My Family and Other Animals – Nourish-n-Cherish

When Engineers Attempt Roofs

The Kind of Engineer Who

“I shall put up some tarpaulin on the roof, and this will stem the water flow from the rains till we find someone to fix it.” the husband declared.

We had a leaking roof.

You know – how in the novels they tell you that you must show what happened, not tell you? I’ll just tell you and you will see. I slipped on the water pooled by the bucket by my feet. The rains were in and out of the house. Literally. There was a steady drip that was meant to drip into the bucket, but had managed to splatter outside the bucket. When the man announced his intentions of putting up the tarpaulin on the roof, I was attempting to clean the mess on the floor, and slipped. I barely managed to take hold of the stairs, thus saving myself from breaking my own neck. I might possibly have also saved my teeth from shattering. I count them all as wins.

Marriage makes you robust.

Now. We have many talents in the house, but fixing leaking roofs, plumbing, electrical wiring, aren’t even remotely in the vicinity of talents we boast about. In fact, we barely manage to put up an assortment of holiday lights every year. But still, the husband has this undeniable faith in his capabilities on all these fronts. With a smile, he embarks – a few dashes to the hardware store, a few YouTube videos, and a hearty dose of laughter infused with optimism, and you will find the man attempting to do everything.

One of our neighbors is retired and likes tinkering. He asked us what the husband was doing on the roof with a mild look of concern on his face. “Is he an engineer?”

“Err…Software Engineer.” I said. To which the husband piped up from the roof, “Though many years ago, I also studied Electronics and Communications Engineering!”

The neighbor still looked concerned. “So, not a mechanical or civil engineer then!” he asked. Sometimes, society is too polite. What he meant to say is, “So you are the kind of engineer who calls a mechanic or electrician to actually fix things, right?”

Several neighbors came through the course of the day with concerned looks on their faces. Some laced it with humor, others with alarm. It was an illuminating experience.

The Benevolent Roofer

The man in question, though was undeterred by public opinion – he sat there on the roof, polished off a whole thermos of steaming noodles like he was on a picnic, and waved to the people below. ‘Benevolent Roofer’ is the phrase that comes to mind. Folks on walks waved back. Dogs woofed. Cats meowed. Squirrels scampered. Butterflies flitted.

He then went on to spend 3 painstaking hours placing tarpaulin on the leaking section in hopes to stem the steady leak from the rains. We clambered up and down the ladder giving him a tile or two at a time to place on the tarp. ‘They are heavy!’ he panted, and I sweetly refrained from mentioning that they were actually only as heavy as the weights in our living room – the weights he’d bought to do weight training 5 years ago. I picked the weights up everyday to clean under them, but he never did.

The rains came that night. The tarpaulin held on the roof – meaning it did not fly away. But it somehow managed to find a way to pool more water into the weak spots. The next day, we found that where we had 1 leak before, now we had 3.

But like the children said to me when I said it will all make for a hilarious blog post, “Amma! Now remember! He is allowed to say he made it worse, you are not!”

Fascinating

We caved in with the leaking roof, and had a pair of competent roofers come and fix the roof.

It was fascinating to watch them. It had taken the whole afternoon for the husband and his support crew to place the tarp on the roof. He called several friends who all gave varying levels of moral support, advice and company via cellphone throughout the day. The man had the look of an astronaut in touch with his NASA team in Houston the whole time.

The roofers, on the other hand. They came. No fuss, no jibber-jabber: the pair of them removed all the offending tiles, replaced the leaking area and put new tiles on them in far less time.

What’s worse?

One stood in our garden and threw 7 tiles at a time, and they were all deftly caught by the man on the roof.

It took us a few minutes to stop gaping at the scene.

Never mind

That evening we stepped out. The sun was shining. The leaking roof had no husbands on it. The house inside had no buckets to catch the leak from the leaking roofs. The birds were chirping, the leaves were all showing off that they were as good as their east-coast-fall-color relatives. It was all marvelous.

