My Family and Other Animals – Page 2

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.

Stories Meant for the King

The husband was narrating life in his humble abode as a child to the children. “My ‘room’ ” he said, picking the quotes like the children do, “was under the steel cot. I was the Hero there. If my brother decided to join – then We Were Heroes There, or We Were Devils There. But it was all good fun.’

The children guffawed with laughter. This narrative was a familiar one, and I smiled. I remembered those steel cots. Appalling things they were – with steel rods painted dark green with apparently no aesthetic appeal. They were sturdy – I’d grant you that. They were the mainstay in almost every middle class home in India in the 80’s. As children, we had stress tested them by leaping on to them from cliffs on high cupboards, using them as rafts from oceans of swirling creatures below etc, and they did not break. Steel, you know?

How we carve out space for ourselves when there isn’t any can be a problem. But children seem to find solutions to this problem in the most creative manners possible.

The husband’s abode growing up was a small house – children did not have separate rooms. “Just the reality!” he shrugged when the children looked at him surprised.

“Under the bed is a spacious place for a small boy, you know?” he said.

The daughter and son exchanged glances.

The daughter said, “We love having our room!”

“Decorated just the way we want too!” said the son.

“Our room under the bed was too – we had cobwebs in the east-facing courtyards, and well, lizards on the south-facing side. Beat that!” said the husband to his awed audience.

Raja Kadhais : Stories meant for the King

The husband was reminiscing about his ‘room’ under the steel cot, “In there we listened to all sorts of ‘Tea’ (teenage slang for hot-off-the-stove spicy news). Things we should not be listening to. Things that we should, we ignored of course. Your grandmother was particularly adept at noticing when one ear would dance for the juicy tales. I tell you, she could see the ears squirm, and she would send us out to play – “This isn’t for you – Raja Kadhai. (Meaning stories meant for the King )” she’d say. Well, she didn’t receive the memo about my kingdom under the bed I suppose! Anyway, those Raja Kadhais were the best!” said the husband grinning from ear to ear.

I always like the way the daughter finds her space wherever we travel. In the cramped space of a car, she’d make her ‘room’. In a shared hotel room, she’d put up a sheet like a tent and make her ‘castle’. Her ‘room’ is not always a room, but she manages to make it so. Her space.

When AirPods Snuffed out Stories Meant for the King

That day, though, I was annoyed at her for not listening in. Here we were discussing things that would’ve been amazing for her to know, and she had plugged her ears in with noise-canceling headphones, pulled a blanket in the back-seat and gone on to tune us all out. Raja Kadhais, Tea – nothing.

“Is this how life is going to be with these blasted devices? In one room, yet so far away?”I ranted to the husband later.

“Leave her be! She is a teenager, and teenagers require space.” he said, taking his daughter’s side (as usual).

I rolled my eyes at this. “Isn’t receiving this kind of input critical while growing up. How many stories we’d heard in this manner? Not explicitly told to us, but enough to give us an idea of the world around us.”

“They’ll find ways to get it – social media?”

“Instead of stories from adults in hushed tones?”

Imagine my surprise then when I saw these Japanese headphones that promised to pop the bubble of silence : Popping the bubble of noise canceling headphones. These headphones are supposed to let background noise in, so we can still receive sensory information.

I admit, I rolled my eyes like a teenager at this. Really – all this progress. I wonder when we reach a point of diminishing returns and have to return to the tried and tested good old fashioned ways. You know? Go back to fiddling the knob on the rusty old radio with one channel to tune into.

https://www.newyorker.com/culture/infinite-scroll/popping-the-bubble-of-noise-cancelling-headphones

Which of the current technology trends do you think will bear the test of time? I thought noise-canceling headphones were the thing – but apparently not.

Wind💨, Rain 🌧️ & Boats ⛵️

In what was a beautiful wind-whipped whirl one morning, the on-a-spring-break son and I went on a walk. Power & Internet were down, which meant we could both twirl off on our adventures while these things were being restored.

A few minutes in, we were confronted with a huge water pipe that gushed out in great spades. The county’s water department was already there looking into the problem, while we stood watching in awe as the water spooled off into the drain. Clean water.

“Hmm…everything decided to go nuts huh?!” the son said, as we stopped to marvel at the swift waters.

