Tag: Life

How to Pack, Write and Other Things

The world is full of nonsense if you will just open your minds up to it.  For example, one of my news feeds once thought it relevant to show me an article on how to pack when you have children and are going on a flight trip. Now, that is a nice title, knowing how we travel with children, and how often we have done it in the past with our own brood.

Maybe an example would help here. If you see us go on a week-end trip somewhere close by, you know drive for a few hours and get back sort of place, you would understand why I clicked on this link to read what novel piece of advice it had to give me. You see, once we had the car packed with the following among other things like suitcases and books:

1) Shoes (1 extra pair each for each member of the family)

2) Jackets (1 for every member)

3) 2 strollers (We only have one stroller rider, but I packed one in and the husband packed the other.) Both of us looked extremely proud of ourselves and told the other, “Ha! I packed something very valuable. The stroller. “

“What?! I packed it too. The red one.”

“I packed the blue one.”

Packing
Packing

I know what goes through the brain at this point in time. The stroller isn’t exactly a button. How then, does such a large thing get lost in the trunk? Well. Now, you know how we pack. If the place we are going to, has an attached kitchenette, the trunk gets fuller. Suddenly, rice cookers are jostling for space beside shoes and the curry powder is nicely sprinkling its aroma on the jackets.

Flight trips are another saga altogether. (https://nourishncherish.wordpress.com/2012/04/23/never-awaken-a-sleeping-tiger-cub/) For, we manage all of this and more within the prescribed baggage limits.

We are planning on a small trip again and I wanted to gain the foolproof method of compact packing. I had enough of the  “pack everything you need, may need or may one day need during the trip” doctrine.

To be honest, it astounds me that tripe like this gets clicked on, read and paid for. There isn’t a single thing of note here.

http://abcnews.go.com/Travel/things-parents-forget-plane-trips-kids/story?id=23102623&singlePage=true

But, such is the world of news and writing. The unimaginative jostles with the trite, the run-of-the-mill nudges the novel aside, while a few pieces of inspired writing sprinkles its splendor on the web.

PS: I read this wonderful article a while ago, on how story telling is the best method to activate our brains. (http://lifehacker.com/5965703/the-science-of-storytelling-why-telling-a-story-is-the-most-powerful-way-to-activate-our-brains), and another one on how the brain relates the linguistic with the musical (http://www.billboard.com/biz/articles/news/digital-and-mobile/6091974/computers-classics-and-cadenzas-making-math-music-from)

Maybe we need a story around packing while traveling with children and background music to match the process.

Happy Science Days!

There are some mechanics whose work I admire. They have an orderliness about them. They take out things packed in 30 mm space, spread it out over 100 sq metres and put them back in 30 mm with minimum fuss and mess. I have always admired such souls of toil. So, when the father and daughter were pandering upstairs with a laptop lying open on the desk, I went up a couple of times partly out of curiosity and partly to keep the toddler son away from the table. (The son thinks he is helping out on the task and gets sorely disappointed when told that he can’t place his toy cars on that convenient hole inside the laptop where the hard disk used to reside. ) Halfway through the task, I saw the pair of them chattering about something and come downstairs. “Commencing after lunch!” said the mechanics. “But you just had coffee and chocolate milk!” said I. This was received with a chuckle and no retort. A moment later, the pair of them switched on the Television.

“Going to watch Television? “ I asked in that tone that mildly encourages one to finish up the laptop work. Among other things I was worried that a small thing will go astray and I will be called upon to get down on all fours and search.

“TV Amma. Not television. Television sounds so formal and then you don’t feel like relaxing with it.”

“Well, what happened to the laptop?” I asked.

“We watched a you-tube video on how to do it Amma. Relax. So, I know everything. We just could not do it because Appa wants to take another backup of the disk now.”

I launched into what I call my Science Teacher mode. “You can learn more by doing than by watching you-tube videos. “ I went on in this vein for a few sentences, and then let the thing rest.

