Life – Page 81 – Nourish-n-Cherish

Stringing a Guitar with Green Beans

I coast along and then I suddenly realize that my cooking has reached an all time low. This usually coincides with either the parents or the parents-in-law leaving our home and going back to India. Some friends I know tell me they are quite possessive about the kitchen. Not me. When the mothers come and start looking comfortable in the kitchen, that is when I gracefully bow out and let the matriarchs reign. I am not mean: I simply let them do what makes them happy viz, deplore how poorly children eat, and tell me how I must learn how to mix food the same way that our Great Aunt on the Mother’s side used to. I smile, dodge, and mostly hover around the edges, doing the side-cleaning, verandah maintenance and the like.

Obviously, it is with trepidation that I don my chef’s hat again. This time, I decided to undertake foreign cuisines in the first week. I tell the husband that it is because we have been gorging on Indian cuisine long enough, but the truth is that my shortcomings in the Indian cuisine department will be more forcefully brought to light given the recency of the mother’s cooking.

I rummaged through the cupboards and dug out Chinese Manchurian Noodles. That sounded nice. So, I started to make it. I rattled the pots and needled the frozen and sang to the vegetables to cut to my tune. The problem was that the cooking was done before I started the second line of my vegetable song. The Chinese Manchurian Noodles turned out to be a different name on an Instant-Noodles-type-of-packet. The whole thing was over in two minutes flat. I had planned a 5 minute sequence, and I did not notice the noodles was done and let the thing go on a bit.

Overcooking instant noodles brings about a unique texture : it still looks like noodles, but feels like glue and looks like ripped out shards of faded cardboard paper.

I took a sorry look at the mess I had made with 2-minute noodles and decided that what was needed to be done to bring up the bar once again was to make sesame-green-bean. It might have tasted all right if the beans had been edible. It turns out I had a stringy set that would have made great guitar strings, but poor sesame-green-beans. Also, around the time I put the sesame seeds in the oil, I went off to answer the phone and came back to find the sesame seeds an elephant-gray in color. Never one to give up, I threw the beans in and sautéed till they could be sautéed no more.

The family usually has a quip ready the day after the grand-parents of the house leave, but this time I left them tongue-tied with my noodles. Anything that they wanted to say as an after-thought was dealt with firmly by the string beans.

Like the daughter said, “You can’t even joke about this Amma, it is that bad.”

PS: Tomorrow is Italian Cuisine (one can’t go wrong with a simple pasta and soup can one?)

The Flight to Paraguay

I am amazed at the things people will throw their time and effort into. Look at this person. He is obviously smart: he sold tickets on his site, he had two agencies and he created a whole ecosystem to support his airline. He even had advertising on the radio promoting his airline. He only forgot one small thing: The actual airplanes.

http://newsfeed.time.com/2013/10/25/fraudster-fools-folks-with-fake-flights/

When you start a restaurant, do you first get the food ready or prepare the food based on how many people get there? Maybe that was the problem that stumped him with the airline business. Nevertheless, here is a person who has product management, brand management and marketing skills doing the wrong things. People I tell you.

I wonder what happened to the Paraguayans who came to the airport lock, stock and barrel. What a lot of bother for them.

PS: Sounds like a nice title for a short story. Any weird ideas occur to you around this theme, please let me know. I would love to read them.

The Art of Braggarts

“Do you like to feel important and busy?”

I can rely on the daughter to ask me scorching questions like this, at the most unexpected of times. I hemmed and hawed, for truth be told, I have a paragraph answer to this question. I told her that I did like to feel a bit important and be busy doing the right things. Before we could go down the path of what classifies as the right things, I send the question back to her in the same tone she asked me: mildly curious to see what the answer will be. I mentally prepared for either a serious conversation or a perfectly goofball-ish one.

“What about you? Do you like to feel important?”

She laughs with a sound that reminds me of a train on a bridge. “Everyone likes to feel important and busy amma. Do you know how kids like to brag about how busy they are?”

“No..how do they do that?”

“Some kids brag about their homework. We honestly don’t have much, but everybody likes to say ‘Oh! we have 6 pages, we have 9 pages.’ Some of them even take empty sheets from the printer, so their stack looks bigger than the rest amma! Like it matters.”

