30 in 2005

Moment in time

2012-02-12T05:58:00.001Z

Up at unearthly o'clock with the Teething Toddler who demanded 'another cup' of water on this cold dry English night. Trod on strategically placed racing cars on way to kitchen to get the water and checked the BBC news on my phone instead of watching where I walked. I stumbled over a car as I read about the death of Whitney Houston.

Just yesterday, on our way to a birthday party, the radio was blaring every ballad to commemorate valentines day and whitney's 'I will always love you' came on. We both laughed about how much we loved her music no matter how corny it could be.

And then to hear this news. I am a Big Time fan I would say. I know the tunes and the lyrics. I am always amazed anew by the clarity and heft and sheer power of her voice. I am not ashamed to say I listened to a LOT of her music growing and grown up. Tomorrow at breakfast I am going to put on a CD of her greatest hits and use the amp and speakers in her honour. Whatever her problems may have been it is a shame and a waste to have been taken so early. RIP Whitney. I will always love you.

S.N.O.W

2012-02-05T13:01:00.001Z

Out for a walk this morning in the smattering of snow. Followed by divine Japanese lunch. This is the good life.

February the first

2012-02-01T21:42:00.001Z

Blistering cold day today. Deceptively blue sunny skies. We had to retreat for an extra layer and missing gloves before venturing to yet another play activity.

The joy of living in a glass box though is that all afternoon we built imaginary and real block forts on our living room carpet bathed in sunshine and shielded from the worst of the cold.

Hot avocado paranthas with yogurt for dinner - a new found use for avocado that is popular with my child and me.

An early night turn in to try and cure my past few nights of insomnia, brought on by Vs absence. On the plus side I'm catching up on lots of programs on the iPad and getting through my stack of library books at great speed.

A good start to February. I'm pleased with 2012 so far.

They are coming

2012-01-30T20:23:00.001Z

January has been a very busy month, in a good way. It's not an excuse and I just wanted to say I'll be more 'Diligent' in February. Of this year.

In the meanwhile, enjoy some cheese.

Apparently...

2012-01-02T21:22:00.002Z

.... I didn't make any resolutions last year. Or at least none that I bothered to record on my dead weed like blog. But in years past I most certainly made and wrote about my resolutions. I'm big on resolution making. And keeping as far as I can. I find it gives me a focus and direction, much like a shopping list to get on with and tackle.

This year I have a few things on the list:

1. I am trying to be more mindful of what I eat. Not to lose weight (although my obeseness does need addressing) but just because I have lost my desire to eat meat on a regular basis. I am your original meat eater so this is a big change for me. I've been thinking of being mainly vegetarian for a while now. So this year I'm trying to be a pescatarian and up my intake of fish and avoid meat/ poultry as far as I can. I think special occasions or holidays might be the only time I veer.

2. Owning less stuff. I find that I buy a lot of things, mainly on amazon. Books predominantly, for myself, friends, my kid. But also random things like kitchen appliances or toys or foot scrub. Things that I don't need and certainly don't have place for. Our house is groaning at the seams. Any day now expect news that a house of paper and plastic crap exploded all over a London neighbourhood. I'm going for notoriety not stardom apparently. So since October I have stopped buying any more books. I'm using my library more. I sifted through my bookshelves and gave away/ sold 100 books for a £1 each. I'm watching what I buy and avoiding any toys or gadgets as we have quite enough. We sorted out cupboards and toy baskets and I'm saving my son's Christmas presents (all from friends, none from us) to be opened through the year - he got to tear off the wrapping paper which to a 2 year old IS the gift and then they got put away. This is my year of sorting sifting and being less greedy for things.

I have a few more but I'll leave them for another day. What are yours?

And so it begins

2012-01-01T20:21:00.001Z

2011 sucked in many many ways; predominantly in the loss of my grandfather, two uncles and a friend whose death remains unresolved. However it had it's bright spots too, mainly watching my child's discovery of the world and the birth of beautiful babies to dear friends. Also the evenings with friends in central london eating out and my parents summer with us. Our family seaside vacation to Thailand and then our Italian break. The wonderful group of mothers in my area whose children my son plays alongside and who make exploring London just a bit easier and infinitely more interesting. V and I celebrating our 10th wedding anniversary on christmas day - a decade of life that has flashed by in the blink of an eye and ever so slowly, in many many cherished moments.

I want to revisit my resolutions from last year to see how I did but have not had a moment to do so. These next few days will be reflective while getting back into the swing of things after the mainly restful holiday period. And I do plan to blog about resolutions from last year and this. I'm self competitive like that!

We spent today with friends in their beautiful new home, stuffing our faces with every manner of Mexican delicacy. We spent the 1st of January with the same couple last year so inadvertently it's become a tradition that I hope we can continue in years to come. It's certainly a wonderful way to greet a new year - food and friends and fabulousness are a genius combination.

So while 2011 mainly sucked I have high high hopes for 2012. For what it's worth I'm hoping it really is a happy new year for us all, in every way and every day.

Ten/ Dus/ a decade

2011-12-25T10:50:00.004Z

Grow old with me,

The best is yet to be.

- (Robert Browning. Poet. 1812 - 1889)

Happy tenth anniversary my beloved!

The steam room

2011-12-22T19:47:00.001Z

A. A place to inhale the lovely warm steamy air and feel your pores open.

Or

B. Where the condensed sweat of other gym users is attacking those very open pores.

Can't decide which camp I believe and where I stand on steam rooms.

The Christmas Tree

2011-12-19T16:32:00.001Z

Back when I was a child my mum used to make me a Christmas tree each year. It did not matter that we were not Christian. That had certainly not stopped us from stuffing our faces with cake or accompanying our friends to midnight mass or indeed demanding and receiving presents. We never had a real or even vaguely life like tree - instead they were fabulous creations dreamed up by my mum. Her tree-like wooden bangle stand wrapped up in green crepe paper chains was my favourite. There were others - made of balls stacked up was one - always with little decorations to make them feel christmasy. The excitement of my childhood is certainly borne out by photographs collecting dust somewhere in my parents home. If I bribe my brother enough he will no doubt pull them out and scan them for me.

Well, this year someone sent me a Facebook link of a picture of a Christmas tree made up of books and decorated in a string of fairy lights. I loved it! Then I was thinking about it all . the. time. I have a stack of books on my own sideboard ready to be donated to the local library/ charity shop so I thought why not?! I added some books from my shelves and lo and behold we have a tree.

Of course my tree has neither the height nor the glamourous setting but it's made good use of eyesore stack (so when are these going to the library again?). It has no lights or decorations except for a Christmas card on top and no presents nor space for any at the bottom. I still love it.

Can anything be too animated?

2011-12-18T20:51:00.000Z

I have always always loved watching cartoons. The Road runner outwitting the Coyote, Tweety bird escaping from hungry Sylvester and Tom thwacking Jerry are some of my earliest memories of televised animation. My father used to record VCR tapes of the stuff for us when he lived abroad bringing us back a fresh quota each time he came to visit. I distinctly remember going to watch Yogi Bear at Chanakya cinema as a child and of crying great fat tears the afternoon I watched Dumbo on our TV/VCR.

After the awesome Lion King, on the cusp of adulthood, there came Finding Nemo, both path breaking mainstream films in their own times and right. Now here was a different league of animation from the jerkily hand drawn images of my childhood, animation as I had never imagined it before - fluid, sleek and ever so beautiful - mesmerising. I watched Finding Nemo again and again and again, at the cinema and then on DVD, never tiring of the storyline, the cresendo of music, the humour and accents of fish, always silently rooting for the father to find his child. The beauty lay in the subtle subtext; for while Marlin roams the Great Barrier reef looking for Nemo it was a journey of discovery - for him to take risks and overcome obstacles - and to allow Nemo to take care of himself. A beautiful film if ever I saw one.

Of course then there was a spate and you always had the choice of watching something animated at the cinema. From the sequels of Shrek to many parts of Toy Story, the roaring of Cars to the super powers of the Incredibles there was movie after movie to choose from. Along the way I stopped watching any TV animation.

Of course the arrival of the Child has meant a re-introduction to the animated world. And even though he is only little and his TV is rationed for eye saving and in favour of physical games, I do let him watch animated series such as Peppa Pig and Thomas the Tank Engine. These are both British creations with cult followings and merchandising that could seriously harm the pocket. Thomas the Tank engine is, as the name suggests, about an engine. He is blue, his number is 1 and he lives on a mythical island where he and his other engine friend have 'adventures'. Peppa is a very pink pig whose daily life provides much entertainment with her family and many animal friends. Thomas the animated series has had many iteration and technological advancements over the years, going from stills of actual and very basic animated train models and a single person doing all the voices to a slick animated version very much computer generated.

The wierd thing is that my child always seemed to prefer this older version of Thomas and the line drawings of Peppa (though animated, very simple drawings) to teh slicker more modern versions. I would always be met with resistance at other TV animation such as Jungle Junction or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse (except for the opening songs because bopping around to a tune is his thing!) and it recently made me think about it. I too prefer the more basic animation than the 3D experience and the very 'plastic' quality of some animation. I have come to the conclusion that some of the modern day animation is so detailed that he cannot fathom, compress and process all that information in so short a time. The simpler drawings/ models and gentler, slower pace of the voiceovers is more attractive to him, much easier to compute as he makes sense of the world around him.

With animated movies and TV series being big business technology is pushing every known boundary in the arena. It's very very exciting and I can't even imagine what the next level of animation will be. And while I am all for better and sleeker animation I do wonder at what point does animated become so animated that it loses that basic quality of animation, the edge of belief in a character and become so plastic in a way that makes one lose interest? This is a rhetorical question - and just my very small opinion. I guess I (and my son) have catching up to do.

In the words of Bruce:

'I am a nice shark, not a mindless eating machine. If I am to change this image, I must first change myself. Fish are friends, not food.'

This evening

2011-12-09T22:13:00.000Z

At the end of a long busy week of managing my child's hectic social life I am out in central London having an evening with friends. We ate at the ever popular Busaba and chatted over the din of busy diners also enjoying and evening out. And then we walked the length of Oxford street taking advantage of late night shopping to try on winter hats. With my mad mop of hair I just look more deranged if that's possible. The only hat that might suit costs more than I am willing to spend. But as an exercise it was super fun. Also the only person not looking for a hat bought a lovely bright Christmas party dress so we all feel like our time and her money has been well spent. I've bought V a couple of kathi rolls and am now on my way home. Life is made of sticky children and wonderful girl friends! G'nite!

Rome

2011-12-08T23:39:00.001Z

In early November this year V, kid and I had a weeks vacation in Italy. We flew to Rome where we spent 4 days before taking a train to Venice.

Plane and train journeys with a small active child are a definite adventure. But once we reached our hotel most of that 'adventure' feeling (read traumatised parents feeling) is soon drowned in a glass of a wine and patted down by a nice meal.

So Rome. It is a splendid city indeed. As the guidebooks rightly point out everywhere you turn is a beauitful building or sombre ruin of a once beautiful building. We stayed near the beautiful Borghese Gardens. Ever since the kid became part of the equation our vacations have become more relaxed and see-it-as-you-go-by than dash around and see everything the guidebook tells you to. So each day we managed only to see one site or monument before eating a relaxed lunch and returning to the hotel for a lovely nap. And in the afternoon we'd just go for a walk or find a local park with swings and slides for entertainment of small person who has no interest in monuments of any kind.

Each evening we ate in little local restaurants in the area near the hotel, pizza and pasta mainly. And the kid lapped it all up with a love that makes me think he's a bit Italian. We took a few tram rides in our search for playgrounds and managed to see a lot more of the non touristy bits of city than we envisaged. The thing that struck me most were the wooden shutters on every window of every building. Lovely, colourful and bright relief from the plain plaster walls.

We visited the Vatican where the long narrow halls were the ideal running track for the kid. Our view of the Sistine chapel was a bit like a darshan of a very famous temple - a quick and fleeting glance as we were herded in one door and out the other. But every bit of the Vatican was beautiful and we could have spent days just gazing at it's artworks and architecture. The Vatican was certainly the highlight of Rome for me although the magnificence of the colosseum is a close second.