“You know? I still liked that I tried to put the tarp on the roof!” he said looking far too pleased with himself.

“I quite like having my husband firmly rooted on the earth instead of on rooftops.” I said diplomatically.

The husband went back to his code, and the roofers went to their van.

All was well.

Social Media Cringe Scales

Going… Going …

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

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

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

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

Scales of Cringe

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

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

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

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

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

My Mom!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Diwali in the Jungle: By B.S.Bumble

Diwali in the Jungle – By B.S.Bumble

California announced that Diwali is a holiday. I am pleased that this is the year I published the fifth book in my Festivals in the Jungle Series – titled Diwali in the Jungle. It feels beautiful to celebrate the Festival of Lights in such a wonderful manner.

The fifth book has had its time coming. Partly due to life’s pressures, and partly due to the fact that my own children, nephews and nieces were past the age of reading children’s books.

I started writing the series for them more than a decade ago. I had just got off a video call with the daughter talking to her charming little cousin in India, who’d asked her, “What’s Halloween?” To which the daughter explained with all the elder sister energy and confidence of a seven year old she could muster. “It is when you can be anything. My brother is going to be a monkey (Curious George), and I am going to be a fairy (Tinker Bell)!”

Bless children, really! This statement might’ve confused her cousin, but she was more than willing to go with the premise. Not stopping to ask why her baby cousin-brother would become a monkey or why her cousin-sister would become a fairy. She just asked if she could become a fairy too.

The first book I wrote was Halloween in the Jungle, though I published Christmas in the Jungle first.

Diwali in the Jungle

The characters in the books (Janny Rat, Oby Elephant, Zebo Zebra and Tango Tiger etc) however, continued celebrating different festivals in the jungle. Every year, I would read to my children’s elementary school classmates, and get reviews from them real-time (Alas! they did not get to record their ratings and reviews, but I remember them all fondly.) The animals celebrated Halloween, Christmas, St. Patrick’s Day, and Mother’s Day. So why not have them celebrate Diwali too? After all, California is now officially celebrating Diwali!

So please read on to find out. The book is available for free download in iBooks titled, ‘Diwali in the Jungle’.

What happens when the animals try to celebrate Diwali in the Jungle? The animals make bright rangoli patterns, light diyas, and share a delicious feast. But when a plan to startle Tango Tiger gets a little too noisy, everyone remembers what the festival is really about—light, friendship, and compassion. A joyful read-aloud that introduces young readers to Diwali traditions.

Illustrations

The previous books in the series were illustrated using digital imaging techniques. A decade has since passed. When AI imaging emerged, the itch to bring these characters back to life was there. So, I started with the simple story, and numerous attempts to generate the illustrations.

It took several attempts, several different styles, and several mistakes before something emerged. The problem is that AI has no idea that a bison has 4 legs. When illustrating a children’s book in which the Bison is attempting to shake pepper, it will give the Bison two hands as well as four legs. Want to get an elephant to sprinkle sugar? Just use another trunk!

That, right there, is both the limitation and amusement of using AI techniques. It genuinely has no clue what is commonplace, what is ludicrous, and what is downright wrong. You tell the prompt that you want the image generated again and say, “Make sure the elephant has one trunk only.”, and it responds, extremely politely, “You are absolutely correct. An elephant has one trunk only. I will correct it and generate another image for you.”

And then go ahead to generate an image with the elephant having 2 trunks, and 4 legs and 2 hands for the next 15 attempts. Frustrating? Yes. Funny? Yes. Time-consuming? Yes. Worth it? I hope so.

After literally days and days of generating images with several different prompts, styles, and character looks, I settled on the images used in this book. I hope it works for the story. There is a certain continuity in how the animals look across the different books, though published a decade apart.

What’s Next?

The animals still have a lot of festivals to celebrate in the jungle, don’t they? Maybe they will celebrate Father’s Day in the Jungle next. It was a book conceptualized years ago with a story involving hiking, star-gazing and more.