“Do you think we’ll have time to head back and bring back papers to make boats?” he asked, after a few seconds of awed water watching. I saw the determined faces of the county workers’ faces gleam with triumph – they had fixed the problem no doubt, which meant our time was short. Luckily, it was also garbage day, and the windy day had scattered a couple of pamphlets in the wind as the garbage truck tipped the contents over. So, off we went chasing after these pamphlets to make into paper boats.

If the maestros of productivity were to observe us that morning, there would be a lot of tutting, and note-taking on ways-to-improve, but we felt amazing.

Our boats, Mitillandimus Tittilandumas, and Mixter Baxter Junior fared the best. The remaining capsized before starting. For those interested, our boat christening was inspired by Gerald Durrell’s boat, Bootle Bumtrinket, in the book, My Family and Other Animals.

There does not seem to be a word to capture the sense of adventure, contentment and joy watching your paper boats take off on adventures, but we both highly recommend the experience.

What kind of life is it always to plan

and do, to promise and finish, to wish

for the near and the safe? Yes, by the

heavens, if I wanted a boat I would want

a boat I couldn’t steer.

~ Mary Oliver, Book: Blue Horses

Just as the last of our boats disappeared with the rivulets, the wind picked up, and we tried keeping ourselves upright as we continued on. It was no use. Within minutes, the winds were accompanied by plump raindrops, and we scuttled back home.

It had been a useful outing, and we came back refreshed and grateful that the rains started lashing down a few minutes after we reached. Back home, the power gods had restored electricity but not the internet. So, we settled ourselves down to a cup of tea and cocoa. We sipped in silence while the rain pattered all around us.

“Wonder what happened to our boats!” the son said finishing his hot cocoa, and we smiled together. They were not in safe harbor, and it was an exhilarating thought.

The Leap Wish

If you see me just for a day, with my nose transformed into a beautiful horn, and roaming the skies or plumbing the depths of the ocean, I can explain:

A Leap Wish?

“So, what do you wish can exist for one day only on Feb 29th? “ the son asks one evening.

“Hmm?” I am taken aback from the question, though I really shouldn’t be. The skies know I have had my fair share of them. But it still surprises me.

“It can’t be a person, but it can be a magical power, a creature that is long extinct etc. Like a leap year wish – a leap wish!” he says.

That was an intriguing thought. Something to wish for that only exists on Feb 29th. I thought, and thought about it shamefully for so long. Why was this so hard?

What would each of us like?

🐋“Hmm..maybe a chance to see our world from different perspectives? Like being a unicorn filled with magic and a narwhal who can dive deep and long?” I said. “Let me think about this a bit more. What would you want?” I asked him.

Screenshot 2024-02-28 at 8.40.47 PM

🦕Unsurprisingly, he came up with so many different things and versions, but finally settled on, “ I’d want dinosaurs to roam the Earth as they used to just for that one day, so we can see, how it all was for them.”

The husband said he would play the world to his advantage and ask to be able to teleport himself everywhere so he could experience a sampling of the world and make the most of 24 hours to make it 36 with the time differences.

“You and your can-do attitude. Can’t just take the 24 hours given to you – you have to optimize it to 36!” I chided him gently, though I admired him all the more for it, especially hearing what he had in mind.

🪸The coral reefs of the coast of Australia to the beaches in Brazil, a cold desert stop in the Gobi desert on the way to a hot one in the Thar desert or the Arabian one.

birthday

By the end of my conversation with him, I found myself thinking of longing and gratitude to live out our lives on this wondrous planet.

What would you like?

What about you? What would you like to experience that one day? Remember, it only lasts a day. For all you financial magnates, if you want a billion dollars to experience life as a billionaire, remember you get to be yourself with your old bank account the next day. That may make the remaining days that much more normal – be warned!

I spent the walk back pondering on how our life would be if we each got our wishes. Would the leap day every four years be wondrous, exciting, nerve-wracking, frightful, beautiful, scary?

We’ve all heard of the gypsy’s curse: May you get what you wish for! In this case, would it be too much for us to handle?

⚡️💨⛈Cloud Kitchens ⚡️💨⛈

We were walking at a time when everything around us was glowing in a golden hue. The sun was setting, highlighting the clouds in the horizon from within or behind, giving them a glorious gloriole. The recent storm had news channels talking of our favorite term in recent times – atmospheric rivers.