We had amazing Mediterranean weather - in the mid-20s every day with brilliant sunshine and no need for any sort of jackets. It rained buckets just one afternoon but it worked out fine because we had already done our sightseeing for the day and instead spent the afternoon in a local supermarket marvelling at the number of pasta shapes on offer and buying fresh fruit for snacking purposes. And of course making sure that the escalators did their jobs properly. Ah the fascinations of foreign holidays lie in supermarkets and let no one tell you any different....

Tears

2011-12-07T13:13:00.000Z

I read this earlier this year:

There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love. - Washington Irving

As someone who cries only in a bathroom with the tears running its a leap to think of them as marks of power not weakness. I can only try.

blocked

2011-12-06T14:33:00.001Z

My ears hurt. And feel all blocked. My tonsils are,as usual, out of a summer hibernation and desperately foraging for every virus and bacteria they can latch on to. Swallowing is painful. And yet I have a full social life (or rather am secretary to the child that does) of a playdate and the first of many Christmas parties today. Home hippy remedies to suggest anyone?

I'm going to have lunch with a gruffalo

2011-12-04T23:30:00.002Z

Cupcake birthday

2011-12-04T18:40:00.001Z

While I begin everything with good intentions my follow through clearly leaves something to be desired. To make up for not posting yesterday here is the first of two posts today. We had two sets of friends around for a meal yesterday, one after the other and before I knew it it was 1am and I couldn't even keep my eyes open.

So in July my son turned 2 and although my intention was not to have a birthday party I bowed to the pressure/ my instinct so my parents could meet all his friends and mine at one go. It wasn't a birthday party in the traditional sense, more a glorified playdate. We invited 15 kids including a few babies to come round to ours between 2pm and 4pm on the Saturday before his birthday. There were no games or activities just plain simple running wild all over our small apartment and in our narrow balcony. We have an abundance of toys - balls, trikes, a tent, a slide, a train set, about 40 hotwheels style cars, a scootie, and baskets full of plastic and wooden crap to make 'toys r us' proud. Essentially at that age they don't seem to do much by the way of collaborative play, so most kids chose a toy or toys to play with and was oblivious of the others around him/her. There were cupcakes, sandwiches, vegetables with a selection of dips and corn and beetroot fritters for the kids. It was a busy afternoon and most of the action was 2 year olds trampolining on our bed. We had multicolored cloth bunting up (since re-used in his room) and enough helium balloons so each child could take one home. We avoided the gift bag route and gave each kid a set of balls (basketball, football and random yellow ball) small enough to snuggly fit under their buggies and a tub of playdough.

The piece de resistance was his cake , a collaborative effort between two of my friends. It was a forest of cupcakes with the characters from his favorite book 'The Gruffalo' strategically placed to look like a scene from it. So one friend baked and iced while the other made the figurines and details (like orange eyes, mushrooms, terrible teeth, butterflies and purple prickles) and they assembled it on our dining table.

I'm quite sure my son will have no memory of this day to celebrate his birth. After all every day at this stage in his life is a SUPER FUN playdate. But it was worth doing just to see the realisation in his eyes of the figurines of the mouse, the fox, the snake and the Gruffalo coming to life, and the beaming smile that followed.

Children on the kitchen floor

2011-12-02T13:52:00.001Z

This summer my cousin 40in2006 came to London with her husband and two daughters. It was a wonderful sunny week and every evening exhausted from a long day of sightseeing my nieces would fall asleep in our living room. As my own kid would be asleep by 8pm as well this meant that the 4 adults could sit on our narrow balcony and drink wine and eat our meal at leisure chatting and chatting into the long summer evening. It was a lovely week.

My son loves his chechis (sisters). He saw them in November last year and ever since then walks up to their picture on our bookshelf and says chechi chechi chechi. So he was totally prepped for their arrival and after the first few minutes of feeling shy followed them around like a shadow. My fondest memory is of him sitting on the kitchen floor while my oh so tall niece sat opposite him as he played some game. He kept looking up at her and blabbering away. And then there was our lovely day in Greenwich sitting in the park and eating our lunch while he and my younger niece ran around like loons. Special special days and times and although he is only small and will have no memory of this I hope he grows up loving his cousins as much as I do mine.

Lost for words

2011-12-01T21:07:00.002Z

First it was an amazing summer of guests and I was having too much fun to post. Then I was lazy enjoying the sunshine and long summer days.

Then another beloved uncle (cousin of my mum) died. Then a dear school friend of mine was murdered. And although we hadn't met in over 22 years we had found each other on Facebook and it was like yay technology for doing what snail mail could not. We connected again and it was all the reminiscing, catching up and looking forward that we chatted about. I'm still in disbelief about his death. And with that any words I had froze. I sat down to write about 6 times in the past month but each time the words would catch in my wrists.

Today I just knew I had to write. I think I will try and write something everyday this month. Not sure what but a few lines each day to get the rusty old brain working again. And then who knows, in the New Year I might be readable again. Bear with me.

Not really 36 today

2011-07-15T23:27:00.000+01:00

I'm 21 with 15 years experience.

I think this kind of thinking and the chopping off of my hair are certain signs of a mid-life crisis. Let's see how it all pans out eh?

36 in 2011

2011-07-14T23:12:00.000+01:00

Tomorrow is my 36th birthday. And I cannot for the life of me think of 36 things to say in one coherent post so I thought a nice little ramble might be the way to go. The mind is clearly the first to go!!

This past year, I can say with some confidence, has gone by in a flash and achingly slow. Not sure how to explain that besides claim ownership of a weird time continuum machine in the living room of my brain!

I've blogged less than in any other year. And vacillated about it for far longer than I would have liked.

I've dyed my hair for the very first time and I'm not sure I like it. I do know now though that I'm certainly not brave enough to grow grey naturally - yet.

I've read more than in any other year; possibly the only consistent thing from my childhood to this middle age has been my love affair with the printed page. I'm not for the convenience of a kindle and don't think I shall be seduced away from the flipping of pages anytime soon. I am however doing a cull to save my groaning bookshelves and hope to sell 100 books for £1 each to support a charity close to my heart.

I've stopped listening to music almost completely, abandoning my ipod and its dock, the radio and any cd's. I'm not sure why this has happened and wierdly I don't miss it. I hum random tunes a lot more though and that is not necessarily a better thing as I cannot hold a tune at all.

I've changed career paths from fundraising-for-the-not-for-profit to the stay-at-home-and-look-after-the-kid-kinda-not-for-profit. This was not an easy decision but a quick one when I came to it. It's one of the better decisions I took this year and as hard as it is I am enjoying it (mostly, she gingerly says!).

I've had more angst than ever before - about work, child rearing, growing old, friendships, relationships, the meaning of life etc. Large swathes of time this year have passed in self pity and serious wallowing. Duvet days of the mind I call them. You'll be glad to know that its a phase well in the past.

We've had a few amazing holidays while I've been 35. But I've had moments on these holidays that I have blocked out from memory, snapshots erased from the hard drive of my twisted mind. Don't ask because I won't tell.

I've killed all the plants on my terrace, slowly but surely. Over watered and fistfuls of mud falling (literally) victim to my enthusiastic boy. But as I turn 36 I've found someone to come and replace them, repot the survivors and possibly check on their wellbeing in the future.

I've given in to the temptation of eating chocolate more often than I would like to admit. My love affair with ice cream however has ended. Ben and Jerry no longer come a-calling at my freezer.

I've stopped cooking almost completely and found someone else to cater to our hunger. I've eaten out fewer times in this year than in any of the last 7 or so years. I've eaten in only 2 or 3 absolutely new places in the entire year, a dismal record by my standards. The joy I used to find in food has diminished. This has nothing to do with ageing tastebuds and more to do with my state of mind. It's a sad day when I no longer relish food or even the act of eating. It's not yet come to that although the line is simmeringly flat and I am hopeful of the next year being a renaissance in cooking and eating in our house and about.

I'm a bundle of contradictions every. single. day. It's been a meh year to say the very least, certainly far from my best. Having said that I've had many many moments of pure unadulterated joy, mainly involving my son and diamonds (greedy guts girl). Moments that have made 35 bearable and the possibilities that 36 hold enticing.

I've had a drastic haircut today. Tomorrow I am 36 with a mop of unmanageable curls rather than my staid tied up auntyji bun. I feel lighter and more hopeful and positively enticed. Less auntyji more middle age ladki.

Right side of 40 here I come!

vent vent vent

2011-06-26T11:35:00.001+01:00

I am a realist and I usually tell it like it is. In fact my friend M and I once had a conversation where she said that she would never say it like I do lest it hurt someones feelings. Well I have been known to tell it like it is and as my other friend A said that makes it very difficult to be friends with me. Even all this 'gentle' critisism has never stopped me from being a foot in mouth patient.

The thing is this: I don't always speak my mind. When I do, it's real and I try hard not to be scathing. My aim is to build and make stronger relationships. Similarly I am often at the receiving end of such critisism or realism and I take it in that spirit. I am judgemental about certain things and I don't make bones about that.

I do realise there is a time and place for saying things and there are always tonnes of things I am simmering with that I want to say but don't for reasons of propriety/ distance and becuase they are plain none of my business. There are things I wouldn't say but plenty more that I do. I have no doubt lost countless friends over the years with my talking ways but equally I have friends who appreciate or merely put up with my yapping. But with the longest dry spell this blog has ever seen I thought I'd say the top things I wish I could say right now but just cannot. What's the point of a blog eh?

1. I really really like you but your partner/ husband/ wife, not so much.

2. How come it's only ever me that calls? Or writes?

3. I have lost all respect for you as a person because of how you handle your children.

4. Does it all come down to money? How much you make and how much we make - such an unattractive discussion don't you think?

5. You left without saying goodbye or bothering to write after you reached your destination. More than hurtful it was rude.

Luckily none of the people these are aimed at even know I write a blog so I have no fear.

So it turns out I'm not a very nice person. Let the critisism begin.

The Five XI: I'll ask the questions, you give me the answers

2011-05-21T13:52:00.000+01:00

1. On some introspection I have decided that I don't dislike spiders. Especially small harmless ones. What I do dislike are the cobwebs. They are all over our balcony furniture the second the weather turns warm and nothing but nothing will dissuade the pesky spiders from spinning them. Any home remedies that do not include the words 'spider catcher' or 'squash with slippers' most welcome.

2. In true Luddite fashion I got an iphone 4 about 24 hours before the iphone 5 was announced. Of course I am not using the iphone as anything but a phone, disappointingly. It will take me the 18 months of contract time to download anything useful or blog from it. And the pictures I am taking from it are seriously dsappointing after my previous Sony Ericson camera phone thing. I am looking for some good childrens apps and not necessarily the educational number alphabet nursery rhyme kind. Suggestions please.

3. After dus saal ka service my beautiful leather filofax has given up the ghost. My mum gifted it to me and although the diary and notes pages are regularly replace the main contents of pictures and other random things are constant, the build-up like a mini-time capsule of my time. I could probably superglue it back but I think with all the beautiful modern design ones now available I shall take up the opportunity and replace it once a decade. And before you ask it, the answer is no, I will not be using my iphone as my organiser. I just dump my filofax in my bag, its heft reassuring and my handwriting getting some meagre practice.Also I like the feel of paper and pen thank you very much.

4. I am about to update my very out of date blogroll. I am removing the bottom 6 according to when they last blogged and replacing them with ones that regularly blog and I regularly read. Any suggestions for blogs I should be reading or if you think I should have you on there, are most welcome. If it's you I am removing and you think that might have jolted you into writing again then yay! but please let me know so I don't knock you off.

5. Am doing masses of things with small child, buggy, snacks, changing bag, travelcard and friends. My feet ache ache ache. ache. I need a good footsoak recipe, something easy like chuck salt in a hot tub and soak feet for 10 minutes and rainbows will appear sorts. Anyone??

