Life – Page 79 – Nourish-n-Cherish

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.

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.

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!

St. Patrick’s Day In The Jungle

What have I been doing the past few days you ask. The truthful answer to that is that I have been having fun with Irish music. I have been introduced to wonderful ideas about background music by my talented friend. It all started one cold winter evening over a cup of tea that still has me smacking my lips, when my friend mentioned that when I am ready to put out the next book, I must try experimenting with background music. At which point, I did the square thing and told him that I don’t know the slightest thing about the whole affair. The only experience I had with background music was when the school’s stationery manager told us all that he had left an illustrious career in the theatrical industry, and offered to do the background music for our plays. Time is a great healer: it has only taken about 3 decades for me to think of background music without shuddering a bit. You can read all about it here (I had written this 5 years back)

https://nourishncherish.wordpress.com/2006/10/16/background-music/

Well, we have been hard at work getting the next book out in app form and on iBooks. It is a charming story about celebrating St. Patrick’s Day in the Jungle. It is available for free. Please do take a look and share with your friends if you like it. The daughter has narrated the book and has added her creative touches to the book. The illustrations were done by the same talented couple who did the Christmas In The Jungle (Fi2Designs)

Links are given below:

The iBook is also available: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/st.-patricks-day-in-the-jungle/id829152649?ls=1&mt=11 (Please go to iBooks on your iPad and then look for the book)

For those of you who don’t have an IPad, the St. Patrick’s Day In The Jungle book is now available in app format:

Android devices as an app at the following location:https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.bumblebooks.pij

Kindle Fire: http://www.amazon.com/St-Patricks-Day-in-Jungle/dp/B00IW8MHCQ/ref=sr_1_1?s=mobile-apps&ie=UTF8&qid=1394491185&sr=1-1&keywords=St+Patricks+day+in+jungle

Please take a moment to read the story, or have it read it to you, and let me know your thoughts and suggestions. It means the world to me to hear from you. I only fumble on based on the kind encouragement I receive from many of you, and for that I am truly grateful.

Please mail me if you prefer to just see the PDF version of the story, and I can mail it to you.

It is free – so, if you can spare a moment and let me know your thoughts, I will love it.

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

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.

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?”

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?”

“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.

Release Your Inner Cupid

I wonder what is being said about us in the animal world newsletters this month. We have articles on animal behaviors don’t we? This article on the various techniques adopted by animals is an interesting one. Some techniques are funny, some scary and some for which I can’t think of the right adjectives.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/13/weird-animal-courtship-displays_n_4761381.html

Life is full of interesting tidbits of information. For example: The efforts of Sir George Archibald who loved the ways of the whooping crane. I quote:

When whooping crane populations dropped to fewer than 100 individuals in the 20th century, ornithologist George Archibald stepped in to try to get one whooping crane in captivity, Tex, to mate. To initiate ovulation, Archibald danced with her, and after several attempts, she successfully hatched a chick in 1982, according to Audubon Magazine.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Archibald_(ornithologist)

I was glad to have read this. Now, I know not to judge a person acting like a babbling baboon or an aggressive tiger harshly. We don’t know what their journey is about.

Like Jane Austen says, “There are as many forms of love as there are moments in time.”

I wonder why we exemplify Valentine’s Day to be a Lovers Day only. Let it be a day of showing love. Bring out your inner whooping crane or wake your dormant flamingo and have fun.

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

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.

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.

Thank You Mr Hulk and Mr Bulk

The doorbell rang and I opened it to welcome Mr. Hulk and Mr. Bulk into the house. Let me rewind a little: this feels like trying to bite a carrot in the middle portion. It is easier to start working off one end or the other, but the middle of the carrot leaves very little to play with.

The husband was seen pottering about the home with a book in his hand. He has also been extolling the many virtues of getting work done, and how prompt action has saved many a day. Imagine, the number of things that can be done if we set aside a few minutes everyday? As he says these things, there is a light around his head that emits a faint glow.

