrot I guess, for she was an attentive audience.

I thought sagely said that the day was indeed one of sobering food thoughts. Dosas for me and carrots for her.

The Car Test of Colors

If ever you are in one of those situations where the world has to be saved and the only way to do it is to disconnect the red fuse wire after tying the yellow fuse wire, I strongly advise you against approaching the toddler son. He may be the leading authority on distinguishing between Squirrels and Crows. He can even do the difficult Crow vs Geese category, but he draws a sharp line at colors.

One morning, we were sitting there eating our breakfast when the son shouted that there were a few squirrels on the tree in the backyard.  They are a source of great entertainment, and were indeed welcome. The daughter listened to her brother tell us the gripping story about two squirrels.(I shall regale it on the blog one day). Always a proud mother, I said, “Wow. What color are the squirrels?”

He looked up at me and said, “Blue.”

The daughter and I exchanged looks and burst out laughing. So, I went on with it. I picked up a gleaming yellow banana and asked him what color the banana was.

The son was hurt. Everyone knows that, he seemed to say and then said, “Green.”

“No son. That is yellow. Yellow banana.” I said patiently.

“What color is the spoon?” I asked pointing to the white plastic spoon he had in his hands.

Bananas may be tricky monsters, but white plastic spoons – pssshaaww! “Black!” he said.

“NO! That is white. Yellow banana, white spoon.” I said

“NO. NO. That is black spoons.” he said. (We are working on his grammar)

The daughter felt I was giving him difficult questions and pointed to the cereal box that had a blue lid and asked him what color it was. This,he felt, was where his strength lay and said confidently,“That is cereals.”

“Cereals yes. But what color?”

The little fellow said unabashedly, “Red!”

One would have thought that his abysmal track record would at least have given him cause for thought, but no. Confidence poured out and he said that the blue cereals box lid was red. If anyone had doubts, they could go and eat green bananas and chase blue squirrels.Colors 

I cornered the husband later and asked him whether our poor son was color blind. “Over reacting as usual.” said the husband playing chess on his computer, but I could tell I had sown the seed of doubt in his mind.

A few hours later, the husband came beaming and thumped me on the back, “He isn’t color blind. You simply gave him the wrong test. See this? I call it the Car Test of Colours.”

The Car Test of Colours – Pssshaw and Pssshaww again. I rolled my eyes for added effect.

He called out to the fellow and flashed a red car in front of him and asked him, “What color is this?”

Lightning_mcqueen_red

The son said, “That is Red 95 Lightning Cars.”

“Well… he knows that car is red. He watches that Disney Pixar Cars movie everyday.” I said unimpressed.

“True. But watch this. “ says the husband with the air of someone who has yet to play the trump card, and pulls out a blue Lightning Mc Queen. “What color is this?”

Lightning_mcqueen_blue

“This is Blue 95 Lightning Cars.” says the son.

He breezes through a black and white police car test with correct results, and looks at me as though challenging me to put him through more difficult tests.

Right then. I just need to let the educational authorities know that they have to devise special Cars movie based color tests when he goes to School. Sigh.

The Yam Bajji Gene

The father’s sister had come a-visiting and I had taken her along to the grocery store when I first noticed it. There we were, sauntering through the aisles looking at assorted spices and grains and had just started to graze towards the vegetable section when I saw her start through the corner of my eye. She gulped and gave a longing howl. 

I wonder if you have stopped to take a scuttle down a lush carrot field with a rabbit. Many people don’t. Let me enlighten you. You will notice the rabbit react much the same way as the aunt did on seeing the yams in the vegetable section. The nose will wiggle towards the preferred veg. and try as they may, their feet will be dragged towards it. I could only marvel at genetics and wonder how genes could be this accurate. The father reacts the same way to the yam. He buys it, knowing fully well that it will not be accorded  the same kindness as the beans. Yet he goes for it, stating that he likes nothing more than yam bajjis (or yam fritters). You can see him salivating at the mention of the crisp coating over the yams and the hot, steaming nature of the delicacy.