Kitchen Confidential - 9

2011-05-08T23:02:00.003+01:00

1. A 'reveal' so long in the making that all very bored parties have left the stadium.

2. As pristine as this looks in the picture, the truth is it is covered in all our stuff again.

3. I love this kitchen. It's not to everyones taste but it most certainly is exactly what I planned (except for the fact that it has no island!) and imagined it would look like.

4. To me the combination of chunky solid wood worktop, travatine floor & wall tiles, up & down lighters and shiny black units is just the right combination of sleek, soft, warm, bright and ultimately functional.

5. That's a new microwave, induction hob (which means we needed to invest in induction friendly pots and pans - yet another mortgage!) and cooker hood in the appliance section.

6. The doorway opening up has meant that the corner unit is now a curved one. I love that curved bit of the worktop best of all.

7. The new fixed sideboard on the opposite side of the main counter replaced a free-standing sideboard in a vaguely matching colour to the old light brown cupboards. We have additional cupboards above and two shelves near the open doorway. Strangely all this extra storage makes the kitchen look/ feel bigger even though it takes up more air space. The old sideboard is serving time as clothes dresser in our childs room.

8. I love my black sink. Simply love it.

9. I fleetingly wondered about the day we have to leave this house. Will new owners love it as much as us? Or will renters ruin the surfaces and mistreat it?

10. Then I stopped wondering and started cooking. Instead of worrying about the future, for now I'm just loving it. The End.

Kitchen Confidential - 8

2011-04-22T20:06:00.002+01:00

The In-between: This is when the appliances arrived and the new floor (a soft ivory travatine) was being laid.

The very small dining area just outside the kitchen (L-shaped dining/ living) is going to feel a lot more a part of the kitchen than before, what with the doorway being completely opened up. Also on the other side of the dining room, bang opposite the kitchen, is a fake wall with glass outside and insulation between the two. This is completely out of sync with the remaining bank of windows that enclose our dining/ living area. They have taken the wall down and left just the very dirty glass with bits of insulation stuck to it (from years of the elements beating at it). We shall have to replace the glass eventually (another cost not really factored in). I'm not going to post a picture of the dining room or this window but I wanted to just mention it because that's the flood of light you see falling on the kitchen floor. (Note: The picture in the previous post was taken at night, therefore the poor lighting. My kitchen has no windows but natural light floods in from the bank of windows opposite. This final panel of glass will bring in even more light)

Kitchen Confidential - 7

2011-04-19T21:01:00.004+01:00

The In-between: This is the picture of the shell of the kitchen. With the units and appliances pulled out, part of the floor removed and the doorway widened. Two corner electric and other pipe boxes in the far corner and near the doorway were removed to create smaller boxes and add on a bit extra counter space. When one can't have a kitchen island the few extra inches of counter space must sufice.

No apologies for the long silence - we've been enjoying the lovely spring summer sunshine and days in the park feature far more importantly than this blog.

Kitchen Confidential - 6

2011-04-07T21:48:00.001+01:00

The before: There is nothing wrong with this kitchen besides the fact that it is bog standard (not always a bad thing) and plain boring (in my opinion only). Also it is showing the wear and tear of the past 10 odd years since this development was built and is identical to every other kitchen in every apartment here.

This picture was taken the day after we moved in - subsequently we covered every surface and cupboard with our stuff, added in a same-as-cupbaord-doors-boring-brown sideboard (to hold yet more 'stuff') and then added all the plastic of the world that our child seems to need (bottles, sterilisers, plates, spoons and every kind of water cup made in the universe). With all our combined stuff and years of service this kitchen was groaning and creeking. For some tlc and a serious diet induced by having to sort things out and chuck chuck chuck before the Big Renovation.

In Five

2011-03-27T23:46:00.000+01:00

In the 5 and something years that I have pretended not to care about people not reading this blog I have never changed the template. I tried once but it looked terrible and strangely alien to me and so I went right back to my old faithful. For lack of anything to do tonight, while the dishwashes gurgles and everyone else snores, I am sitting here and fiddling with the settings on this blog. I like this new template. Wonder if it will last the next 5 and something year though. More importantly will I last?

The Five: X or A whole new world

2011-03-24T14:43:00.001Z

1. I've left my job. Of 5 years. Taken a career break as it were.

2. From tomorrow I am not just a full-time mum, I'm a hands on mum.

3. I'm still a committed feminist. I'll just be doing my bit to defend women's rights on my own time and dime.

4. The sun is shining and the sky is blue. I feel free and very very happy.

5. It's a whole new world. I'm joining this party late but I am ever so excited to be here.

The Five XIII

2011-03-15T14:35:00.002Z

1. My head has been messed up for many months now about a variety of things I don’t wish to share here. None of this is serious in the ‘our-lives-are-in-danger’ way, more serious in the ‘is-this-how-I-imagined-life way?’. Most of the messing up has been to do with me overthinking things, complicating strands in my head and the burden of sadness I felt from all the recent losses. I’m done with that part of the programme, thank goodness. And the answers were so so simple as to be staggering in their simplicity. And now I feel free and light and like all is right with my world.

2. The Japan earthquake. Talk about life altering. The unfinished business of life, finished without warning in a truly horrendous way. It’s almost unimaginable how dire the situation is, from the most basic supplies and power outages to the radiation from nuclear meltdown. I have the utmost admiration for Japanese people, queuing for supplies rather than rioting for them in the face of shortages and chaos. It shows strength of character unprecedented. It’s in my thoughts constantly.

3. I have been drawing up a chart of places for me and my 20 month old to peruse in London. We wasted last summer hibernating due to car sickness, lethargy and a lack of motivation. Not so this year. He is older, I am wiser. The spring and summer lie ahead of us, a green field of warm sunshine to step on and I have a plan - to travel far and wide, close and deep, with him to enjoy the delights this city has on offer for his age group. Any and all suggestions from the London reading crowd welcome.

4. I have completely stopped cooking. Since October last year. It’s something that I unwittingly do when all is not right in my world. I make excuses, hum and haw and produce Maggie or other ninspiring fare for meals each evening. Or consume oil laden deliveries from the restaurants dotted around this end of London. Make no mistake - I am an experimental cook, a trained cook; even a passionate cook when I want to be. I mark off recipes in my library of cook books and read diaries of food writers, I take recipe cards from supermarkets and ask for menu ideas from friends and bloggs. Instead of complaining any more or eating another insipid/ over oily meal I found us a chef who comes once a week and cooks us 5 - 6 meals which I can freeze and use during the week. This week’s menu includes: Borek, courgette and tomato gratin, salmon fish pie, aubergine and chickpea stew, vegetable cottage pie, green thai chicken curry.

5. Not having to cook has taken away a lot of the pressure from life. It’s freed up some mind space and provided us with a very good reason to eat at home every night. And I am back to doing the odd bit of real cooking (not Maggie) and suddenly I am enjoying it again. Just proof that my head is clearing itself out. I baked a banana walnut cake this weekend. Nothing like a piece of cake to mark how life is once again a piece of cake.

I see you

2011-03-03T11:11:00.000Z

Oh March, am I glad to see you or what! In February I was lost for words. I make no apologies or excuses for this, just state it for posterity. Life has been a blur to say the very least. I’ve had so many words just tumbling around in my head but not really stringing themselves into coherent sentences. Not on paper and not in real life. I haven’t been able to speak properly even, words bumping into each other or coming out as half baked thoughts. To say I have had a lot on my mind is an understatement.

Between being ill, deaths and their anniversaries amongst family and friends, 2011 has (so far) rocked my world in all the wrong ways. But of March and everything beyond I am very hopeful - for good health, happiness and a little bit of spring magic to permeate its way into our lives.

After a long and fairly harsh winter (not in the poor-me-in-rags-freezing way, more the rhetorical is-this-Siberia way) we are so ready for spring and summer. Of course one expects that spring is right around the corner when February is over. Till someone helpfully reminded me that a few years ago it snowed in April. Stupid Climate Change, if you were a person I would be making a voodoo doll to stick pins in.

Of course after 3 warm-ish (rather, not freezing) days, in office all discussion turned to lunchtime picnics in poo park, starting a monthly book club themed around sunny themes, holiday plans to make the best use of an upcoming royal wedding, endless hopeful chatter of the summer non-layering, sunshine, brightness type. So imagine the rude shock when the commute to work this week has felt rather like walking through an ice cake. Freezing cold. Like December in the snow cold. So spring I can see you but like behind a glass partition in a dangerous animals in the zoo kind of way. Break through please.

Loss

2011-02-07T14:26:00.002Z

My grandfather died last Thursday.

He was an incredible man, definitely the patriarch of the family, the standard to which all others in his orbit aspired. While my aunts and their families lived with him in Chennai (at least for the bulk of the last 30 odd years) my dad struck out to live abroad and then on the other side of the country and so my memories of my grandfather are vastly different from those of my cousins. We took the long train ride through India each summer of my growing up years to spend a month or so at his house. Each year he would disburse pocket money, birthday money and growing-up advice about studying hard to me and my brother while on that summer vacation. The pocket money would go up incrementally (as it did for all the cousins who got paid monthly), it would be for each of the 12 months gone by and with the added bonus of birthday money it would be a tidy sum for a small person. The advice was always the same: work hard, work smart, be efficient.

My most endearing memory of him is of walking on the beach. He loved the beach and in summer he would take us there for a walk and ice cream whenever he could find time in a very busy travelling schedule. We would go in his white ambassador, he would have a walk while we generally tumbled around on the sand and then we got to choose our ice cream and walk to the water to let the waves lap at our feet while we watched the sun go down and listened to the water dance. He would gaze at the sea and I remember how in those few short almost quiet moments he would look so at peace, so content with life. There are so many more memoires I have of him that are just snatches of pictures and words in my head: his sacrosanct afternoon nap (for which the phone had to be off the hook), his love of mulligatawny soup, his voracious reading and brilliant debating skills, his white ambassador car, his practice of yoga every single day, the orderliness of papers, his reading chair and lamp, his smile when all his children and grandchildren were in the same city.

He was warm, loving, firm and straightforward. He lived his life with great drive and determination, succeeding at a very young age but he never forgot his roots, always helping siblings and cousins and nieces and nephews and friends with their educations or pursuing their dreams.

After a fall that broke his hip a fair few years ago he never quite recovered his health. From using a walker and wheelchair to being unable to read any more or hold things steadily, it was a rapid and terrible decline. The indignities of old age and ill health required full time care and humbled this brilliant mind. The sad truth is that at his age and having been ill for a number of years his passing was not unexpected in the traditional scheme of things. It was a matter of when rather than if and in many ways a relief that he is now past the suffering that he no doubt endured recently. None of this makes it any less of a loss and I have felt the weight of sadness sit upon me since the night I heard like a black shroud shawl.

Having been desperately ill and drugged out on anti-biotics for tonsillitis and laryngitis, looking after a small child with very little help and for a variety of other reasons I was unable to go back and be with my family at this time. All five of the other cousins were there along with my dad, mum, my aunts and their husbands. I wish I could have gone. I know I was there in spirit. His ashes were immersed in the sea on Saturday. I think he would have liked that.

He was a loved man, my grandfather. Father of three, grandfather of six, great-grandfather of ten, friend of countless individuals, this remarkable man touched all of our lives and we are most definitely richer for the experience. I miss you muthasan.

Excuses

2011-01-26T13:10:00.002Z

Dudes, this year has not started well at all. At the end of last year my parents lost a family friend and at the beginning of this we lost an uncle.

And of course despite the best intentions I have not kept to my promise of writing more. As usual I have the excuses. And normally I would pooh pooh them away as immaterial, call myself a procrastinator and move on but this time hear me out willya? I had a terrible case of bacterial tonsillitis: one so painful that I was in tears when the doctor was checking them out. After a 7 day course of antibiotics which knocked me back into exhaustion I have rarely felt, I was all better. For the first 3 of those 7 days I relied heavily on V to look after the kid each evening and then finish his work. He was as exhausted as I but held in there like a trooper and all round good guy.