Wow…I had no idea that training starts this early. She is, after all, still in Elementary School. From there to walking around with print-outs looking important in company hallways does not seem that big a step. I am now agog to know more. “What about you? Do you brag?” I ask her.

“Sometimes, but not much. I do a little bit of homework bragging. Everybody is a bragger in some way or the other, you know?”

Well, I knew some people are better at bragging than others, and also that tools such as Facebook are always there to give the reticent a little nudge. I hmm-ed meditatively.

She continued, “There are Homework braggers, Dress braggers, Thinnest braggers, Fattest braggers (mostly boys by the way), Can-break-pencils braggers, Im-the-Smartest braggers and I-am-the-fastest braggers (also, mostly boys). One boy in my class: he is a can-break-pencils bragger. He bragged that he can break pencils on his nose. So, we asked him to do it, and he said he needs to go to the bathroom. He goes there, breaks it, probably on his leg, and comes and says he broke it on his nose. But his nose wasn’t even broken! ”

I am sure there are more bragging classifications as we mature. The Busy Bragger, Award Bragger, Most Liked Bragger and so on. What brag types can you think of? The Art of cooking up more bragging categories? I am sure this will be an interesting exercise.

The Car Chase

The morning was pure adrenaline. We witnessed a high speed car chase. One of the cars navigated a steep bend at speeds best not attempted,and plunged into the deep, watery depths below. The rescue team that arrived with a great deal of noise onsite was not happy with the scenario. Luckily, the driver was fine: slightly wet and disturbed about the car, but otherwise perfectly fine.

The car was a blue car, probably a spy car, and the curve it was navigating before hitting the watery depths below felt like it was straight from a movie. Wait a minute. It was. There is a scene exactly like that in Cars 2, the Disney Pixar movie, where the spy car Finn plunges into the ocean. That is the scene the toddler was hoping to recreate this morning I am sure. He was driving the toy car at a great speed around the toilet seat, and the car lost its balance and plunged into the (thankfully clean) toilet. Before he could flush the toilet and create more fuss than was already reigning, the rescue team comprising of the grandparents with sticks and gloves arrived on scene, blaring their sirens er.. instructions.

The car was picked out of the commode gingerly. It was then washed and cleaned in Dettol. The same treatment was accorded to the driver, who unfortunately had watched the car splash impressively into the toilet from a close angle, and had water splashed down his shirt. The car has since been dried and put to rest in a comfortable position.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like to get back to some normal tasks.

The Affectionate Amby

I suppose this always happens in the world of fashion. You look at skinny models in high heels tottering with the confidence of a skyscraper on skates, and you see the perfect lines, and flatbeds where ordinary people settle for curves. Then you stop to wonder what the competition is about. Sometimes, you pause enough to look down at your own feet and the sensible footwear below the matter-of-fact trousers with extra pockets for carrying the cellphone. Then you think, why isn’t there glamour in practicality?

Why aren’t the world’s most stunning personalities cased in things that the everyday man and woman wear while they go about their lives?

I often think that way in the world of cars too. I remember the first time I showed my mother a Ferrari on the streets of USA. “Where else in the World, other than California, would you find a Ferrari parked on the street between a BMW and a Mercedes Benz?” I asked her, clearly excited to be showing her the sights.

In her typical fashion, she looked critically at the car, and said, “Looks like an expensive car.”

“Of course ma! Do you know how much it costs?”

“Doesn’t matter what it costs! It looks like we can’t fit our groceries in the trunk. So, what is the point?”

Sigh: There is a reason, I find glamour in practicality. It is called ‘instilled values’ folks.

Anyway, applying practicality to cars, it looks like the show Top Gear finally sees sense in my argument. Those who have traveled in an ambassador car in India would be thrilled to note the humble car mentioned. For what else is a car by looks, a horse by power, a bus by capacity, an optimist in attitude and a dog in loyalty?

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/motoring/top-gear/10157181/Top-Gear-series-20-episode-2-BBC-Two-review.html

The Hindustan Ambassador is the King among Taxis. The only car where restaurant signs can be reused in a car: Seating Capacity: 30

The Car, that in most families, is known affectionately as the ‘Amby’.

I have a story about the time my grandmother came to my sister’s wedding in an ambassador car, but I will save it for another day. That is an entertaining read for sure.