A bit of a jar coming from someone whose home has reached a state of disrepair that needs Mr Hulk and Mr Bulk to come into the home to get it running up if you ask me. Yet, he seemed so happy to be in his book, that I did not have the heart to dampen it just then. Sometimes, keeping quiet is harder to do than saying what you think. You see, while he was illuminating my life with his snippets of knowledge, I had taken an old sheet, torn it in half and was spreading it about the sink area. I then went on to take a cup and clasped it around the exhaust pipe in the sink. I also took an old towel that is extremely water absorbent and placed it on the floor near the dishwasher, should water leak on the floor by mistake. To answer your question, I was not plumbing a new connection or taking care of exhaustive water leakages, I was just getting my attention-seeking-dishwasher started. It had become part of the daily routine.

We usually rely on one person, who does a reasonably good job with our household projects. Of late though, he has been telling us that his services are required in Lake Tahoe, Seattle and Washington DC and that if he does not take care of a trap door in the White House, it might become an issue of national security: so busy! Therefore our dishwasher has been limping along spewing all of its water on to my kitchen sink and the floor nearby for months. One or two of the others we called said their minds were meant for larger and greater things than mere dishwashers. It looked like everyone had washed their hands off our dishwasher.

That was not all. We had to postpone baking during the Thanksgiving season because the oven put on its Santa’s whiskers and sat down like an old man. The oven light would flicker, cough and then die. The sounds from it were not alarming, but they were not soothing to the soul either. Of course, we ignored it and went about bypassing the oven, till one day it beeped like a noisy toy with a motion sensor in a Bazaar. BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP. I promptly did what I know best and googled for the remedy. I was glad to see that the remedy was one we had tried before with intermediate success with our television (Namely, beat it hard to silence it. That will take care of loose connections.) All the strong men and women were called upon to wield their hands on it and we had silenced the thing, but it was so angry with our crass treatment of it, it refused to start up again. The reset buttons, fuse boxes, nothing worked. Fussy people and things rarely receive much attention and so, it remained till a friend of ours started a cookie business. It might have gone on in this state had she sold cookies, but she sold cookie dough. So, every week-end, we would wistfully sigh about what baking might have been had the oven worked. I was not afforded the luxury on brooding on it for long, since the dish washer would give me an angry snort and gorge out a bucket of water spraying the sink with it and I would leave to deal with that.

“One must never put off things that can be taken care of today.” said the husband meaning well as usual. There was no restraining me at this point and I marched up to see the drivel he was reading to enlighten me and saw it was a book called ‘Solving The Procrastination Puzzle’. I gave him a look that mixed incredulity, sarcasm and why-don’t-you-practice-what-it-says all at once. Of course, it was completely lost on him. So, I asked him why we could not exert our energies into finding another handyman, and the husband said that made sense and found the hulk-and-bulk pair.

That is the story of how Mr Hulk and Mr Bulk came to our doorstep the other day. The men, heaved themselves in and asked after general health. I started to tell them about the corn in my foot, when I realized that by health, they meant the health of the dishwashers and ovens. I don’t know what they understood because I mixed a bit of Tamil into places I could not get them to understand in English and they seemed to get that. Maybe, a study on the similarities between Spanish and Tamil is in order.

Once they ascertained all the things that needed fixing, they went about their tasks. The pair of them looked into the sink pretty deeply, talked among themselves, and did a bit of pipe doctoring. In a few minutes, they started the dishwasher and voila! The water was not spilling on to the kitchen counter anymore. I was amazed at them and showed them to the oven.

I swear I do not lie when I say this: but all they did was go to the fuse box, switch off and switch on the thing again, gave it a mild thump and the oven greeted them happily and hummed back to work.

There is no saying how grateful I am to having things back to normal. If you will excuse me now, I might go and bake a fresh batch of cookies in my oven after giving it an affectionate pat and give my dishwasher an indulgent smile when I load up the dirty dishes.

Festivals In The Jungle

I wrote a series of Children’s Stories that revolve around festivals and the unique way in which we build our traditions and memories around them. The series explores how animals celebrate different festivals in the jungle.

The Illustrators who did a fantastic job: Saptarshi & Georgiana from Fi2Designs
The narrator is the daughter (she is still choosing her pen-name or voice-name)

The book is available in the iBook store:

https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/christmas-in-the-jungle/id780959029?mt=11&uo=4

Please like the page for the series: https://www.facebook.com/kidsjunglestories

I am gearing up for the next book in the series: St. Patricks Day In The Jungle, and am looking forward to releasing it.

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