I then had a week of feeling fine. Back to work and evenings of play food bathe milk story and sleep routines with my child. We flew to snowbound Switzerland for the weekend to attend a farewell party for friends moving east. All in all life was back to normal. Then on Monday afternoon my throat started playing up again. I could feel my tonsils inflate like lifeboats trying to make their escape. It’s back and this time its viral, a different ball game apparently. As painful nonetheless. I am on a combination of painkillers as apparently antibiotics will have no effect. And I literally have no voice.

I guess this is when all that writing will help…..I am reduced to working by passing notes to colleagues and using sign language with my child. Such are the days. I am going to see a nurse practitioner tomorrow. I am going to lobby to have my tonsils removed. I have had a long and unhappy relationship with them and I think it’s time we break up, gateway to allowing unhealthy germs in be damned.

I can only hope February is better.

That Great White Sofa

2011-01-17T15:23:00.002Z

I first learnt about death when our dog died - I was just about to enter my teens. I only understood its permanence and the meaning of absence with two deaths in my early twenties, first losing my grandfather and then a few years later my college flatmate. Both were sudden and unexpected, shocking jolts to the heart which I thought of only as a muscle and not so much an emotion.

I haven’t been writing at my unbelievable pace(!) because at the very start of the year the vast but close circle of my mother’s first cousins has suffered a terrible blow. We lost my Ravi maama, first cousin to my mother, beloved husband to M maiji and father to my cousins M and R. Even coming after an illness it was sudden and unexpected, a text alert from my mum in the wee hours of the morning. My mother was distraught, her sobs disallowing any words to be spoken as I uselessly held the phone and let her cry. It is impossible, in my view, to find words that adequately describe how empty the world can suddenly seem. She needed to cry and I needed to listen and tell her I loved her.

My tears came later. I am not big on crying, preferring the comfort of a closed bathroom with a running tap to mask my own. But no matter who says what, sometimes just crying through it can express some of how you feel, whether you do so in private or public. When the crying is done what’s left are all those memories of his big laugh, his amazing sense of humour, his bravery in the armed forces and how adored he was by us all. He told me at my brother’s wedding recently that my son had our family’s mischievous smile but that his cheeks could do with a bit of Mathur fattening up. That is my last memory of him. I know that lives are to be celebrated but that is the world’s hardest thing when it seems bleak and harsh and less one very important person.

I cannot even imagine what my cousins and my aunt are going through but I know that each of them has a life of memories to do with maama and these will bring a smile to their faces in time. There are no words that I or anyone can say that will bring them closer to closure - that is a course each person must run alone - but I do hope that knowing so many people have them in their thoughts helps in some small measure. And as unreal as it sounds while in the very middle of very real grief, I can only add that time takes away some of the raw pain and leaves behind a plethora of memories.

I like to think of life after this one as a large white sofa; the image gives me peace. And everyone I know that’s gone before us congregates at it for their evening drink and a bit of a chat, sharing jokes and passing on news about us to those gone before. I can imagine my nana and his brothers sipping martini’s, smoking pipes and the odd cigar and cracking jokes only they get. I know they wait for news of us and I know maama will be most welcome, his smile and infectious laughter joining theirs to be the murmur of the heavens above.

Hello

2011-01-04T13:37:00.002Z

Hello New Year!

I'm still here!

I'm still here?

Yes!

Really?

I promise.

To do better?

One can only try!

Please try hard, ok?

Will you still come read my endless series of things and random lists?

Maybe.

Well, see you tomorrow then.....

Happy New Year!

365

2010-12-29T12:21:00.004Z

This is post 365 - a pretty poor showing for a blog that's been around since before I turned 30. Maybe it's a sign that this is not sustainable. I am still pondering my decision. I won't go without saying goodbye though.

This between Christmas and New Year week we are just chilling at home and in the local area, playing silly games and running around with our son, eating chocolate and pizza, reading avidly and sleeping loads. It's the one week of the year when we get to unwind unwind rewind unwind. And so that is what we are doing, earnestly. You?

Memory Box 6: Christmas tree

2010-12-23T10:49:00.002Z

We are not christian but so many of our friends and neighbours are that we celebrate with enthusiasm. The Fernandes's, the Kurien's, the Coehlo's, the Elley's, the Ghosh's. For many years of my Delhi childhood we go to midnight mass with my parents friends (more for the carols and a chance to stay up till past midnight in the warm company of friends on a cold Delhi winters) , we eat a jolly tasty Christmas day lunch and enjoy 'tasters' of christmas cake for weeks before and after. December is undoubtedly a fun month to be a child.

But of all the Christmas days of fun and food the memory most endearing is my very own Christmas tree. My ingenious mum has taken all the bangles off her wooden bangle stand and decorated it with cut green crepe paper, a star on top and a number of homemade decorations from my childhood and hers. On Christmas morning there is most certainly a present for me next to the tree. The tree is smaller and happily the present usually drwarfs it.

There is a picture of me and my christmas tree languishing somewhere in an album. In it I am around 6 years old and standing next to a wicked Christmas tree with a somewhat toothless grin.

I want to find that picture next time I go home. In the meanwhile, Merry Christmas world.

The Fake Malayali

2010-12-21T20:02:00.017Z

Ok so I'm not doing a travelogue because this place has been done and done again many times over by people far better equipped and verbose than I. Kerala. Where half my genetic material is from and a place I am sad to have ignored for most of my adult life. So this time we spent a week in Kerala, staying at a very beautiful hotel in Cochin, going to my hometown Palakkad briefly, attending a family wedding, visiting Guruvayoor to pray and offer in weight bananas and sugar equivalent to my beautiful son, spending a day on a houseboat in the stunning backwaters and attending the most beautiful temple festival in my uncle's home.

BTW I hate blogger with an amazing intensity as the bleedin pictures refuse to do as I command. So here are a few pictures from our trip which are all haphazard and incorrectly marked (and for once I am not to blame!)*:

The view from our hotel room in Cochin

'aaati' or 'aaaa' (aana) as my kid says

the very beautiful Guruvayoor

the stunning backwaters

the elephants decked in their finery at the temple festival

*(with a rubbish camera, whose lens has seen cleaner and child fingerprint free days)

The Five XII

2010-12-20T11:14:00.003Z

1. I wish I could say that it's the snow and freezing weather that's kept me from blogging, but really it's just sheer unadulterated laziness.

2. It is freezing though. And all I want for Christmas is to stay in doors and drink mugs of hot chocolate and watch mindless television. Chasing around after our very little person will have be taken in turns with V as I intend to come back to work in 2011 very relaxed and unwound.

3. I've been to India on holiday (one of my many reasons for not blogging is food, rest and laughter induced laziness). I shall not blog lengthily about this but over the break shall endeavour to post some pictures of our lovely break from the routine of work.

4. Here are 3 book recommendations for the holiday season: The Confession by John Grisham (whose last book was a terrible disappointment - this is a return to form); The Help by Kathryn Stockett (absolutely one of my favourite reads of this half of the year); Shadow Princess by Indu Sunderesan (the third in her series about the Mughals, after the Twentieth Wife and Feast of Roses, this book has taken it's time getting here but is absolutely worth the wait - read them in order if you can although it isn't necessary for the continuity of the storyline, just for the timeline of history). Beg/ borrow/ buy them, curl up with a blanket and/ or cup of something and enjoy the mind food.

5. To blog or not to blog, that is the question. In this already overgrown garden of cyberspace I am begining to feel quite weed-like, insignificant and in need of a good pulling out from the soil. I am going to mull this over and make a decision over the next 10 days or so.: to begin again elsewhere or resolve to re-discover my love for blogging my mundane life and what amuses it right here or to just stop completely. In the meanwhile I will blog regularly (everyday? with pictures?) for the next 10 days. I bet you don't trust me. Well, honestly, neither do I.

Kitchen confidential – 5

2010-11-17T15:21:00.002Z

Note: All this in the past but I feel compelled to finish this narration. Bear with me.

1. Wednesday has been terrifyingly disorganised. Instead of clothes shopping I spend the day signing in materials as they are delivered and packing enough stuff to make the move simple yet effective.

2. The Sahara like sand dune makes it impossible to even make a cup of tea. I resort to a walk to the mall for a cold sandwich. The old kitchen lies like an empty shell of itself in our living room blocking any TV viewing.

3. On Thursday we can only move in to the New Place after 4pm as they clean after the last guest checks out at noon. The New Place is in the serviced apartments across the courtyard from our building. We are given a choice of apartments by the kind lady who manages it – either the very large penthouse which is in shoddy condition after the last long term guest checks out today. Or a 2 bedroom place for the first 4 days and then a smaller 1 bed place for the next few days. Guess which option we took? Go on, guess?

4. So penthouse. Not so shoddy people. Utterly beautiful and about 5 times the size of our apartment. A huge entrance hallway. Two floors. 3 huge bedrooms. 4 bathrooms. A large eat in kitchen. A formal dining area in a glass conservatory with a table to dine 16. A huge double height formal living room with 3 walls of floor to ceiling glass. A smaller informal living room. And a terrace the size of my apartment. It needs its cable TV fixed and maybe some touch up painting but with 5 TV's to choose from and views to turn teh eyeballs square I am certainly not complaining.

5. My kid thinks he is in heaven. He comes in to the flat and runs around like a loon, giggling with joy after the cramped space he has had to contend with for a few days now. The main bedroom is big enough for a large bed, wardrobes, chest of drawers, his travel cot, a bench, an armchair and there is still enough space for him to run around in. Our bathroom has a bath and a shower, double sinks and enough space to fit 4 normal sized bathrooms in. If I were him I too would be thrilled with all this space to run around in, spread my toys in. Life is good when you are 1 and your biggest problem is where to stack your 10 blocks.

6. We do go home everyday to look at how much the sand dunes are shifting i.e. what if any progress is being made.

7. The old kitchen has been given away and the new kitchen arrives all wrapped in plastic. I can't envision what it will look like at the moment ( I can't see the kitchen for all the dust!), but I think that what we will end up with will be dramatically different from what we had. More different that we imagined when we began.

8. I spend Friday in the builders van being driven around outer London buying things like grout and tile adhesive besides going from showroom to showroom choosing the perfect tiles and the most gorgeous new wooden worktop in the history of worktops. I still have no new winter wardrobe. At this point however, I am too tired to care.

9. This very designer living is messing with my head. On the weekend we have friends come and marvel at the wonder that is our temporary living accommodation. We eat cold and late pizza and ooh and aah at the space in and the views from this amazing flat.

10. The builders work on Saturday and we can see how quickly it is coming together as the tiles go down, re-plastering begins and the first of the units is assembled. If it goes at this speed we should be back home by the end of this week. We should be thrilled right? Builders who are hardworking and committed to delivering on time - who has them? But the real question is not when will they finish? Or even, how amazing is my kitchen going to look? The real question my friends is this: How oh how will I ever adjust to my humble abode after this amazing place?

Kitchen confidential - 4

2010-10-13T10:25:00.002+01:00

1. I have a week off. When I applied for the week it was because I am in desperate need of winter additions to my wardrobe. Not because the kitchen was on the plan.

2. Coincidentally it has turned out that this IS the week the builders plan to start work. My intention has always been that I would take 1 day off is to give the builders the keys, show them where all the electric and water mains are, where the kettle, mugs, tea, coffee, sugar and milk are, and then leave.

3. I fully intend to go into central London and buy a new overcoat (winter is coming despite all my mental powers to avert its path) and some proper winter office clothes (I have been a bum in jeans too long)

4. Over the weekend of shoving all our furniture into the tiny room that doubles as guest room and kid’s room it has become apparent that living in the flat is going to be a chore while the work is continuing. Possible dust aside, it seems that we will have to confine all our activities to our bedroom. This is not much bigger than a postage stamp, especially now that kid's cot and playmat and all his toys also live in it.

5. We decide that it is worth our sanity to move out for a week. Of course it’s Monday morning by the time we come this decision.

6. So on this, the first day of my week of leave for relaxing and shopping, I am on the phone calling every estate agent and rental service apartment in the vicinity to see if anything at all affordable is available at such short notice.