A few days later, I caught her again and told her about the Science experiments that the President lauded, and how these children had taken simple problems and solved them.

http://www.indiawest.com/news/global_indian/article_5de64612-f01a-11e3-afbe-001a4bcf887a.html

It was a lovely afternoon chat, and I asked her what I could do to help her along in her ambition to become a biologist.

“You can buy me a pet!” said she before I had completed my sentence.

“WHAT?!”

“What amma? You just said that I will learn more by doing than by reading books or watching documentaries. So, in order for me to become a biologist, I think a pet would help me nicely. Maybe a dog, or a duck or a parrot.”

“I like snake.” said the toddler son playing with his toy cars.

“Or how about some fish?”

“I want bumblebee Amma” said the son.

Pets : Bumblebee, Butterfly, Parrot, Dog, Duck, Snake
Pets : Bumblebee, Butterfly, Parrot, Dog, Duck, Snake?

I want respite.

Happy Science Days to all of you.

Fantasy : A Necessary Ingredient to Living?

The list of things that keep us up at night has become more bizarre as the days go on.  I chronicle what was the state of affairs about a week ago because I just let time slip by me.The son had a spot of a cold. He spent a few nights sniffling and having trouble taking in those deep, fulfilling breaths so essential to sleeping fitfully through the night. The humidifiers have been called to action and Herr Mozart has been making his nightly appearances to induce sleep in the child and mother to poor avail. After the third night of this grand party, I was looking for ways to get the husband to gallantly step forward and take on night duty and made a few pitiful noises. But it was sadly lost in all the noises around the home, and elicited no response whatsoever.

I looked around to see the husband sticking to his laptop like a frog to its lily-pad. You see, over the past few weeks, I have been noticing the sincere man bent double over his laptop with a serious, worried expression on his face. Me being the supportive w. and all that, I decided to give him the time to think and delve or whatever it was he was doing. I obviously assumed it was something to do with his work. You know? The noble task of putting food on the table kind of work. Slowly, however, I noticed that this mysterious work had a way of popping up during after-dinner dishwasher time or the before dinner all-hands-on-deck time or getting-the-daughter-to-school in the mornings time. Very shifty the whole thing was.

“I have an early meeting tomorrow morning – a fitful night’s rest is necessary I think.” said the husband before I could beat him to it, making a point of stretching his arms in that tired manner that induces sympathy. If I was looking forward to a good night’s sleep myself, what of it?  I bade him a good night’s sleep and sent him to the guest bedroom and sought the assurance of the humidifier and Eucalyptus oil. It was about 3 a.m. when the son woke up sniffling again and cried for the 6th time that night.  Thinking that a hot cup of milk will probably do the trick, I set out amid the mists of sleep enveloping the night air that was thick with sleep to the kitchen downstairs. It was when I was creaking up the stairs again that I saw a faint light emanating from the guest bedroom. I went in to see what happened. I mean, the important-meeting-goer needed his sleep right?

There he was, squinting into his girdle-shaped phone with that same mysterious expression. It was too much for me. I asked him what the matter was. There was a sheepish expression on his face and I caught on  like a blood hound and said, “Confess now, my friend! What is going on?”

The story came tumbling out. Apparently, the husband had been playing in the Fantasy Leagues of Indian Cricket and since the matches take place in Indian Standard Time, he has been getting up at all sorts of hours and checking his players, switching out his teams and what-not. He evaded the glare on my face and said, “You should be proud of me. I have come up to the second position from the 8th position solely by  strategic planning and thinking.”

I don’t know about you, but I find it hard to summon pride at 3 in the morning at a man who is proud of his victories at the Fantasy League matches. But I bravely reminded myself about Dr. Seuss’ words :  Fantasy is a necessary ingredient to living.  I smiled at the husband and told him as much.

 Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living Dr Seuss quote

I then, did some strategic thinking myself and gave him the warm milk to take to the crying toddler. My fantasy was to get into the snug bed in the guest bedroom to catch a few hours sleep.