I hear from the father and his siblings that my grandmother was exceptionally fond of yam bajjis. She liked the yams fried golden and crunched at them happily with her cup of coffee. She threw the bajjis in with a precision that would have professional basketball players envious and then, she  contentedly poured the coffee into her mouth from a steel tumbler poised at the right angle and a height of 3.2 metres above lip level. When one saw her then, one could see a contented soul.

The Yam Bajji Gene
The Grandmother with the Golden Yam Bajji Halo of Contentment

That must have been it. A vegetable that gave their mother so much joy must have been the reason the father and his siblings love yam bajjis. I chided my scientific half for rushing to a yam-gene-conclusion.

I indulged the aunt and bought her the yams. One cold evening, I walked in to the kitchen to see a factory in progress. On one side, golden, crisp yam bajjis were being fried and on the other, delicious steaming cups of tea and coffee were being made to accompany them. She told me that since children usually did not like yams as much as potatoes, she made potato bajjis and yam bajjis. You have to grant it to grandparents to take everyone’s tastes into account, even while making something as simple as an evening snack. I smiled and settled down happily to tuck into the yams bajjis. The aroma of fried asafoetida and rice flour is irresistible.

The toddler son, was having his day with the bajjis too. But I noticed something weird. He was not going for the potato bajjis. He was going for the yam bajjis. If given a potato one, he was giving them to me and was agog when given the yam ones. His grandfather will be thrilled to hear that for sure. Maybe, there is a yam-bajji-gene that has resurfaced in his generation. My grandmother, (Visalam Paati ) will be very pleased.

 

PS: I am referring to Raw Plantains in the article, but Yam Genes sound better than Raw Plantain Genes, so I am not changing all references.

The Message of Love

I thought a great deal about getting the husband something thoughtful to mark the dozen years we have spent in each other’s company. I remembered a friend of ours mentioning that ‘Things Remembered ‘ is the store to go to make your special one feel more special. I had the foresight to check out something useful and settled on something that sounded useful enough( A 2GB USB keychain) Other things on the site like a heart shaped pendant on a gold chain etc don’t exactly look like the sort of things the husband would touch with a barge pole.

The important thing about the USB keychain is that it has the engravings of love, the mark of true labor on it.  I spent a good hour checking out cheesy quotes on love that he can carry forever on his engraved USB. I wracked the brains of Jane Austen, Henry James Thoreaux,, P. G. Wodehouse. Nobody was spared as I made studious notes of quotations on love with an element of humor. I even went to see what Mahatma Gandhi had to say on that unquantifiable yet, so satiating a force. Not satisfied with him, I went to plumb the depths of Pablo Picasso and Albert Einstein. I spent a further hour pondering over all the beautiful things about love.

I loved Dr Seuss’s quote: You know you are in love, when you cannot fall asleep because reality is better than your dreams.

That would not work in our case, because as much in love as I am with him, I fall asleep. In fact, the more I love him, the more I sleep. As for the husband, that would have meant that his love for me has kept him awake long before he knew me. He has been a night owl for as far as I can remember.

Maybe, this will be more apt, since we both like our laughs:

From there to here

From here to there

Funny things are everywhere

I then thought of what makes him so curious and thought this would suit him better:

Think and Wonder

Wonder and Think

However, I could not help thinking that he would wonder why on Earth I went in for a 2 GB USB card to pour my heart into and shelved the quote.

Maybe a scientist at heart will be better suited for him: To love, be loved and be lovable.

Or maybe, Love is like PI: Natural, Irrational and very important. 

But neither of these would do. Einstein was not my notion of a romantic thinker.

By now, the lady in the shop was skipping over me. She was positively amazed at all the pages I was writing and nodded her approval and told me to take my time. After a further 1/2 hour of agonizing over the right words, I settled for one of these, depending on what would fit the available area:

Where there is love, there is life – Mahatma Gandhi Or

There is no remedy for love but to love more. – Henry James Thoreaux Or

Love is the greatest refreshment in life – Pablo Picasso 

night owl

I finally went over to the shop assistant and told her I was ready. She pranced over to see what my notes and research had yielded. I saw her eyes light up at the number of pages I had filled out.