7. Of course there isn’t. What’s affordable isn’t available and what’s available isn’t affordable. I begin to use contacts I have to suss out any deals. Monday has flashed by in the blink of an eye and I have not yet one new item in my winter wardrobe. And no place to move to. Damn.

8. It’s Tuesday. The builders are here. Today and tomorrow they will remove the kitchen, unit by unit, appliance by appliance and tile by tile. They will disconnect electric points, bring down walls and begin to put up new walls and re-plaster.

9. I spend the evening entertaining my son by showing him ducks and staying out of the house till bath and bed time. And then perched on some very dusty dining chairs late that evening, eating microwave dinners off our laps, we have a breakthrough for a place to stay. From Thursday.

10. When I said ‘possible dust’ (pt.4) I clearly had no idea. It’s like the Sahara in here. All that's missing is an oasis.

Kitchen confidential - 3

2010-10-11T15:26:00.001+01:00

1. Over the weekend, and a few days before even, we began to pack up our kitchen in preparation for what is no doubt going to be a star kitchen. IN fact it is not going to just be a start kitchen it is going to be THE star kitchen.

2. So we were given 3 cardboard boxes which fitted all the main big cooking utensils and some of the smaller knick knacks that we seem to have hajaar of.

3. Then we bought 4 plastic boxes and began to fill those up. They filled up fast what with plates, masalas, other kitchen crap. We stuffed the first one and it broke as we tried to move it. So we had to dump it in a corner (still stuffed) and cover it with a bedsheet. Lesson learnt was to spread out the heavy stuff, share and share alike.

4. Then we moved our sideboard out of the kitchen. Now this is a beautiful sideboard we bought a few months after we moved into this house. It has provided all the extra storage we have needed so far. I have no intention of getting rid of it. Where I shall keep it in this already cluttered house is altogether another matter.

5. The sideboard and most of the living room furniture has moved into the kids room. The kid has moved to our room. His toys and floor mats are spread out between both rooms. The sideboard has been stocked up with what we are likely to need as a functioning kitchen over the next few weeks. Cutlery, plastic utensils for us, ready food for kid.

6. The dining table and chairs have moved to in front of the TV as has the giant bookshelf. The bookshelf has been emptied and serves as part 2 of our makeshift kitchen with kettle and tea and coffee things for the workmen. TV in front of the dining table is kids dream come true as now he can watch M.I.C.K.E.Y while he chews on every meal....

7. The second bathroom has been cleaned and sterilised so that it can be used as a makeshift kitchen. This level of hygiene will have to be maintained as it is also what the builders will use for water for things like plaster beside using it as a loo.

8. Coffee table glass and other breakables have been balanced delicately on the spare bed.

9. Cooking has become thing of the past as all utensils have been packed. For now I am enjoying takeaways and home delivery but I can already see how much I miss the ritual of cooking and eating something I made most week evenings.

10. The kitchen hasn’t even started but already we are exhausted.

Kitchen confidential - 2

2010-10-05T14:27:00.003+01:00

1. My dream kitchen is IN the catalogue. I did not know it was my dream kitchen till I saw it. Also I am easily swayed by pretty pictures and the most impractical yet beautiful design. I am a marketers dream.

2. Turns out that that was my dream kitchen only in THAT dream. I turned the page and lo and behold another kitchen is calling out to me.

3. I am not going to be indecisive. I show V the shortlist of 2 from the catalogue. He points at the one he likes best, says we should ‘go for it’, and with his winning smile makes me think that it was all my bright idea to begin with. I love this man.

4. So I look some more and finally decide on which kitchen I want from the catalogue. Although I don’t want its appliances or tiles or worktop.

5. I want an American two door fridge freezer, a pull out larder, a wine cooling fridge thing and an island. Yes, an island. One of those big block things in the middle of the kitchen around which my many friends and family sit and sip wine while I cook Boeuf Bourguignon a la Nigella Lawson. An island with hidden storage and a genie/housekeeper that will bake us muffins and iron clothes.

6. My kitchen however, is not co-operating. It is too small and everything appliance wise will have to stay exactly where it was. No big fridge freezer for this home, no siree.

7. You know how people say ‘your eyes are bigger than your tum’? Well it turns out that my eyes are bigger than my kitchen. Waaay bigger. My real kitchen would fit on the island in the middle of that dream kitchen - such is the discrepancy between my mind’s eye and the real dimensions.

8. The sad reality is that I am the island in the kitchen. I will stand in the middle of the units and whirl about being the genie/ housekeeper who only whips up sad sandwiches.

9. Now that I have made my peace with the ‘no island’ part of the programme I am digging in in earnest to make sure that my chosen kitchen will suit our small flat, limited space and budget. Does such a creature exist?

10. I have decided on a kitchen with black units and oak worktops and Travatine wall and floor tiles. I have negotiated what I think is an expensive but fair deal with my builders to pull this one out, make a few structural alterations, fit the new kitchen, paint and clean up after themselves. Let the games begin.

Kitchen Confidential – 1

2010-09-30T14:33:00.003+01:00

1. Being a maha-procrastinator it has taken 4 years of grumbling about the lack of space and general condition of the kitchen before I have bothered to do anything about it.

2. I know that builders are not to be plucked out of thin air. I have watched Rogue Traders you know.

3. So I have turned to the cyber world and a local group of people I mostly trust – mums in my area - to advise me on how to find builders.

4. Not long before there are plenty of recommendations; helpful mums writing in with anecdotes of who has done what for them, honest criticisms and plenty of advice on what to expect, especially with a small child in tow.

5. I go to see my neighbours efforts at re-doing their bathrooms which can now safely be called Glorious Wet Rooms Of Super Deluxe Hotel Standard. They designed it and then sourced the materials themselves. By learning how to do large chunks of it themselves, they only paid for part of the labour. My mad head nodding at their proud pronouncements only confirms (silently) that I will never be interested in DIY, I have not thought about the design and have no clue as to what I want beyond the all encompassing ‘I want a new kitchen’.

6. I get the feeling I am going to have to throw money at this. The design, the kitchen and builders. As I am certainly not talented nor inspired I have decided I want and need to be rich. Or miserly.

7. Most highly recommended builder in local area is called. He is part 1 of a duo (henceforth BP1). Part 2 (BP 2) is on holiday (probably with the oodles of money he has earned off other beleaguered mums looking for counter top space for sterilisers {!} like myself).

8. BP 1 comes to see us. Has an Italian name and accent to match. Brings a kitchen catalogue. Is upfront about the fact that he can get us a huge discount if we use this company and that he will make a good commission. But completely open to us choosing a kitchen from anywhere. Or even helping us design one ourselves - from scratch. As if.

9. The catalogue is thick and the colour pictures very enticing. I am imagining/ dreaming/ visualising how lovely my kitchen will look when all this crap is pulled out and replaced by one of the state of the art kitchens.

10. Of course I have not factored in the size of my kitchen or what a big hole this shall blow in the bank account. I am nothing if not a dreamer.

The Five XI

2010-09-07T11:15:00.003+01:00

1. If you live on a tropical island and / or it is sunny and balmy where you are look away now for there is more complaining to come. August was rubbish as far as summer went. Every time I exclaimed how lovely and sunny and bright the day was it would promptly turn cloudy and piss it down and turn windy and cold. Bleh! I am hoping for some lovely last of the summer sunshine from September though and so far it looks promising. As for now always talking about the weather like a British person I guess I am a reluctant convert. I understand the need to talk about it ALL.THE.TIME. because mainly it’s perpetually mucking with transport (come snow, hail, shine or rain) and everyone’s plans for everything from weekends to birthday celebrations or night’s out depend on the mood that has been set by the weather. As fodder for conversation it helps that some days (like Sunday past) we have all seasons in the 24 hours - that can keep our conversations going waaaay long!

2. There is a Tube strike (another thing mucking with the transport). Which means nothing if you work from home or walk to work or better still don’t work at all but instead meander to the park with a small child and his trike behind you. However if like me you do use the system, today’s breakdown could mean an hour and half of rubbish commuting packed into a bus of sweaty people instead of 2 zippy tube trains and a 20 minute journey. I think I shall have to leave right after lunch. No mean feat considering I got here only in time for mid-morning tea.

3. I’m not very keen on Twitter. So far none have really captured my imagination and made me come back for more. I really don’t care for the life minutiae of ‘standing at bus stop’, ‘ate undabhurji for breakfast’ variety of information, even (possibly especially) if I know you or of you as a blogger. But to be honest beside the blogs I read and their twitter feeds (that I glance at but largely ignore in fabour of the real mcCoy) I have not really explored the tweeting world. However this might be about to change as I have begun to follow a few tweets of humour that are perfect strangers to me. Following one particularly funny twitter feed at the mo: The Queen. Particularly funny if you follow the fascination of the British public with it's Royals.

4. We had a weekend in Zurich to see friends and their two boys and to bond with V’s brother who had flown to the city from Singapore on work. Kid and Uncle bonded instantly. Kid and other kids had a good time. Their house with its 4000sq ft and every toy imaginable was like landing head first in Hamleys. Kid was highly excited. Short but lovely weekend.

5. So the Indian High Commission tale finally finished. Only the week it finished I had to go abck on an unrelated matter. That was not fun except that some woman in the line started having a go at me because she thought I was jumping the line which was a huddle of people rather than a curving line. And when I apologised I could not help but add the words ‘don’t get all antsy lady’ to which her reply was ‘what is antsy? Are you abusing me? What it means? Tell me now’. Frazzled nerves at 7.15am are pleasant for no one.

Day @ IHC: A play in 5 parts – Part 5: Drama of collection

2010-08-18T12:20:00.002+01:00

“Be back at 3.30pm ok?” And with those parting word I had left the IHC.

It’s 3.30pm and with my little receipt slip I am back to collect the notarized documents. So are the other teeming masses, there to collect passports, surrender certificates, notarised documents, PIO cards and the little OIC booklets.

We are somehow all stuffed back into that dank little basement with it strip fluorescent lighting, sweating it out in our winter clothes with the warmth of humans stood too close together. My many friends (read story gatherers and fellow complaining parties) from the morning are back. We are standing at the same glass pane where this morning we jostled for the attention of the Two-in-the-power this morning. No one is here yet.

Suddenly the Two arrive and the Superior one yells at everyone to move back as the Officer is coming. Whaaaaa? I thought HE was the officer. Turns out he was the underling to the Officer. And anyway, move back where? The whole place is packed like a can of sardines and he and his precious Officer are behind a huge counter and glass pane barricade. So then he starts calling out random people’s names – again there is less than no point in having had a token of any kind as all this is random at best .

While I wait I realise that there is no fixed time for this to end and I have to make arrangements for V to pick the Kid up from day care. My phone battery is dying, the power lines inching away all day now. In a rush to get to the counter someone bumps my shoulder and the phone goes flying out of my hand, landing in numerous pieces on the floor. Kindly people scramble around till all the pieces are back together but to no avail – the phone refuses to be revived. I am near tears and exhausted to boot. Someone offers me his phone and I make hasty arrangements for the Kid to be collected and fed etc.

It turns out that over this lunch break no work has been done. The famous Two have merely piled all the papers into 3 piles, left them on the counter and retreated to a hasty lunch. Now as each person comes forward the Officer, a portly officious looking man in a blazer and moustache, looks back and forth between the photograph and the person and throws out remarks like, ‘this seems to be an old picture’ or ‘you don’t look the same’ or ‘ are you sure this is your picture?’ etc. Then he gets you to sign in his presence and signs them himself while the Two stamp the official stamp and say unhelpful things like ‘see madam, I told you bahut time nahin lagega’ (‘I told you it would not take a lot of time’ – he clearly has no watch) or’ Aaj to bahut fast hain sab’ (today everyone is very fast) or 'double work because of holiday you see'. Of course this is totally irrelevant and efficiency and any system are totally missing because there is no weight to the token receipts we got. The pile is at best random, at worst unfair. The Two just call out names as they see fit. After about half an hour of other people getting to go forward to be barked at my turn comes. I grin (barely) and bear it while the Officer tells me how different (i.e fat) I look compared to my passport picture. All signed and dusted I leave in a rush to go home. Never Again I hope.