The actual river was flowing with muddy waters from the recent rains, the trail was still strewn with branches and twigs after the recent battering of the storms, the deer that usually had more space to graze were standing glumly off to the side for their favorite haunts were water-logged. Or at least I thought they stood glumly: they looked contented and happy with the fresh grass, and each other for company.

“Look at those clouds and the lighting from behind them!” I squealed.

“Oh please amma! You talk of nothing but countertops and cabinets these days!” said the son.

“I do not!” I said, mock-offended and a trifle sheepish. Well – the fellow was not entirely wrong. It was true, I was becoming one of those bores who go on and on about cabinets. I am trying to switch out the cabinets in our kitchen, and it has proved to be a task that had hidden depths to its complexity. Regardless – just then, I was talking about clouds and the sunset, and said so with a haughty sniff.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t think of how the hidden lighting would look under the cabinets.!” he said, and I laughed. I had not actually thought of it, but if the poor fellow thought his usually cloud-and-sunset-loving mother saw cabinets in clouds, I had scarred him indeed. Feeling suitably chastened, I promised to shelve all talk of cabinets for the walk. “Get it? Get it? Shelve talk of cabinets! Huh?”

He rolled his eyes, and though the clouds reminded me of the subtle grays and whites in certain countertops I had seen, I kept the opinion to myself, and we walked on chatting amiably of this-and-that.

Kitchens could wait, sunsets could not.

A disruption of ducks

There is a curious rhythm to the days after our India trip. The usual things still occupy our time – school, work, projects, commutes, the changing landscapes of nature, and all the rest of it. Maybe it is the throes of a winter season, or the fact that after the intense ceremonies of the beginning of the month, the quiet is disconcerting, but we felt on edge.

Like the hedgehog, we found ourselves peeking out of our hidey holes to see if life is normal, and finding that it is, were somewhat taken aback. Do you mean to say that we must plan to prune the roses?

Oh well, all right. If you insist, I suppose.

One morning, the son and I finding ourselves at a loose end decided to take a bike ride to dissipate some of this energy.

“Amma! Look – I just saw a hedgehog peep out.”

“Oh nice! It is close to February, so it must be checking.”

“I didn’t see if it saw its shadow though – we were going too fast!” said the son.

It was a lovely day – the feel of wind against our cheeks, the gentle cumulus clouds overhead, and the bay hosting a large variety of birds. We stood there taking in the beautiful sights when hundreds of birds took flight all at once, and then, as though nothing had happened, flocked back to their original place a few moments later. The son and I had a number of ideas as to what caused the disturbance, each more juvenile and silly than the next, but left us cackling all the same.

No one could deny the beautiful shared experience of the disruption – the birds heaving in one smooth cacophony and the humans ashore fumbling quickly to capture the sudden movements and failing miserably.

It reminded me of the book I was reading the previous day, On Duck Pond – By Jane Yolen Pictures by Bob Marstall.

on_duck_pond

As I walked by the old Duck Pond

Its stillness as the morning dawned

Was shattered by a raucous call:

A quack of ducks both large and small …


An understanding quickly dawned:

We’d shared a shock, and now a bond

And I was feeling very fond,

Of everyone on old Duck Pond.

As always the day out in nature surrounded by the fabulous clouds, the sun’s rays, the beautiful lights of the ocean, the stories the son and I swapped on our ride, the birds, first signs of spring in the wildflowers by the bay, had weaved its magic, and we returned home refreshed in mind and spirits.

img_9442-effects

P.S: A group of ducks, as Jane Yolen mentions in her book, are known by a number of names:

A raft of ducks

A paddling of ducks

A badelynge of ducks

Also, bunch, grace, gang or team.

The Most Wonderful Week of the Year!

“This is my favorite week of the year!”, I crooned to the son, and sang, “The most wonderful week of the year!” all out of tune, complete with the wrong lyrics etc, and he gave me an exasperated look. The children can never understand how I can consistently get lyrics wrong.

We were out walking after lunch. Our gait was leisurely which is to say mine was; he was leaping and prancing like a superhero taming a reindeer on magic mushrooms, while making sounds like a steam engine swooshing and whishing.

“Why?” he stopped to ask.

I gestured around us vaguely. The sun was shining, the white fluffy clouds were drifting, the earth was fresh after the rains the previous night, ducks were swimming, gulls were flying overhead, and the humans on the trail were pleasant and happy. We wished each other happy holidays and sniffed in the fresh air. What was not to like?

img_8243-effects

Last week was even better!