P.S: I have since seen the video clip of the Amby winning that race and it seems to be because all the others crashed into something or into one another. Nevertheless, the Amby it is.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GbP-GhH5Ci4

!(The Mad Hatter of Modern Times)

I have been known to do things that are, to put it as simply as possible, nuts. Take for instance what I did last evening. It was that tricky time between twilight and night. The sounds of the night had started and the sounds of twilight had retired, but night had not fully fallen, nor twilight completely faded. Among the community of the street lights, the ones looking forward to a night’s work were glowing, while others were flickering hesitantly.

I saw an elderly couple walking on the road when I was walking briskly towards them. When they were a few yards away from me, one of them started jogging mildly. What do you think I did in response? I wish I had a points system for the person who guesses best, but I don’t. So, at this point, please remember your answer and if you have the time, please let me know in the comments. Or better yet, maybe you can try the same and let me know the result.

Here is what you do when you see an elderly couple jog/walk towards you on the road. You pull yourself to a hard stop in the middle of the road, bury your hands in your palms and look down, smiling and waiting to see what happens. It is important that you think you are invisible. That is critical to the reception you will receive.

I noticed the other person had started jogging too. This jogging couple looked mildly worried as they passed me, and they made a sweeping, swerving motion, giving me a wide berth to give stage to my many eccentricities. I looked up and burst out laughing causing them to jog faster than before. They looked like they’d seen the Mad Hatter of Modern Times, and my laugh was construed as Hysterical. It is not true I tell you. Simply not true. I am in complete possession of my marbles.

Let me explain, it is important to me that my readers do not write off my sanity this early. Regular readers know I have a toddler son. What they don’t know is that he likes playing hide-n-seek. Ask any mother, and she gushes at all the new skills her offspring is picking up. Even so, I did not have high hopes for him, given his sister’s hide-n-seek history. It is chronicled here for future reference, and a picture attached.

(Read here: https://nourishncherish.wordpress.com/2007/02/26/hide-n-seek/)

The son takes it a step further. He does not go through the trouble of finding a place to hide. He simply puts his head down, hides his head in his palm and smiles in the middle of the road. It is the seekers duty to look all around him and then feign surprise a minute later at finding him. Obviously, a strategy as sophisticated as this has its own jokes in the family.

Going back to what happened to that hapless couple that night: The problem was that I mistook them for my parents. I thought they were imitating me by trying to jog, and I thought I will one-up them by hiding like the little fellow. All a laughable mistake of course. But I did not see them laughing. They looked worried and hurried off.

Now, I hope their counselor finds this blog and counsels them wisely.

RIP Mr. Bharathan

In the days of yore, kings and queens vied with each other to send their children to study in the Ashram nestled among Eucalyptus groves and blue hills. The rain filled clouds were said to induce the human condition to be inspired and to inspire alike. In that ashram lived a quiet, unassuming man the princes and princesses loved. Apparently, he could make a mere child soar like a kite, fly through a roaring fire toughening them to battle fire-breathing dragons later in life and stand upside down on a pyramid of people. It was rumored that when he threw a disc, it could slice through the air with a sound of a thundering Astra.

All year long, the disciples practised and when the kings and queens came to watch, they were amazed at what their young could achieve. The teacher was really making children jump through hoops of fire, stand upside down on a pyramid of people and running with them wearing immaculate white as they stood in formation for a gymnastics performance.

This man was none other than dear Mr Bharathan, our Physical Education teacher. He was a pleasant, contented man and most importantly, he was always there for and with us on the field. He was there urging you to run a little harder, bend over backwards just a little bit more than you thought possible during gymnastics, play badminton with you, or check out your bruised ankle.

He was an excellent companion on the blue-school-bus rides. He sat through the exuberance of winning a tournament smiling and listening to us singing songs of victory. He was also there for us through the quiet rides back home after being beaten badly by a rival team, with a nod signaling that all was not over yet: with strategy and more work, there was a possibility of a comeback.

He imbibed the ‘Never Give In’ spirit as only a true sportsman could. Thank You Sir for all you have done for generations of Lawrencians. We will miss you, as we practise what you taught us all those years ago in the Sports field, in our everyday lives. May your soul rest in peace.

One Mad Hen with a Green V

“Did you go to <fill in any place where parking is a pain> by any chance on Thursday afternoon – the day before the long weekend?” the husband asks.