She asked me to write my final choices on the order paper and started counting words.

I felt like I was back at the Village Post Office giving a telegram: “Father coming Stop Mother also coming stop “

When I saw the Postmaster counting the words out, the editor in me reared up and said, “Wait a minute! You charge by word? Father and Mother coming stop. No Wait. Father comma mother coming stop.”

I felt a bit weak. I asked her what she was counting words for and she told me that every word to be engraved was charged separately. I hadn’t counted on brevity being the theme of love. In fact, I wished myself back at the Post Office and I could say, “Please send a telegram with message #29: Wedding Anniversary Greetings”.

I saw the amount she came up with and hollered at her to stop while I racked my brains for something short and sweet.

I could only think of that wonderful message we flash to anyone who stops by our home: Live, Laugh, Love. It is what is there on our doormat and sighed myself out.

While waiting for the thing, I checked what the non-engraved thing cost on Amazon. I could find a set of four for $10, while I had just paid $50 for one that has the same message as our doormat on it.

Well…such is life and one must not put a price on the gift of love. Happy Anniversary to Us!

Hulk & Bulk Triumph Over Laurel & Hardy

After the Hulk and Bulk pair made a splashing entry into the home and restored things with minimum talk, we have been contemplating the things we can have them do. The house is in a state that would have DIY bloggers positively skipping and dancing. I keep thinking of my DIY blogger friend, from What’s Ur Home Story fame as I toddle about the house shaking my head morosely at finding another thing that needs fixing. We tried a bit of doing it ourselves, and with able help, managed to make over one closet reasonably well, but there was no denying the fact that what I wanted would have taken up a lot of my little one’s time.

Closet makeover with able help
Closet makeover with able help

So, we went after Messrs Hulk and Bulk again.

I wonder how many of you remember watching Laurel & Hardy while growing up. As for me, there are memories to fill three blogs just surrounding Laurel & Hardy. How we would loll about the house scratching our heads like them and talking like them? We would make a muddle of things and blame it on their influence and get away with it. I thought I’d have grown out of this mode of entertainment when I showed the daughter some Laurel & Hardy episodes a few years back, but I was mistaken. I cackled and guffawed louder than her.

The house I live in, has given me plenty of joy. Of course, it has its quirks that make it my home. Every time I walk into the master bedroom for instance, it never fails to remind me of the house that Laurel & Hardy built.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xlmghh41yWA

Thankfully, the rest of the house is not like this, but I suppose the builder ran out of time with the master bedroom and sent out a couple of folks he could not trust with a hammer in his vicinity.  He told  them to finish up ‘that last room in that last house’. The pair of them have made bloomers all over the room.

For instance, the Hot & Cold in the bath-tub is switched. It provided for some very entertaining showers the first couple of times before we figured out what had happened. The most interesting bloomer is the walk-in closet the husband chose for himself. He likes to assume an airy air while walking into my closet. He then spreads his arms wide, even if he bangs his knuckles on my closet walls, for added effect. A few seconds later, he goes for the final touch and shows folks his closet. I concede his closet is smaller than mine, about half the size (Or one-quarter the size? The husband’s voice in my head asks), but it had one of the builder’s unique touches on it too. You see, if the builder had the sense to put the door opening outward instead of inward, his closet could have been walked into and used like a walk-in closet. But he didn’t. He made the door open inward. In an already congested space, it meant the door could not open fully and was stuck halfway. Because of this, we had access to only half the quarter closet. We did our best with it. I had offered him space in my own closet for many years now,  but the husband limped along knowing that he could revel in the looks of pity visitors bestowed on him while visiting the home.

The hulk and bulk pair rectified this state of affairs over the course of nibbling into a snack pack of chips. That is all the time it took them to switch out the door. Suddenly, the room opened out to us and left us both feeling like fools. Why had we not thought of this before? 

Well, now we know.