“Yeah – but why this week – last week was even better! We went to see…” he started, and I nodded. It had been a wonderful week – we had been traveling. The memory of lights and stars shone alongside family, friends, nephews, nieces, and aunts. We ate glorious foods prepared with love by extended family, played marvelous games, and took delicious sips of tea.

“Yes – last week was wonderful, but I mean – I like this week every year. The week between Christmas and New Years. The week when we all seem to be off together, waiting for the year to wind down and getting ready for the new year.”

“I prefer summer!” he said, and I gave him an amused look.

“Summer vacations and school going children. We don’t get that sort of luxury do we? “ I asked him, and he laughed.

“No! I like this week, and am going to enjoy it. Maybe go and eat a snack, write a post, read a book, and do anything at all the mind fancies!” I said, and skipped a bit as we turned homewards.

The Feeling

There’s nostalgia, relief, expectation, hope, optimism, a sense of wrapping up, mingled with the feeling of opening in to the new year. There must be a word for that feeling. Do caterpillars feel that way in their cocoon? No – that is too powerful, after all our metamorphoses are not half as dramatic.

“So, what’s your post about?” he asked pulling me away from my thoughts, and we discussed caterpillars, wars, words, and other inconsequential things. The birds chirped outside, and the teapot gurgled inside.

All was well. Happy New Year to all of you!

Sun Rise Sun Rise!

We stood there waiting for the sunrise over the Grand Canyon.

We had driven up there the previous evening in what felt like 20 degree weather. The moon lit scapes around us were beautiful from inside the car, but outside, it looked unforgiving. It was cold, and the desert around us was different enough. Even so, the same landscapes at night take on a different feel and dimension altogether. The shelves of stone around us in the early morning light of dawn was breathtaking. As if a different hue was revealed with every tilt in angle of the sun’s rays.

How drawn to light we are as a species? Somewhere, the sharp smells of pine wafted through, and I wondered briefly whether we stopped to let our other senses weigh in as much when we have sight and light.

I suppose we do let sounds and smells in, and do allow our sense of touch to help us along. But do we really develop our other senses? A preliminary search says we gather about 80% of our sensory perceptions using sight.

Dogs, on the other hand, seem to distribute their perceptions between sight, smell and sound.

The early morning calm of the sun-rise and my meandering thoughts were interrupted by the loud calls of a mother looking for her children. I turned around irritated, and was somewhat surprised that I was surrounded by this many people on a cold Christmas Day morning, standing on a cliff overlooking the Grand Canyon and waiting for the sun to rise.

But I suppose, it was my fault for not expecting this. It promised to be a beautiful day, after all, and like me, many had decided to brave the cold, and take in the marvelous sunrise over the horizon at a point helpfully named Sunrise Point.

I let out an amused grin, and exchanged a look with the children – they seem to have caught on to my look of surprise at finding other people there. It was a beautiful moment: the mother pulled her child towards her, and the sun burst forth in glory over the horizon.

All was well with the world at this moment.

Let’s go for some breakfast and then take a long, quiet walk along time, I said shuffling away from Sunrise Point, and the children chuckled at the thought. We are not an early rising family, and we scurried inside towards warmth, food and coffee before attempting to take on people and canyons.

True Heaven on Earth

“Just try them! True Heaven on Earth is right here!”

I find myself telling the children versions of this multiple times( in response to which I have multiple sets of eyes rolled at me). Parenting helps develop a thick skin like nothing else does.

I roll my eyes right back at them and I am fairly sure I do the e-roll better than they do. I learnt eye-rolling as an art form as a young dancer from a pretty young age after all, I say with pride. The daughter disagrees:

“Too much flounce – it should be subtle,” says the daughter.

“That way, you can always deny you ever rolled your eyes?”

She has the grace to laugh at least – “Yes.”

The son’s style is still developing, and therefore a lot more noticeable.

Back to the problem of True Heaven on Earth, though, I use this term mostly with respect to fruits, and flowers – the marvelous, wonderful variety of them that we enjoy. Ephemeral joys, yes, but also eternal.

The children do not seem to recognize the joys of fruit-eating and it is somewhat of a disappointment. For once, I am grateful that my childhood did not have easy access to chocolate. Maybe I too might have succumbed to chocolates in favor of the variety of fruit flavors..