I was astounded. How did he know? I admitted I had, all the time marveling at the Sherlock Holmes in him.

“How did you know?” I ask

He grins and waves a parking ticket at my face. I don’t know how I manage it. I look around for all the signs that say it is okay to park in a particular spot. I pay for it. Display on windshield. I hassle innocent bystanders and ask for reassurance that my parking is not going to get me in trouble and two weeks later, I land a parking ticket. I grin sheepishly and gulp at the amount. I could have gone ten times with that money.

So, you can imagine my trepidation when I had to spend three days on the University grounds to drop off my nephew. To make matters worse, the first thing folks told me when I landed at my nephew’s university was that parking was a pain and if I was not careful, I would have a windshield full of parking tickets for my collection. I was not pleased.

The day dawned bright and early and there I was entering the University grounds, my eyes peeled for parking signs. I promptly circled the main area six times in a clockwise direction (And once in the anti-clockwise direction before realizing halfway that it was a one way street and hastily turning around. ). Moving on, I figured that at this rate, none of us would get anywhere and I dropped the nephew and his father in the general vicinity of a map and headed to the parking garage.

I parked in a spot marked ‘V’. ‘V’ for Visitor. I paid for the parking slot and strode out of the Garage. Ten steps on, doubt crept in. What if ‘V’ stood for ‘Van’ or ‘Viscosity’ or ‘Valedictorian’? The stride faltered, the pace slowed, and I found myself looking doubtfully at the garage. Luckily for me, I also saw signs for a ‘Parking Office’ and I headed there.

When in doubt, ask. So, I stood in line and headed to a desk clerk.

He was drinking in, his morning cup of creamer and coffee and fixed me with a stern glare. Folks who work at Universities have a way of doing this to you even if they work at the Parking Office I tell you.

As is my wont when fixed with the stern glare, I gulped and asked .”Err..is it okay to park in a spot marked ‘V’?”

“What do you mean marked ‘V’? Were there ‘V’s on either side of the spot?”

“NO, there was a ‘V’ in the middle.”

“In all my years of service here, I have never seen a spot with a ‘V’ drawn in the middle. You had better head out and see that there are ‘V’s on either side.Otherwise, you WILL get a parking ticket.”

I nodded, and understanding that my allocated time was up, headed back up to the garage. I ran up the stairs and huffed and puffed up to my spot. I had seen wrong. There was no ‘V’ in the middle of the spot, but on either side. So, I headed back to the Coffee & Creamer desk clerk to show him a ‘Thumbs up’ sign. He grinned and said, “Then fine!”

Luckily I did not have to stand in the pesky line again, but the man talking to him was startled for a moment. Clearly whatever he had going just then was not falling under the category of ‘Then fine!” and he looked at me with a facial green that was pure jealousy.

I turned my back to exit. But you know how they say that when you exit the royalty, you must never show your back, or you shall pay? I paid.

“Just make sure, it is a green ‘V’ and not a red ‘V'” he said to my retreating back.

There are 26 different alphabets in the English language to choose from. Twenty-six. Why not pick an ‘A’ or a ‘Z’. No. They have to go for a red and a green ‘V’. Damn all parking signs. So, back to the garage and up the stairs and past the cars I went to make sure it was a green ‘V’. I emerged from the stairs and what do I see? A cop standing near my car. Not this time young man, not this time. Please. So, I ran hard with my backpack flapping against my back and breathing like a charging rhino.

“Please *puff* officer. I just *pant* went to verify whether *pant* I had parked in the right spot. *puff puff pant pant* He said a green ‘V’ was okay.” I glanced down and saw that I had not erred. I had parked between the lines showing a green ‘V’ on either side.

The Officer looked like he’d seen the idiot of the day in the morning itself and laughed out loud assuring me that it was okay to park there as long as the ticket was displayed on the dashboard.

If you remember, I urged folks to wear sensible shoes while going to drop children in college, and that is partly because in my enthusiasm to not get a parking ticket, I kept parking in the same garage in the green ‘V’ spots. This garage was in the centre of the University and if one needed to walk 2.3 miles to see something, so be it. I was not budging.

If I get a ticket for this, I swear to God, I will be one mad hen. One Mad Hen.