Taking the ABCD Approach

“Amma! How can you say that? Three is a very important age!” says the daughter riled up and agitated. I now recognize that tone of voice as the one she uses when she is standing up for someone or something. There is a sincerity to it that is refreshing. Maybe, one day that voice will help her lend her energy and actions to more noble causes than celebrating the third birthday party for her brother, but for now, I appreciate the thought.

“Really? Tell me all about your third birthday party dear.” I ask her. I can see her tumbling about in her brain with a look on her face like she is rattling a box of metal keys to look for the key to the treasure chest.

“There was a .. a cake?!” she says hesitantly.

“Nice try. What else?”

“Amma, see all I am saying is that I will take care of everything for the party. All you need is A.B.C.D and we are set.”

I was gearing up for a small party among his friends in his day-care and much singing of the birthday song, but the daughter wanted to have some of her own fun in our house with a larger group of her friends and her brother’s on the occasion. Hence the discussion.

“What is A B C D?”

She picks up a marker and heads to the white board in true Teacher’s-grand-daughter fashion and writes:

A: Apartment/House

B: Buddies

C: Cake

D: Decorations

“We already have A, I’ll invite all the Bs, you order the C and I’ll take care of the D too. I’ll even clean up before the party. “

She ignores my question about cleaning up after the party.

So, I am settling down to the myriad tasks that come with pulling off a birthday party at the last minute. None of this is helped by the fact that my sister sitting half a moon away is pinging me on progress. The daughter has looped her in for support I see.

Lightning McQueen Cars Cake
Lightning McQueen Cars Cake (Image from Safeway)

The little brother, in the meanwhile, is basking in all the attention. When people wish him a Happy Birthday, he glows and wishes them Happy Birthday too. Sigh.

Jean Karma

My grandfather seems to have understood early on in the journey to parenthood that naming a child was a huge responsibility. He understood clearly that while naming a child, one must choose a name one likes, for one cannot get around the fact that the name shall be bellowed out by the parent in desperation, exasperation, and god-knows-what-a-ration. He was also a pious man. Consequently, his children were named after various gods and goddesses of his fancy. Every time, my grandmother blew a fuse or bust her gasket with tension at her progeny, he would calmly tell her that she was accumulating good karma points by invoking the names of the Gods. I am not sure what my grandmother invoked against her husband in retort to this (some things were hushed up during story telling). Anyway, here is a post on some naming strategies the older generation seems to have used.

https://nourishncherish.wordpress.com/2006/01/27/whats-in-a-name/

A few days ago, I volunteered at the daughter’s school to be a parent chaperone on a field trip to a Science Exploratorium. I strapped myself up with a large bag of goodies, knick knacks and water bottles and hurtled off to take charge of my wards for the trip. I was in-charge of the daughter plus four others. We chatted easily and I did my best to memorize their facial features (it was not helped by the fact that one of them kept tying and untying her hair, one put on her glasses on or not at will. One child I thought I had nailed in the identification department with a mole on her cheek, only to find halfway through the trip that it was a chocolate smudge that was promptly wiped on a white t-shirt). Anyway, the journey to the exploratorium was unremarkable enough.  Things only heated up nicely once inside.

You see, we walked in and saw that it being an Exploratorium, the children were meant to be let loose to explore. There was no point in saying, “Stand behind me in line and every child gets 2 seconds to explore the sound gong wave magnetometer.” That simply would not do, but the problem was not an easy one to solve. It was like taking a couple of butterflies to a meadow swarming with butterflies and saying, “Remember, you are in charge of the yellow butterfly, the blue one and the orange one with red stripes, and of course the rainbow-colored one.” My knees were knobbly. Within minutes, our butterflies had flown to different flower patches and I had no idea how to keep them together.

ButterflyMeadow323

I turned around in desperation only to find that my fellow chaperones were in a similar state. It was then that one of them had an idea, she plopped herself on a chair in the middle of Area A and took her wards’ snack packs. She proclaimed that was going to be home base and the children would just gather around her every few minutes so she can keep an eye on them. That seemed like a brilliant idea and before you knew it, I had asked everyone to deposit their snack boxes at our feet and let them loose. I was still meandering around them, keeping an eye on them for I am paranoid that way.