Wishful Thinking I Realise.

Thirty5

2010-08-03T13:45:00.004+01:00

1. I feel Old.
2. I am 35.
3. The Birthday was on the 15th of July.
4. Too late to blog about it?
5. Did not even manage to stay awake till midnight - at least not midnight in London.
6. 9 years on, my folks still follow the born in India birthday by India time rule – so they wishes me at 7.30pm London time, midnight India time.
7. On the day, dropped my babyboy to nursery and went to work.
8. Where no one but two colleagues-turned-friends remembered it was my birthday.
9. This was good because otherwise I would have had to indulge in idle office chatter, eat an M&S cake, and become yet fatter.
10. I seemed to be in meetings all day. Boring boring boring.
11. Is it true what they say, about how your day goes is how your year goes?
12. I sincerely hope not. If it does then I am, as I say to babyboy, deep in the poo.
13. On the plus side I went out for lunch to Pizza Express
14. And with a coupon (age has made me miserly) spent next to nothing on a delicious pizza
15. My colleague-friends gave me (surreptitiously) a card, a bunch of cornflowers, a bracelet and a notepad for my desk.
16. Non-work people were fab. I had calls and texts all day.
17. And loads of Facebook messages (although some were from people who would normally not say anything so I think it might have been on autopilot, thereby discounted.)
18. All the technology made me feel wanted.
19. Went home and spent the evening like any other although V came home slightly earlier than normal.
20. And he bought a 1 kg tub of Zaza ice cream.
21. We are still trying to finish it.
22. All in all the quietest birthday ever. If you ignore the buzz of technology all around me.
23. Also slightly depressing.
24. On Friday I had a fabulous evening with my girls.
25. Got some smashing gifts: Plenty and a load of amazing necklaces.
26. Drinks at a noisy pub.
27. Followed by Chinese food at Phoenix Palace
28. Followed by walk down Marylebone High Street. Quiet at night. Best time for window shopping.
29. Subsequently realised this was for benefit of M who was leaving to go back to India in mere days and for Broom &TG to re-acquaint themselves with how quaint London can be.
30. Ended up at ice cream place in St. Christopher’s Place, chatting well into the night.
31. On Saturday evening V and I put babyboy to sleep, left our babysitter in charge and escaped to Soho.
32. Superb, proper grown-up evening of people gazing, chatting and delicious dinner at Koya to boot.
33. I feel loved.
34. I feel 35.
35. I feel Young.

Day @ IHC: A play in 5 parts – Part 4: Lunch of sanity

2010-07-19T09:56:00.002+01:00

What a morning it has been! My initial plan was to submit my documents by 10am and then wander over to Covent Garden and treat myself to a haircut and possibly a manicure and pedicure before lunching with shoefiend. Of course that plan has been unwittingly thwarted by dimwits in ties.

Instead I have had to call her from the crowded basement of the Indian High Commission, to shout over the hubbub of a thousand voices, to say that I will be late and who knows how long this could take. We have contemplated cancelling but it is so rare a day when we both have childcare somewhat sorted that it would be a shame to miss out a gander in the centre of town.

So after what seems like, and actually is, hours of my life drained away in the High Commission I am out and wandering up to Covent Garden in the last of the winter chill. There is still no discernable ash in my view although the sea of grey office workers out for their quick lunch look ashen enough. I’m early so I pop in to the Transport Museum and buy this Blue Plane for Kid who chewed it at a friend’s house. (Then again, he chews everything, so this is just me thinking this was cute. Or cuter than sachets of silica gel he keeps finding.)

We meet at the Covent Garden station. I can barely stand as I am exhausted from the physical exertion of the queue and the mental trauma of my experience so far. We retire to the ever faithful Wahaca, and over Margherita’s (decadent in the day on a working week, we know, but who are you? the Margherita police?) I attempt to make light of my morning. Not being able to laugh at some of the hell could turn me into a manic depressive. Luckily for me Shoefiend is an interactive audience, tut-tut-ing and laughing at all the right places. And then she goes on to match me by telling me funny anecdotes or bits from other rubbish service providers, all of which make me laugh and my misery seem shared. This is why I love her so.

After lunch we go and sit in a coffee shop and eat some decadent desserts to go with our cappuccinos. But no matter how much we laugh and how much better I feel I have that pebble-the-weight-of-dread rattling around in my stomach knowing I have to go back to collect my documents. Will it be all better?

The Five X

2010-07-01T14:31:00.001+01:00

1. This is a break in my mammoth saga of just one day at the IHC. It has been hard to write without saying horrid spiteful things and giving suggestion as to how they could change them (that’s the OCD in me). First, because even months later I nearly hyperventilate each time I begin to write the next part. And second, not many people seem to be reading it - although so many are happy to continue commenting on vapid writing and bad photography all over the Internet – see what this day has done to me? Turned me into a mean mean mean person, that’s what. Third, because its summer and oh Summer how do I count the ways in which I love you? The weather is too glorious to write about the depressing pit that that High Commission is and how humiliating they make Indian citizens feel. I have not abandoned the series, no sir I have not, but I need to get my blood pressure back down before I can attempt the other 2 parts (although one is quite amusing).

2. Talking of summer, these lovely long days of sunlit 10pm skies are just so soul reviving. Our routine has needed constant tweaking since I went back to work nearly 3 weeks ago. It seems to be settling down somewhat and with the Kid in bed by 7pm I have a lovely long evening of unwinding usually interspersed by laundry and dinner making before the zzz’s hit.

3. The long days also mean that I am reading a lot nowadays. And I have a book recommendation – Hearts and Minds by Amanda Craig. The past year on maternity leave has slightly shrunk my world to mainly include baby related things. And although I have been reading voraciously even through this year it has been the combination of this book and the return to work that has once again engaged my mind with the bigger wider world. The book is an intersection of lives of the middle class and immigrant underclass of London. It shows the intersection of heart and practical need and how they don’t always find a happy medium, in even the most carefully laid plans. It looks at the lives of people trying to escape from different situations; a Russian Au Pair who goes missing, a Ukrainian girl sold into prostitution when she leaves her country to become a waitress in London, a Zimbabwean asylum seeker searching for a better life and his missing wife, a white South African looking for his path through teaching and an American woman escaping a failed engagement. All these people’s lives intersect with the main protagonist Polly Noble, a lawyer trying to juggle her life as a busy, single, working mum. Here is a better review than mine. What I took away from it is how insulated a life we live. How even our most basic givens are luxuries for other people and how often we are not mindful of the luck we have in the life we live. And while it would be lovely, on the basis of this book, to say something preachy like we must all do much more meaningful things with our lives, I won’t. Instead I would just say that this is a book worth reading because it has given me more interesting things about the world that I hadn't known or thought to think about. Things that influence how I live my own life and view those around me. I urge you to get a copy and read it.

4. Being back at work is somewhat surreal. Even 3 weeks in it is almost as if I never left. I’ve been thrown into the thick of things and with so many new colleagues and new work these are exciting, if slightly challenging times. I am enjoying the adult interaction and thinking about the needs of the world is a far change from thinking about what vegetables to mush up for the Kid’s next meal. The only negative bit really is the travel in the tube where I can almost see the infectious germs looking at me and laughing. I already had a 12 hour tummy bug which caused projectile vomiting as one of its nicer aspects and caused a day of sick leave to be taken. How much longer before I am dramatically ill I wonder?

5. We are off on a short break, away from the crowds of urban sprawl. Although we will have our laptop I will not blog or answer emails unless urgent. I also fully intend to ignore my phone (as far as possible). I know this seems anti-social but I seriously want some switched off time for us all and there is no way to do this but cut clear of the technology that hounds us day and night. I fully intend to lay in the grass with a glass of something nice, watch my son crawl through his pop-up tunnel and attempt to walk, eat simply, read voraciously and rest deeply. I hope the weather lasts. See you in a week or so people.

Day @ IHC: A play in 5 parts – Part 3: Website? What website?

2010-06-25T14:22:00.002+01:00

According to the Website (on which I am reliant because of course no one answers the phone or responds to the numerous messages I have left or responds to the e-mails I have sent) this is what I need to get my Power of Attorney attested:

‘The person needs to bring the documents in original along with a photocopy, valid passport and the requisite fees directly to the Consular Counter of the High Commission. In case of Power of Attorney a photograph (s) of the executant (s) is required. The executant is to sign the documents in the presence of the Consular Officer.’ Check check check and check.

Aha! Finally, I am at the counter being served, or not as it were. From what I have gathered so far this is the way it shall go. There are two men behind the counter. One of them takes the papers and then barks an order at the other, who is clearly his subordinate. The subordinate then meekly says “£whatever”, collects it and rings it into a cash register and produces a receipt. All this while the main dude, whom I assume is the aforementioned Consular Officer, is looking through the papers and either:
a) smirking
b) making weird jokes about names and places which make no sense
c) telling you which documents you have missing
d) all the above.

I have read the website so many times that the instructions are printed on the inside of my eyelids. But as he (and just then I nickname him SmirkMaster Go-Go) ruffles through my papers (and comments on how I do not look like my photograph) he says “where is a copy of your passport and UK visa page?”.

Now go back up to the first paragraph if you will, reproduced from the IHC website – does it mention anywhere that either a copy of my passport or my UK visa pages? It asks me to bring the documents (to be attested) with a photocopy (which I have), my valid passport (which I have) and the fees (which I have, exact change actually). If it does, in some secret language, please please do tell me.

Meanwhile, SmirkMaster Go-Go benevolently says ‘Madam, if you want this done today you need to go and photocopy passport first last pages and UK visa. I will hold papers, you go and come OK?’. So I leave him the papers, grab my token back, and race up the short flight of stairs where the Nepali doormen await the throngs of photocopying idiots with varying versions of the words, ‘worry not, go out, turn left, cross the road, go right and you will see photocopy place. You have your token, now run!’

So I run. No mean feat if you have ever seen me and know that I NEVER run. I turn left, cross the road, turn right in front of Somerset House and am quick walking wildly on the footpath looking for the photocopy place. I barely notice the many others like me, wandering around, clutching their sheaves of paper. About 8 shops down, just before the dirty entrance to the India club is a jewellery shop. Outside is a young-ish boy chanting ’Photocopy? Photocopy? Photocopy? Photocopy?’ Without thinking I turn into the shop.

It’s no jewellery shop this. I mean there is some jewellery, but like the amount I have at home, just spread thinly across one wall in a display case. It is instead a thin front for a heaving photocopy business, with 3 machines being run by the owner, his wife and some other relative. I recognise about 15 people from the token line, entry line and inside halls of the IHC. All here, in short lines, to photocopy documents that they forgot to carry or that the website ‘helpfully’ omitted to mention. I get in line. It moves quickly, the men who man the machines churning things out at supersonic speed. The owner’s wife tries to convince me to photocopy my entire passport ‘because you never know beta when you will need these pages’. I decline, makes sure she makes only one copy and that I have all my pages, original and copied. It is 48p for each photocopy. For 3 pages I leave £1.50 and run back to the consulate. Only later does it occur to me that I should have got 6p back. It was neither offered (nor was a receipt) and I was in such a hurry that I didn’t think about it. It may seem insignificant in amount but by volume this is huge. This is how the money is made. Work un-receipted, change unclaimed.

I push through the last of the crowd trying to enter the building and am let in by the guards. I then push my way through to near the front of the counter which now smells of exhausted tired and sweaty people. SmirkMaster Go-Go is grilling some other poor sod. I wave at him. He waves me to the front, smirks (naturally!) and takes my papers. Nods, and then ignores me and goes back to the other guy. 10 minutes later he says ‘Come back at 3.30 to collect’, throws the receipt at me and goes back to yelling at someone.

I walk out with the student who tells me this is his second time for the same documents (the first got lost in the post poor chap) and that when we come back it will take at least 2 hours to collect our papers. I gawk at this because I assume that they will have everything done and dusted and just hand back my papers in order. I had every intention of collecting my still tiny child from day care and feeding him an early supper. He assures me that this is the modus operandi and that it will ‘take time’. For what, I ask. He smiles and a very Indian way says ‘Just’ and crosses the road.