Unleashing Teen Potential

Ask me what I have been up to and you would find me fumbling for words. There has been much going on that had me reaching for tissues (No, I don’t have a cold, I mean of the nostalgic type)

I am not much of a sappy writer, but I must admit the past weeks experiences tugged at my heart strings like no violinist has tugged on his violin before.

You see, I went with the nephew to admit him to college. The same bundle of a baby that I sniffed at the day he was born more than 17 years ago. It reminded me of how much wisdom I have gained over the years, that I did not go and meet his would-be class mates for the next 4 years and tell them all about how he was the most beautiful baby I had ever laid my eyes on. In fact, I did not even tell them that he recognized and smiled at me within hours of being born. (I know since that it is gas, but try telling a teenage first-time aunt that)

As I walked the grounds of the University, I could not help feeling inspired. The campus was sprawling and the faculty seemed to be filled with competent and motivated professors. The atmosphere was one which had me reaching back longingly to the recesses of my brain where I had loved lolling in the library and reading up on random topics. Not only that, the University library was named after one of my favorite authors (Dr Seuss) and I got to take a picture of his statue

Statue of Dr Seuss with the Cat in the Hat

The University grounds were large and impressive and best of all, filled with Eucalyptus groves and one singing tree. Oh! The lure of Eucalyptus leaves : it brought back some extremely pleasant childhood memories. I grew up in the Nilgiris where Eucalyptus trees dotted almost every hillside. I sniffed around the campus inhaling the scents every opportunity I could.

Great thoughts seeped into my mind as I took in the scents. For example, I wondered why on Earth I had not thought of wearing sneakers instead of sandals. Here is a tip to all readers going to drop their kids in college : please wear comfortable shoes.

Walking around the campus and taking in the trepidation on the young, eager faces ready to start college was … well, priceless. But what really sealed the deal was the number of times parents worried about what the children would eat at college. After the thirteenth time the topic came up, we decided to fatten the boy up before dropping him off in his room with this:

Unleashing teen potential maybe the University’s concern, but I have no doubt they have a solid foundation to start with. Watching this pizza disappear in minutes was enough to convince me that great things are possible.

Here is wishing the College-going-lot all the very best.

Rainbow Dash

I was waiting to break into my new running shoes. Like a child waiting to play in the rain, I cast loving looks at the shoes every now and then and vowed to get up early the next morning and go for a run. Maybe my excitement rubbed off on my toddler son, but he was up before the lark and waiting for me by the shoes before my run. “Amma. Thum Amma Thum. Thunning Amma Thunning. Shoos thunning.”

(Lexicon: Thum: Come, Thun: Run, Shoos: Shoes)

My shoulders sagged a bit, but he had an enthusiastic-puppy-look about him and so off we went. The pair of us running with a stroller in hand. It was my plan to bundle him into the stroller a little way in and then run. But the fellow had plans of his own. He ran with his little steps by my side. I could walk, but he insisted I thun with him. So, I than. For this pace of running I needed no running shoes, but it was wonderful. He kept running, then squealed and stopped to see a passing truck. We ran again. A few feet on, there was a pile of dry leaves. We both jumped in there, squashing the leaves and listening to the crackle under our feet. This run was not going to be measured in terms of distance, that much was certain. We crushed the leaves underfoot till a yeti couldn’t have gotten a crackle out of it anymore. We ran some more and spotted a children’s park nearby and made for it. We chased birds, played in the swing and walked back – the toddler a spent force, but still refusing to sit in his stroller.

As we walked back that beautiful day, the sun burst forth with a few well chosen sprinkles of rain and we walked home under a glorious rainbow that the child said was ‘Ennow Tash’ (‘Rainbow Dash’ is the name of a pony princess or some such thing that he is forced to watch with his older sister. This famous Rainbow Dash has a wiki link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rainbow_Dash#Rainbow_Dash) I am sure this will become a problem later, but for now he is proud he knows about Rainbow Dash, the pony princess.

When I read this article about an artist collaborating with her 4 year old son, the story warmed my heart. It reminded me of that run that became a rainbow dash and how what I planned turned into something far more meaningful just because I was willing to let go. Maybe, if we relinquish control more often, we will find joy in different ways.

http://busymockingbird.com/2013/08/27/collaborating-with-a-4-year-old/

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