It was easy enough to scoop them back and head to the next area. I had asked them all to come to our home base around lunchtime and was waiting patiently for them to come, when I realized one of my butterflies named Jean was not coming. She was mesmerized by some exhibit no doubt and her friends and I went looking for her : JEAN! JEAN! Jean …

We had used the Jean-you-come-here-right-now-young-lady tone

We had used the Jean-honey-please-come-now tone

WE had used the Jean-we-are-really-hungry tone

Jean-where-are-you? Jean-do-you-hear-me? JEAN! JEAN!

Any inflection of Jean you can imagine, we had used. Finally I saw Jean sticking her head into a gong-like thing and hitting the outside to listen to reverberating sounds that echoed through her head. She looked like she had a bubble around her head and was enjoying the experience too. She had spent the past half an hour inside that infernal gong and did not hear 50000 decibel worth of her name being shouted out. Oh well!

I rounded up my remaining butterflies and headed out to lunch, only to find Jean had frittered off to a play structure by herself. When I started calling for Jean again, one lady came up to me and clutched my arm. She was a kindly old thing with a warm, round face and greying curls. “Dear, how many times you have called me today! Every time, I turned to answer you, you were gone. I am Jean. Nice to meet you.”

My grandfather would agree that I attained positive Jean-Karma.

Honk, Pip or Beep: Listening is the Key

To fully chalk up my story of honking, I must take my readers back about 15 years. In those days, I was a proud owner of a two-wheeler: a slender, sleek thing maroon in color. Imagine a maroon banana slug with wheels and you have my Hero Puch. The father had his own bulky, husky two-wheeler that he unleashed noisily on the streets ( you may read our two-wheeler chronicles here) . He thinks he has not done his duty of conscientious driving if he does not honk every few minutes. Obviously, it was a lesson he sought to teach us all. Every time I remembered his advice on the two-wheeler, I would honk and redeem myself as the good daughter in his eyes.

One time, he took my Hero Puch for servicing and had the horn changed on it. He told me over dinner that day, and I nodded absent mindedly. The next day, I started off on my Hero Puch looking like a weasel on a banana, and made off.

Image

I was nearing a bend where everybody honked and thinking that I better do my duty too, I honked. What happened next surprised me so much, I almost fell off my own vehicle, and I caused a number of folks in front of to trip over themselves too, and they cleared enough space for a bus to pass through. The honk that the banana-shaped slip of a thing emitted was that belonging to a truck. A long, loud trumpet of a sound signaling a mammoth tusker on a high speed monster truck. I still remember folks giving me an annoyed smirk on what they clearly thought was a low trick. I must say I was rattled too. There is, of course, a story behind the horn change. Something to do with the-father-trusting-the-mechanic. (The last time he trusted a painter, this happened: https://nourishncherish.wordpress.com/2008/03/25/the-colourful-house-by-the-daughter-of-the-colour-blind-father-2/)

The point is, in the intervening years, I have not used the horn as much.  Sometimes, I fumble to see where it is when I do have to use it on the person backing out without seeing me. Imagine then, that of all the new experiences that I got to enjoy in Hawaii, honking was one of them. There are many road trips in this beautiful place that have one lane paths and turns.  I read a blog post that warned us about sharp curves,  and many places in which it is prudent to let fellow drivers know that you are coming. This is one of the places in the US where you can lean out the car window, wave enthusiastically to your fellow drivers, and give them a thumbs up sign and honk and let them know you are coming on the bridge. I was one enthusiastic but not very effective let-them-know-er. Gone are the years of my ambitious honking, what is left now is an apologetic honker. I go h-h-ho-honk and a pip of a honk emanates from the car. You need to have the honking attitude and I had lost it.

I was telling the husband and kids all about this and my dear Puny Puch sounding like Superman while driving along merrily peering into some canyons on the way.