All the books are for children aged 4-8 years. The books all have an audio component to them – they are read-along books. Hence the iBooks format, and not Kindle. The first few books were read out aloud by the daughter, one of them had music generated in the background by my talented friend, the husband looked up technological options, and the son wanted to put them out on YouTube.

In short, every book was a celebration in our household.

I hope your young ones enjoy the stories as much as my family and friends did putting it out for them. The books are all dedicated to everyone who tries to find joy and happiness in our daily lives.

An Enchanted Adventure: A Journey Through Children’s Books

Mystique & Intrigue for an Adventurer & Explorer

“I am going to indulge myself in something that I haven’t had the chance to do in some time!” I said – throwing it over my shoulder casually in a manner intended to intrigue and mystify.

“Going to the library? Good job ma!” said the son, and I moaned. Mystique and I. My foot.

I guarded the time I had between a drop-off and pick-up session like it was precious (because it was) and headed towards the library. I fended off requests for the grocery store, deftly ducked under an amazon return order request, and dodged an enticing offer to search for missing documents in the house.

When finally I walked into the cool library that hot summer evening, I felt something like an adventurer. An explorer who found their way to treasured lands. It was beautiful.

The display stacks groaned with new children’s titles, the popular books section assured me that the authors displayed there had been continuing to do their good work of broadening children’s minds.

I cannot adequately state how marvelous it all is.

The hot evening outside meant I picked up books with illustrations with cooler themes in illustration. Sleepy dreamers, cozy woodland creatures, forests in fall, the gleam of windows in the night, the beautiful shapes of the stars in the night sky. The here-and-now of long summer days has us all yearning for these themes, I suppose.

As I gazed down at an illustration in the book, Every Color of Light – by Hiroshi Osada, I closed my eyes for a moment thinking of the evening we went in search of the stars. Specifically, Delta-Cep in the Cepheus constellation.

Delta Cep in the Cepheus Constellation

The son was bemused at how enthusiastically we wanted to help in this particular homework assignment. He, of course, in the innocence of youth cannot understand our childish enthusiasm for learning new things, finding out about new things. “Did you know that if we scale our universe, if the solar system is a football field in California, the nearest star, Alpha Centauri, is in the East Coast of America?”

“Really?”

See? Amused at the awe shining like Alpha Centauri on our faces.

Anyway, he said it was difficult to find Delta Cep in the summer skies because of the light pollution in city areas. It isn’t the brightest star system. The husband asked his talented photographer friends for the best places to go, and off we went. For half an hour, we forgot about all the travails that seemed to be whipping our daily worlds. Maybe Delta-Cep had a better time of it. A place where peace and harmony prevailed. A star-system in which the greatest turmoils were mild-summer-breezes that rippled through their atmospheres.

That is the power of story-telling isn’t it? The ability to transport us to realms other, feelings exalted, and wholesome?

Farmhouse Menagerie

I picked up the book on cozy woodland creatures, Woodland Dreams – by Karen Jameson pictures by Marc Boutavant

What whimsical names would you give our fellow creatures? Karen’s names were fascinating: Fox (Swift Legs) , Fish (Shiny Scales), Deer (Tiny Hooves), Woodpecker (Strong Beak)

Come Home – Swift Legs

Furry Schemer

Red-tailed Dreamer

Karen Jameson, Picture by Marc Boutavant

The lyrical poems she gives for each creature was enough to bring a smile.

It got me thinking: What would you name some of your fellow creatures? I have always loved listening to the names people give their pets. The daughter had quite the list, and I must say, some of them made me sit up and listen. The menagerie she had in mind for her horses, dogs and cats, reminded me of the little girl whose stories as a girl all involved moving to the countryside, and a horse in the stables revealing themselves to be a unicorn only to her. There is a sweetness to thinking like that. A simple yearning.

The feeling of a children’s book

And so it went, a little reverie of my own every time I picked up a book. It was the rare book that disappointed. Most children’s books had a sweet emotion it evoked – warmth, beauty, companionship, safety, love, growth.