I am so tired that I want to sit by the statue of Nehru in that courtyard and weep.

Day @ IHC: A play in 5 parts – Part 2: Token, what token?

2010-06-23T14:46:00.005+01:00

There is only one token window for all 800 people in the snaking line. It is giving out tokens for each service that the High Commission provides, so you have to get to the window (shuffle shuffle shove shove) and then say what you want. Then the person of authority behind the window barks some questions at you and deeming your work fit for their attention hands you a numbered paper token differentiating your counter by colour.

It takes nearly 3 hours to get to the window. I ask for, am barked at and have now been given a pink token with number 86 on it. But wait, consular services only gives 50 tokens while all other tokens are given out in the hundreds. I immediately question the bobbing head behind the window only to be told that since yesterday was a holiday and so today they are doing ‘double work madam, so 100 tokens, you are very lucky’. Oh the largesse!

Once you have the token there is no line to join, just a rugby sized huddle of people outside the wood doors next to the token window. These doors are guarded by two Nepali gentlemen, suited and booted and surprisingly soft spoken yet firm in their decisions of how to manage the crowds. They are letting great swathes of people in every half hour based on the token numbers.

Now that I have a token I must wait patiently with the masses to get inside and present my case. I jostle for space in the rugby huddle. People are trying to get in by showing their tokens but covering the bit with the number with their thumbs. Others are using the ‘I want to use the loo’ tactic. But mainly everybody is standing around trying to be friendly yet becoming mildly aggressive if anyone gets inside on false pretences. Finally after an age and much shoving I get let inside with the 11.45 lot of people.

Inside it is nothing short of a fish market. There is a difference between this time and the last. Last time there were all the non-Indians applying for visas. Now visa services have been outsourced - probably somwhere that is airier and more organised - and now it is just the bursting Indian population that has multiplied itself to take up all that extra space they left behind. There is the usual counter ringed by a wood and glass frame (to keep us out and them safe)and rows of chairs affixed to the floor (which do not even accommodate half the number of people in here). There is an electronic board with each counter number, the service it provides and the token number being called forth. Of course having all this is not much use as the number of people far outstrips the seats. People are standing in packed sardine like fashion gasping for air and making tight clusters around each counter, totally ignoring the 'please move back' admonishments of the staff behind each counter. Move back? Where lady?

The Consular Services is Counter 1 and I am happy to see that they have reached token 80 by the time I am positioned near enough the counter, in a mass of people, complaining about the heat and lack of seating after hours of standing outside. The token numbers are speeding by and about 30 minutes after I step in token 86 comes up. I jostle my way to the counter only to see that token 74 is still at the window arguing with the 2 men sitting behind the glass. I find about 6 people behind this man, all with random token numbers, not so much in a line as a hovering cluster. So clearly token numbers are just that, random numbers, addressed in nowhere near the order in which they were given out.

So a further 20 minutes later, after an engaging conversation with a college student about how we shall be here all day all year all our lives, I shove my way past someone trying to sneak in with token number 90 (the cheek!). I have arrived at the very front, the background music of complaints becoming more faint with each passing minute. Little do I realise that life is about to become a lot worse.

Day @ IHC: A play in 5 parts – Part 1: Ash clouds

2010-06-17T14:58:00.001+01:00

It’s been a manic morning requiring precision planning for childcare followed by the mad sardine tangle of the Tube that I have become so unused to. My aim today is to get a Power of Attorney attested.

So here I am here at the Indian High Commission in Aldwych, London, standing in a snaking line of over 400 people at 7.45am. I am around 250 people along – a common line for people surrendering passports, applying for passports/ renewals/ Overseas Indian Citizenship/ Person of Indian Origin status and all other consular services.

The Indian love of paperwork dictates that every person in queue at the Indian High Commission have a file (or knapsack) overflowing with sheaf’s of paper. Documents and their photocopied triplets all to be chewed up by the Officialdom of Government. In front of me is an Aunty (whom am I kidding, I am an aunty but she is way older than me and that makes her my aunty) in her sneakers and polyester trousers, clutching her knapsack for dear life. She turns around almost the minute I join the line and begins a conversation which includes (but is not limited to) where are you from, what do you do, why are you here, where is your husband, was it a love marriage (I kid you not) - all rapid fired in about 3 minutes, the answers almost inconsequential. I am tired, most of my answers to her are lies and it’s not even 8am. I plug my ears with my ipod and tune her out.

The line moves so slowly that my chances of reaching that tiny window seem dimmer with each passing minute. My phone rings and I answer it to find my father-in-law calling from India. He says that the breaking news is that London airports are shut due to the ash and wants to know where his son (who will not answer his mobile in office and is not answering his landline) and grandson (who as yet has no phone) are. I assure him that son is at work, probably in a meeting and that the grandson is at daycare. I have not heard about any ash (but then I am cut off from the real world by concerns of the childrearing type, still in a slightly obsessed sleep deprived phase) so I ask him where the ash is coming from. This is the rest of our conversation (and please remember that it is on the phone while the other people jumping in are all in line with me):

30in2005: What ash? Where from? I don’t see any ash.
FIL: I have no idea. The news only says that there is ash coming to London and therefore all the airports are being shut.
30in2005: OK. But is it a fire or something? What sort of ash?
FIL: I don’t know; the news doesn’t say.
Aunty-in-front: It is coming from Scotland. SCOT-LAND. You know, in the north. Lots of ASH!!
Boy-behind-me (with own file of paper): Yes, from the North, you know. In the air you know. Much ash is covering London.

I look up and see the bluest clearest sky I have in days.

30in2005 to FIL (now pointedly ignoring Aunty and Boy by looking at own shoes): I don’t see anything. I am out at the moment. I will call you this evening.
FIL: Find out and don’t get stuck. Who knows they may shut down the Tube. And then baby will be stuck!!
30in2005: Tube was working fine when I came out this morning. Don’t worry I can always take a cab.
Aunty: Tube is working. I came by tube.
Boy: No problem with tube. Even all buses are running. Ash cannot touch the Tube. See I can show you the news on my iphone.
30in2005 to FIL: Can I call you back? Bye.

So two people whom I do not know, who can only hear one side of the conversation, who clearly were eavesdropping instead of minding their own business have given me the news that there is ‘ash’ over London, its coming from the North, possibly Scotland and that the journey home should be fine (in their opinion).

I ignore them, pretend like they never said anything and use every bit of self-restraint to not tell them to shut up. I pop my headphones back into my ears and continue the slow shuffle shuffle shove shove to the token window.

The Five X: Get going

2010-06-13T13:40:00.000+01:00

1. I won't get into the reasons I haven't kept up to my promise to self to write. Suffice to say my middle name used to be organised, now it's lazy.

2. I go back to work tomorrow after a year of Maternity leave. We are incredibly lucky that the law in the UK allows women this amount of time off work to settle their babies into the world outside the womb before deciding on returning to work. Some people need less time to get back into the workforce, others can afford less time. Others decide that working at an office job (because make no mistake raising a child is work in every sense) is no longer for them. In my case I thought I would be back in 9 months but when push came to shove I found myself unprepared to return so soon. And thankfully we were able to afford me this break. We spent the past two and a half months getting our son settled into daycare and getting through the worst of the bugs that merrrily roam those four walls. Now he is happy and we are happy and I am off to being a office drone.

3. I spent the last two weeks doing things I have not done in a while. Mainly lunching with friends, browsing bookstores, attempting to buy additions to my wardrobe and even watching a movie. I had lunch with my mentor a week ago at Busaba (still one of my favourite places - although they are spreading like a rash across London so let's see how long that lasts) and as we left saw the fab duo from Little Britain leave with us. Matt Lucas and David Walliams - Mat was thinner than he looks on TV and David way taller than he looks on the screen. They are incredibly funny and their show is a good insight into the prejudices and oddities of this country, made humourous. They smiled. We smiled back. It made my day.

4. I watched a movie. Let me repeat that in case you did not understand the significance. I WATCHED A MOVIE. Now, I am not a big movie fan in that I do not go and watch every movie that comes out on the big screen. Heck I usually miss most of the movies till they appear on DVD much later. But I have not watched a movie in the cinema in over 11 months. I watched Julie and Julia on a flight from India in November but it took 1 very cranky baby and 7 hours of stop/start to do so and therefore that does not count. So last week I went to the cinema to watch Sex and the City 2. I knew it would probably be rubbish (and it was) but I was thrilled to be watching anything on a big screen uninterrupted by much but the slurping of coke and the chomping of popcorn. The movie was like a bad tourism advert for Abu Dhabi and the story was basic and tired and very unrealistic (as movies are sometimes meant to be?). However, it was a visual feast of colour and fashion and just the mind-numbing thing I needed. The 4 women have aged and although they have incredible bodies it is their faces that show an age that no amount of make-up can hide. I got my £7.50 worth from just the experience so no complaints here.

5. In other news it is sports mania time what with the World Cup football, F1 Grand Prix and Queens and Wimbledon tennis in the next few weeks. So our TV screen is going to be stretched to its limit. I am watching only snatches of it as I try and move back from being lazy to being organised. I have lined-up a number of sociable things for us to do over the next few months including a short vacation, 1st birthday parties for us to attend (not host), and lunches with family and friends. Speaking of friends, one of my dearest friends, who makes London eminently more interesting, is being enticed back to India. I shall miss her terribly. Thank goodness for skype and e-mail and long distance lines and text. I shook my fists at the Universe for this injustice in life. The Universe took one look at me and magnanimously offered to keep our number of friends at a constant with another planning her return. Oh goody!

Memory Box 5: Bukhaar

2010-05-17T14:35:00.003+01:00

The bout of illness that our child has just faced has left us anxious and utterly exhausted. It's first time parent syndrome. I am reliably informed that this is a pattern that will be repeated manifold in his childhood and that the best way to deal with it is to remain calm and reassuring as children sense fear and negativity quite quickly. I am nothing if not calm; unless forced to answer the question 'is he well in himself' by the NHS Direct one more time. We have turned a corner and now its about the road to getting him to eat well, gain some weight and stay healthy. It has however triggered another memory from my childhood.

The Nik and I were Principal Players of the Unexplained High Fever Club. We got them a few times a year, always in the range of 105 degrees, unusually unexplained or accompanied by tonsillitis (my speciality). My ever calm mother dealt with us efficiently and calmly, cold compress from small hand towels, soothing words and regular doses of crocin. Once severe the fever usually abated with a course of antibiotics dispensed by our family paediatrician.

One year, days before Diwali, we both went down with the fever simultaneously. The Nik was about 5 years old and at the height of his popularity in our street of many children. His friends would keep coming and ringing the bell each afternoon to ask 'Aunty, when can Nik come and play?'. Assured by my mum that he was unwell but would be out to play in a few days the posse would disperse to indulge in whatever shenanigans 5 year olds get up to. The fever would come and go and the Nik and I would amuse ourselves but sticking forehead thermometer strips on our own foreheads and checking what the other had, comparing temperature notes as it were. (There is a picture of this - but that merits its own Memory Box story).

Then just two days before Diwali both our temperature started to soar. Enough to worry our normally unflappable mother. She began to borrow thermometers from everyone along our lane, disbelieving of how high our Hicks thermometer was going. At near 106 on EVERY THERMOMETER I was delirious and finally on choti Diwali had to be admitted to hospital. I was better by the next morning, having been pumped with antibiotics and observed and sent home on the morning of Diwali.

Of course it was then Niks turn to add the grey to my mothers head and he was nearing 107 and admitted to hospital on Diwali evening. It was a time (and this makes it sound like centuries ago rather than just a few decades) when we knew all our neighbours really well, played in front of our houses without fear, and enjoyed a childhood of outdoor games watched from kitchen windows by parents. Mothers stood at bus stops to pick up their children when buses dropped them off in the summer heat or winter cold, we said hello to all the aunties/ uncles and there seemed to be hordes of children of every age, willing to play and share their toys and form silly clubs and cycle around with. For Diwali each year everyone did their prayers (or versions of it) and then brought their fireworks out and shared them. This Diwali our street was quiet. Diwali was officially postponed in light of illness. Our illness. It was unbelievably kind of the parents and understanding of our friends, mere children, who had looked forward to this day for weeks and weeks and weeks and counted their firecrackers and planned on what sequence to use them in. It was a quiet, quiet street.