Image

Up ahead, was one of those infernal turns again. My head full of my Puny Puch’s horn, I honked to let folks know I was making my way through and kept going. I had my windows rolled up and wondered why it sounded like the bull-horn my Hero Puch let out all those years before. Funny how the memory of a thing can bring so vivid a recollection huh?

I rounded the corner and only just had the sense to step on the brakes like my life depended on it (well it did).  There I was face-to-face with a bull-dozer sized bus on a ribbon bridge. The problem was that I had thought so much of letting others know, I had not taken the trouble of listening to the bus driver’s honk.

That big honk was the one belonging to the hulk of a bus. Valuable lesson learnt: Honk, Pip or Beep, the key is to listen.

Who says there is no joy in honking? Sigh. Continue reading “Honk, Pip or Beep: Listening is the Key”

The Meditative Glaze

The lark does let me win sometimes. I can’t deny that I love the early morning snooze in. I am not one of those birds who sit up in bed chirping happily. I like to squirm about the nest and cheep rather groggily before nudging in to my day. Yet, there are days when I get up before dawn cracks over the horizon and those days, I don’t like to waste indoors. I want to boast to the world that I am up, I am embracing the day. Most days in Hawaii during our recent vacation, I was up to welcome my day with a smile and a walk. It was our first day in Kauai, the Garden Island. While there, our apartment had a partial ocean view. What that means is, that if you are tall enough and know how to crane your neck in a Z-shaped angle, you will be able to see the ocean. Early on our first morning, I went a-walking. I inhaled the fresh sea air, I looked up at the lightening sky and admired the hues. I thought of how an artist would capture that moment, and how despite the many, many paintings of a tropical beach, there are few that can truly capture the essence of being there. How do you make a painting breathe? How do you make a photograph scent the salted air, or listen to the crashing sound of waves. I found that I could not stand still, I needed to do something, and so I did. I walked. I must have walked quite a bit for the sun had risen and I decided that no matter how lax peoples’ standards are in the dressing department in Hawaii, I could not pass off my nightie as formal wear for too long into the morning. So, I headed back to our apartment.

If there is a fault with my early morning walks, it is that it puts me in a loquacious mood. I want to share my energy and relive the scenery and all that boot. As I headed back home, I remembered that the husband rashly took it upon himself to meditate first thing in the morning, so maybe I will find him quietly contemplating the wonders of the world.

Aha! Just as I thought: I turned the corner to see the husband there on the porch in our apartment. I was dying to share the exhilaration of the morning air, and waved to him at the rate of 38 mph in the clockwise direction and 32 mph in the anti-clockwise direction . At first, I thought he did not notice me. For there was no reaction from him, though he clearly had his face turned towards me. It must be the meditative glaze. So, I hollered my best “HI!” – I modulated the pitch so that it could be heard over the sound of the waves and simultaneously broke into a run to better conquer the lawn between self and the porch.

If there was an Indian movie director at the time, he could have gotten the perfect shot of a less-than-glamourous, slightly disheveled heroine running in slow motion through the lifting mists, and plugged it into any of his movies. Obviously one expects the hero to do his share. I mean, one doesn’t expect him to stand around while the heroine does all the work right?

You could have thrown a blade of grass at me and knocked me down at what happened next. The man turned and scuttled off inside like he had never seen me before. The nerve!

Kauai

But, I must not be too harsh on the poor man, for it turns out that he had never seen me before. I was rushing through the wrong lawns and waving and Hi-ing to  the man of the house at Building 2N when I should have been hollering at the man in Building 1N. I forgave the man his impudence and went on with a dignified gait to see the man I loved at Building 1N. I needn’t have worried. My man was there neatly tucked in bed, transcending that beautiful world of dreams and dreaming of meditating while looking at that ocean. Or maybe, the meditation had sent him to his dreams again.

Whatever it was, the world was in its right place and I marched out again to sip a cup of water before the household awoke.

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.