It only seemed right that I finished my stash for the evening with the book, Grow Grateful – – By Sage Foster-Lasser and Jon Lasser, PhD. Illustrated by Christopher Lyles

“So, how was it?” said the son as I picked him up.

“It was amazing! I wish you could’ve come!” He beamed. “Yes, next time. Tell me which ones did you like the best?”

I told him about all the ones I had read, and we chatted about them all the way home. He listened, an indulgent look on his face, and I felt a pang – he was growing and children’s books seemed childish to him just now as a newly minted teenager with a reputation to grow into. I hope he’ll come back to them one day like C S Lewis said to his niece for whom he had written The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe

“Some day you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.” C S Lewis

Royal Life: A Light-hearted Perspective

Being Royal

“I take it all back, my dear. I think I want to be Royal. You know? Just have all the means, and have everyone do as I say!” I said to the children, who were milling around in the kitchen for lunch.

“Everybody already does whatever you say! I don’t know what you mean!” said the daughter.

“No they don’t! But that’s going on the blog.” I said, to which the son pips in his share.

“Oh my god Amma, you’re literally a content farmer, you know that? Full of dictums on using social media, instagram, etc, and here you are totally content farming.”

“True! True!” agrees the husband, who is also enjoying this far too much. “She is the Queen! Content Farming. Royals do it too, don’t they?!”

I laughed loudly at that, and said, “Seeing as none of you bowed to me while meekly accepting that you did not get the yogurt out of the fridge, I contest your claim.”

Wealth, Fame, Fashion

The daughter and I have been watching a few episodes of The Crown on Netflix, and our commentary changes depending on the episode in question.

Generally, having to not worry about wealth, ways and means, is a thumbs-up seeing as career discussions are a constant hum for those from middle class families. “I wouldn’t mind attending charity balls, and deciding where my money goes. “

“Exactly! Mental Health – yes! Global warming – yes! Improving chocolate wrappers – no! See?!”

One night, we were watching an episode where Lady Diana was being hounded by the press.

The press scrutiny, and the unrelenting demands of living in the public eye earns a commiserating, “Must be awful living like that. Watching how often somebody talks to you, or who has their left toe turned away from you! Sheesh! People need jobs!”

“And – there we are back to jobs again! We must not be a very good royal family then, huh?!” we cackled to one another slurping the icecream sticks in our hands in a plebian manner.

One day, we swooned over the fashions – the elaborate hats, and the colors that we wouldn’t wear to work everyday. The queen’s words to Prime Minister Blair then made sense. In that episode, the Queen is agonizing over the future of the monarchy, and has several polls taken to consider what they need to be doing, what they could do better: etc. Finally, predictably, she embraces the has-been, but shows growth by seeing the point of the can-be. She says something to the effect of the monarchy existing to show us another world, transport us to another world. That, she is determined to do well. So if there are swan keepers of royal swans, royal buglers and bagpipers, and each of them providing a bit of a dip into that world, so be it. (Season 6 Episode 6, Ruritania.)

Sea Sense

One day, the daughter floated downstairs wearing something that looked like it had been discarded by Ernest Hemingway’s Old Man after a trying day at sea. I gave her one of my scathing looks that affected her like water on a whale. Then, I tried adopting a pleading tone. “Do you honestly want to wear this to a party in which other people will be present?”

“It’s summer! Relax. Besides, I like the fraying edges – it’s supposed to be like that.”

“So, it wasn’t ripped by an angry shark?!”

She gave me a look. Frozen. Piscene – in keeping with the theme of the evening.

“But think of the fashions!”

“I am thinking of fashion. Clearly you’re not! What is this Mother? Fashions from last century?!”

“Long skirts were rather popular in the 1990s, but they continue to be fashionable in 2025, don’t they?!”

It reminded me of a good old book by Miss Read: Changes in Fairacre. Miss Read is musing on what to wear for dinner to her friend Amy’s house. Her Aunt Clara’s seed pearls would have to do with almost everything. And she says:

“Did other women fuss so much about their clothes, What did women do who had twenty outfits to choose from? Went quite mad, I supposed, worrying about shoes and jewels and so on to go with the right clothes. How did Royal ladies cope?”