Novembers in California smack of persimmons, apples, and pears. The satisfying crunch of these fruits after a day crunching leaves outside? There should be a word for that.

In the spirit of grateful Novembers, I beamed around the home relishing these gifts of heaven spotting the home. Flower bouquets and fruit baskets fill the soul like nothing else does, and I was pampered enough by friends and family for gifting me with these over the past few days. The fruits and flowers smack of the bounties of our planet, but they also manage to evoke a sense of gratitude for the thrill of friendship and the memories of shared experiences.

“All in one bite or one sniff!” I say.

“You’re weird!” the children chorus, and I agree whole-heartedly. Where the children are concerned, it is a compliment and I shall graciously accept.

I hum and prance through the rooms with a bounce in my spirit, and a shirt that proclaims ‘The Earth laughs in flowers’. Ralph Emerson might have said it, or a truly marvelous poet who attributed it to Emerson to give the beautiful phrase longevity. With the internet, I am never sure. Either way, it works.

The Boiler of Milk

I was on a visit to the old homeland. After the fond welcomes, and affectionate enquiries about all our friends, I was tasked with boiling the milk packets. I took to the task with enthusiasm and surprised myself.

How many of you have boiled milk? I realize that this bit of cooking is something that I do not miss living in the United States. The vessels are always a nightmare to scrub afterwards, and the milk itself has a cruel sense of humor. It would sizzle, and nuggle and miggle without actually boiling over, for ages. The entire time you are there alone pondering on the n-different things you could be spending your time on, nothing happens. Images from the poignant movie, The Great Indian Kitchen juggle with the forced quiet and calm of the post-dinner boiling milk time. The house is finally quiet. The milk is quiet too. Like a volcano. Dormant and slumbering. Rumbles from time-to-time, but slumbers all the same.

Then, the moment you decided to flick an eyelash out of your eye, the whole thing would come pouring out, making a mess. It is also curious that it seems every adult in the vicinity is peculiarly attuned to the sound of the hissing milk gushing out of the vessel. No sooner than this happens that the hitherto empty kitchen gathers distinguished guests.

The old grandmother, who minutes ago complained of knee aches and the inability to stand for a few minutes, comes prancing into the kitchen to offer advice.
The older grandfather hears this sound when one has to otherwise yell into his hearing aid to eat his tablets. He hobbles out of bed to see what the fuss is about.
The children – oh the children. You can spend entire evenings calling their names to come and finish their tasks, but this. They jaunt in to get in on the action with no invitations!
The man of the house looks amused at all the fuss, and wonders why the woman of the house looks petulant. It is just a packet of milk!

The boiler of milk, in the meanwhile, has nowhere to go – the results of her ineptitude spooling out helpfully for all to see and revel in.

Just a packet of milk.

Really, adulthood is very trying!

Still, it just goes to prove that time is a great healer and all that. All milk-related trauma seemed laughable just then, and I headed into the kitchen to boil a packet, looking like an angel in a night-suit. Patience oozing from my every pore, I smiled back as if to tell everyone present that I have it handled. My guardian angel or gatekeeper os whoever else keeps score, had better be jotting this down, I thought to myself as I stepped into the kitchen.

milk

I had no idea it was a task of such a technical nature.

India launched Chandrayaan-3 and managed to safely land the space vehicle on the less explored side of the moon with less instructions.

Don’t use the aluminum vessel. No, no, not that one. We need that to boil milk in the morning.
Take the packets to the left of the tomatoes in the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. Not the tomatoes in the middle shelf.
Keep the flame between sim and high. Not that low. No no…not that high. It could have been instructions for my blood pressure.
Don’t use that ladle – use the milk ladle
Why do you need a ladle?
No need to stir – are you making theratti-paal (milk peda)
Better to stir it every now and then, so you know what to expect.

I took a deep breath, and shot back that I knew how to boil milk – thank you very much, and would everybody turn away from the kitchen please?

I felt my guardian angel scowl.

I stood there, meditatively stirring every now and then, watching the bubbles form and gather as the milk began to boil. Just as I stood watching, and switched off the gas, the milk hissed over anyway.

“Forgot to tell you that this is a thick copper bottomed vessel that conducts heat. You need to switch off a few seconds prior to it actually boiling over.” said a gleeful voice. “I was going to tell you but you seemed to be so impatient for no reason.”

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Last week was even better!

The Feeling

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