I looked down at my well-worn skirt, a jewellery set my friend had gifted me a few years earlier, thanked the stars that aside from our modest circle of friends who were also our friends on social media, nobody really bothered about us.

“Royal life must be such a hassle, huh?! “ we chuckled as we settled into the back seat in our comfortable clothes.

That evening, I sighed happily to myself, glancing up at the full moon glowing in the skies. We may not know what it is like to have a dip into another life, like the Queen says, but I am grateful there isn’t a dull moment in the house with these characters.

Ephemeral Fashion: The Humor in Childhood Wardrobes

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

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

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

Goldilocks Style

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

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

Nostalgia

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

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

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

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

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

Frilly Fashions

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

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

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

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

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

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

20 Years of Blogging: Cherishing Ordinary Lives and Moments

Two Decades of Writing

Some gifts are marvelous in how they keep giving. Writing is one such gift: a gift that enables us to find light and joy in our lives. Just like that, this month marks two decades of my blogging journey. 20 years or 1040 weeks in which I wrote 1-2 posts a week, every week. (#syzygy)

Manathakkali Keerai

Poetic Greens

Manathakkali Keerai has a beautiful name in English – they are called Sun Berry or Wonder Berry or Black Night Shade greens.

What poetic names for such an unassuming plant?

It was a variety of greens that both my mother and father-in-law seemed to adore, and I was slightly taken aback to see the way they were thriving in our little vegetable patch to be honest. It was nice enough to pick the little black berries and pop them in, but the greens? I had no idea what to do with them. The mother donned her expression of helping the local village fool and said, “Make keerai out of it!” and so there we were – harvesting.

Do we take the stems?

Just the leaves?

Cook the green berries or just the blackened ones?

Cut them or strangle them from their stems?

The husband, clearly out of his depth, had taken to advising me on harvesting techniques.

“Dude! We’re both doing this for the first time ever as far as I am aware. And you know even less about this than I seem to know, so why exactly are you giving me directions?” I said, frowning.

“Yes! But do you really mean to say that women don’t like being told what to do?” he said. At least he looked abashed.

I laughed at that and we both went ahead with butchering the plants we were supposed to be harvesting.

Cooking the Greens

We managed to get a few leaves for the dish, and I made them. “So, what do you think? These are extremely healthy!” I said pointing to the cooked greens – I had to admit that they looked a little disappointing.

The children both winced.

“Hmm…They look healthy.”

“See? Already looking green!” I said and they both glared at me a little. “Remember those mouth ulcers you were telling me about? Well – these are supposed to be the very best cure for that.” I said.

“Yes mother – thank you! But I had the mouth ulcers months ago!” the son said.

“Well – it takes a while to grow, doesn’t it?” I said weakly and encouraged them to eat up like good children.

After they took their first mouthfuls, it was priceless. The daughter said, “Hmm…it’s a bit bitter, but does it have to be so stringy?!”

I gave an uneasy laugh. Were they stringy? They looked, well, green.

The son had a dubious look, and prodded it a bit, he put some in, and then gagged. Spectacularly. And went running to the sink.

I could have tried the strict got-to-eat-up routine, but it is difficult when the dish looked that questionable. So, I tasted it too, and oh lord! What kelpie crying in the kitchen could eat that?! It was … well…as the children kindly put it, “Not exactly disgusting, but close!”

Maybe I hadn’t made it quite right. Oh well.

Peeking out after the rains

Novembers in the Bay Area are beautiful. It is the time when the world around us turns colorful – assures us that the seasons are turning. The fall colors, never as resplendent as in the East Coast, are inviting, and the son & I spent more minutes walking gleefully into crunchy leaves in the past few days than was necessary. We also gazed upwards into maple trees – the greens, yellows, reds and maroons like a beautiful artist’s palette in the world around us.

Regardless of how we started out, we’d come back smiling widely and happy to be out in the world. The days drawing in closer also means that we had to really try to catch all of this in a narrow window before the skies draw the screens on them. That sense of urgency adds to the thrill.

“She had always loved that time of year. The November evenings had a sweet taste of expectation, peace and silence.

And she loved most of all the quiet of her house when the rain fell softly outside.”

– Louisa May Alcott’s, Little Women.

The squirrels, deer, water rats – they all seem to be more at ease with the time-change than we are. Probably because they don’t peer at the clocks before heading out for a walk. They rise with the sun, and rest with the dark. There is a profound kind of philosophical simplicity there.

Yesterday was Veteran’s Day and a holiday for schools. So, we decided to make a song-and-dance of it, and headed out for a walk after lunch. The rains had lashed down all morning – the first rains in November in the Bay Area always make me feel warm and special. By afternoon, the clouds were scuttling away, leaving a delicious moist, clean Earth behind. We walked around a lakeside – watching the pelicans, sanderlings, geese and ducks catch the sunshine after the rains too.

There is a strange solidarity amongst creatures in that simple act. Peeking out after the rains.

The Goat

“So, how was your day?” I asked the son as I picked him up from school a few weeks ago. He drooped, looking shriveled from the heatwave outside.

“P.E at the worst possible time of day!” , he shrugged. My heart went out to the fellow and well, all of the students really.

Bay Area had endured a heat wave of 100 degree days for two weeks, and if I did not record the following, I’d be remiss in my writing as the Jotter of Events in the nourish-n-cherish household.

“Come on! It can’t be that bad! How about we get some ice cream?” I said.

His eyes shone. “Really?”

I nodded and asked him to invite his friends too. Afterwards, I asked him what the most exciting part of his day had been aside from the ice-cream (“Awwww!”)

“Nothing really!” he said, looking as morose as it was possible to look, with ice cream dripping on his fingers on a hot day in an air conditioned car.

The Goat Story

“Oh come on! It can’t be that bad- the most exciting thing of my day was when I saw a herd of sheep on my walk today. One of them had managed to slip out of the electrified fences. How it managed it, I don’t know. Maybe climbed too high up a tree and flipped over either side. Poor thing.

But you should’ve seen the panic! The sheep dog was going crazy seeing one of its wards had escaped. The other goats were all in a titter, all of them baying and boo-ing. The anxiety in the air – the poor things all wanting to help, shouting directions, and the lost goat all alone on the other side of the fence. It was heart-wrenching to see them all like that.

Then another dog comes on the trail, and this poor goat almost jumped through its own skin. The dog is excited to chase a goat on the trail. The owner of the dog is nervous that she can’t control her dog if he decides to lunge for the goat. The sheep dog is nervous and barking to high heavens at the excited dog, “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare! My goat!”

The goats are all frisky and baa-ing away. All of them shouting instructions to the poor misplaced one – Keep left, go that way, try doubling back in this way! No! Not that way! This way!

The poor lone goat who escaped the fence, the poor goats fenced in and trying to help the escaped one, the poor sheep dog trying to find a way to bring in the wayward goat who is feeling more and more lost and panicked by the second, the poor dog owner on the trail trying to restrain her own dog, the dog clearly being stopped from doing the thing it most wants to do which is to chase the goat, and the onlookers all of us desperate to help the poor animals, but unable to do anything. The noise is incredible, you can pluck the emotions out of the air.”

I stopped to look at the son. He swapped his intent listening face to his mischievous laugh, “Are you kidding me? Huh! Get it? Get it? Lost goat? Kid? Never mind. But really amma! As far as exciting things go, this is much better than mine. I had to listen to teachers talk about transformative functions all day! So even if you had nothing else happen to you the rest of the day, which I know is not the case, you still win!”

I laughed. “Hope the little fellow got in with his pals. Never have I seen such panic in brown rectangular pupils.”

“I am sure he did – that goatherd comes by every hour or so, doesn’t he?” said the son. He looked marginally better having heard the goat story, and then went on to tell me about his day in a little bit more detail.

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