A few days after we had both recovered sufficiently our street came out to celebrate Diwali. So there in the MIDDLE of the week, a SCHOOL NIGHT to boot, was a street full of kids laying out diyas outside their houses and then letting off strings of firecrackers and flowerpot thingies and sparklers and spinning wheels and rockets from empty soda bottles, giggling hysterically and chattering away the night. It was a bright and lovely celebration and that evening cemented the path for so many of our friendships into adulthood.

We had an amazing childhood, of this I have no doubt. The camaraderie between neighbours a stark difference from the mere nod of acknowledgement that passes between people in our hallway now.

Memory Box 4: Dancing in the rain

2010-04-28T09:50:00.001+01:00

Rain. In my adult London life the dripping English rain is uninspiring, a damp squib if you will. I rarely carry an umbrella or wear a raincoat as the mist rain will get to you one way or another, and I see no point in lugging around more layers or carrying an umbrella for no good reason. I am bored by conversations about the wet English weather and will use the drip drip torture as an excuse to stay in 9 times out of 10.

Yet at age 7 I could think of nothing more exciting than being allowed to jump around in the rain. Being prone to colds and tonsilitis accompanied by record breaking fevers of the most severe kind I never was allowed to get wet. And the Delhi monsoon which usually broke on my birthday was a beast in its own right, lashing and very very wet, rendering washing damp and mouldy and chasing the mosquitos into the house. The pouring skies were very inviting to a young child. Being forbidden from walking right into the rain was torture.

We lived in a first floor flat with a large terrace. The Nik was only a baby and my father lived abroad for most of the year. My mum needed to devise some activity to keep her bored ("you are too young to be bored darling" - her favourite line) child busy each afternoon of the year.

In my memory this afternoon was unremarkable in any way, indistinct from the others preceeding it. The monsoon was upon us and the rain fell in sheets over Delhi. I remember reading 'Heidi', a book I was greatly taken with, and imagining the Alps and wondering what Goats milk tasted like. (I like milk- drank two glasses a day - often still do, so get over it - but goats milk has been tasted in adult life - and one word is 'yuk'). Suddenly, with no warning my mum came into the room and told me I could go and dance in the rain. Those were her exact words. I remember them so clearly it is weird. And without questioning the how or why of her decision I was up in a flash, abandoning Heidi and shooting out of the room before she could change her mind. She opened the front door and with not a nanosecond of hesitation I flew out into the pouring rain.

It was an amazing sensation, being pelted by the steady large drops of rain, soaked to the bone within seconds of running onto the terrace. I did a little jig, jumping around in the rain puddles on our uneven pockmarked concrete terrace floor. I remember turning and there framed in the doorway was my mother with the tiny baby Nik in her arms. She was smiling broadly, my joy her joy. She then went inside while I continued to run around the terrace, like some child on a sugar high. She came back with a towel having deposited my brother in his cot.

I'm not sure how long I was outside, face turned to the skies, bathing in the rain. I remember being done with the rain, satiated, drenched, soaking and oh so happy by the time I went in. I remember drinking hot chocolate after I was dry, sitting with my mum and brother, jabbering on about how much fun that was and when could I do that again, please? It turned out never as I got a mighty cold in return for the dance of unbriddled joy.

Those few minutes of dancing in the rain sanctioned by my mum, remain one of my favourite childhood memories.

The Five IX

2010-04-26T21:11:00.002+01:00

1. Clearly, time flies. I have been tardy tardy tardy. Slap on knuckles with ruler. I shall be better. I missed you internet and my peeps, I did, I did.

2. It turns out that daycare, no matter how clean or efficient or well run, is the playground of germs and children. This happy mix has left some of us with colds, high temperatures and now hacking coughs. Endless trips to doctors, calls to NHS direct and doses of antibiotics. Loads of sleep interrupted nights. All somewhat the reason for tardiness.

3. Have a bunch of memory box thingies in my drafts, waiting to be finessed or for missing detail to come back to me in a rare moment of lucidity. I shall try and do one a week for the next 4 weeks to get back on track.

4. I recently spent (or should I say wasted) an entire day at the Indian High Commission. I am writing this down as a play in multiple parts, so surreal was my day. Shout out to Shoefiend for trudging out to meet me, bolster my spirits with a margherita and listen to my many rants at lunch time.

5. Did I say I missed you? It's spring and when I spend so many hours with the face turned upward to the sun I guess my brain turns a bit woozy, sleepy and lazy. I apologise. I am writing, I promise.....

Memory Box 5: Age is all in the mind

2010-03-12T13:25:00.002Z

My mother and the Nik share their birthday. It's today. The 12th of March. Each year from the year the Nik was born my father would tell us how he (Nik) could be tied with ribbon and given to mum every year as a new gift. Bigger and better (?). Free and cute (? haha!). Of course dad never got away with it and always had to shell out for gifts. Worth a try though I reckon.

My mum believes, unwaveringly, that age is all in the mind. It's a quality that I did not inherit. I feel every day of my 34 years with great grouchiness whereas my mother still feels 18 with great joie de vivre. This joy of life and youthfulness of mind has held her in good stead and it's what made so many of my friends and peers be friends with her independent of me. Something that pissed me off when I was a teenager looking for something to get angst-y about but which fills me with pride and smiles all the time now.

When the Nik turned 4 he had a big birthday party. Delicious home made cake (no one makes a devils food cake quite like her) and a multitude of snacks from my mother, the Nigella Lawson of India. All of Nik's pals arrived bearing gifts at around 4pm and after party games it was time to cut the cake and eat some food.

After cutting the cake Nik was sitting on the stairs next to his pal, let's call him Al, and this is the conversation they had:
Nik (chomping on cake): Today is my mums birthday too.
Al (also chomping on cake): Hmmm
Nik (very well coached): Ya, she is 18 today.
Al (not coached at all, clearly): My mum's birthday is on xxxx and she is going to be36.
Nik (not to be left behind): On her next birthday my mum will be 81.

Even at age 11 I found it hilarious.

Today the Nik is 28 and mum, well she is still 18. Happy birthday both!

Memory Box 4: Holi

2010-03-02T22:49:00.003Z

Two memories from the Holi of my childhood.

1. There is great excitement for one of my parents two children. At age 4 the Nik is finally being allowed out to play holi with his friends; colour powder has been bought in small paper packets and a pichkari to fight the wet fight has been tested. There are a few parents to supervise, make sure the children stay within the gates and off the road and ensure that holi does not disentigrate into a rowdy affair. His best friend comes to collect him at around 9.30 and off he goes attired in an old pair of shorts and a t-shirt, excitement brimming over, knowing that there will be colour and water and that these clothes are destined for the bin. I have exams in a matter of weeks and don't really like holi so after about an hour of playing with dry colours I am home, watching proceedings from the balcony or window, pretending to study.

10 minutes after he leaves the doorbell rings and it is opened with caution. It is Nik, soaked to the bone, demanding a change of clothes BECAUSE THESE ONES ARE WET! So mum rustles up another set of old clothes and makes him change and leave his wet clothes on the floor near the front door. He is sent off again with the warning that he must only come home once he is finished with holi and ready for his bath. 3 minutes later here he is AGAIN, demanding to be changed because his clothes ARE WET. This cycle continues till noon by which time mum has run out of patience and old clothes that can be discarded. There is a sopping pile of clothes by the front door and one very happy, exhausted youngster asleep this afternoon, dreaming of his next holi.

2. My father insisted througout my childhood and probably still does, although we all ignore this point now, that hindi movies would adle the brain. Therefore under no circumstances were we allowed to watch hindi movies. I remember watching a few minutes of some hindi movie on television at my grandparents neighbours house one summer vacation and being admonished and sent home almost immediately because everyone who knew us knew the rules that applied to us.

So it came to pass that I led a deprived-of-hindi-movies childhood. I had nothing to discuss with classmates who had been to watch every Bollywood offering. Instead I buried my head in books (not of the academic kind) and pretended that this difference, this lack of knowledge about the star and storyline of the day just did not bother me.

But the year I went to class 10 I felt that enough was enough, I wanted to learn the secrets of the hindi movie screen, to be 'in' with the discussions on what the latest and greatest in Bollywood were up to. So after some heavy negotiations, in exchange for not playing holi just before my Class 10 Board exams (which would cause a cold/ cough/ tonsilitis/ fever and interfere with academic ha-ha-ha brilliance), I was to be allowed to watch a hindi movie on video while everyone was out playing with colours and water. The year was 1991 but I chose Qayamat se Qayamat tak, released three years previously, just to see whether Amir Khan was indeed a dreamboat. So I stayed home and watched the entire movie from the comfort of my parents bed. 3 hours of plot, dramatic dialogue, costumes and pop-up-out-of-nowhere songs. I was no longer a bollywood novice; I was just like any other teenager who had watched a hindi movie.

But the truth was that it did not change my life, it turned out that Amir Khan was not a dreamboat and that my mind would actually not be adled with just one hindi flick. I would go on to watch many many hindi films and be introduced to what V calls the greatest movies ever. But even now I never watch a hindi film without a quick thought to how late in the day I came to Bollywood movies and how I gave up holi to do so.

Memory Box 3: Doctor Doctor

2010-02-23T21:17:00.001Z

I am 7 and a bit. We have a black and white TV but for some reason it is not working. Or we don't have the correct channel. I don't remember. Either way every Wednesday night we go next door to the home of the Mathurs and watch 'I love Lucy' on their TV. Oooh that Lucille Ball, she is so funny that I shall not complain about being forced to have a short afternoon nap when I could instead be playing some made up game again. A nap that allowes me the luxury of staying away past my daily bedtime of 7.30pm just to get a weeks quota of funny.

Today my stomach hurts. But instead of complaining I go and have a nap in the hope that the pain shall fly away with the sleep fairies. We eat dinner at 7pm, properly at the table, no wasting is allowed and we discuss my day at school. My stomach still hurts but any complaints to avoid the food on my plate will surely mean going immediately to bed, without Lucy or Desi to giggle about as I fall asleep. Nothing is worth that.

After dinner its time for 'I love Lucy' and we troop next door. By the end of Lucy my stomach ache is unbearable. Could that be because of all the laughing? I don't say anything till we get home and my mother is tucking me into bed. She soothes me by stroking my forehead, murmuring words of comfort about how a good nights sleep shall help and its probably just something I ate. Goodnight, I love you, come and call me at night if it hurts too much.

It hurts too much. I am wide awake and standing in the doorway of my parents room. It is definitely still night. Then we are in the car being driven to the hospital. It is still dark and I am doubled up in pain. Turns out my appendix shall burst and spread gangrenous goo throughout my body if they don't operate immediately.

I have surgery early the next morning. I do not remember anything about the surgery or my stay in hospital. But I remember feeling like a martyr while recovering; behaving as if I am the first ever person to experience pain or undergo surgery. The raw red scar is proof enough of the extent of my vast surgical experience. And of course from teacher-student games (which just seem silly now) my dolls and I have quickly graduated to doctor-patient as our favourite game. I am sure my experience will add more than a smidge of reality to the situation. Will my friends be impressed by my knowledge of words like appendix and scalpel and operation theatre? Can I get a stethescope for my birthday? Will I grow up to be a doctor?

Sadly the answer to all three was no.

Memory Box 2: Not so brave

2010-02-09T14:25:00.001Z

The year is 1986, early March. We live in a first floor dupleix 3 bedroom DDA colony flat, close to the colony gate. Like thousands of Delhi families our home bustles with activity each day. My father like many other middle income service people must trudge to office daily to earn an honest living. My mother has chosen her children as her priority over her job and is home when we leave for school and home when we get back, doing translations and editing part time each morning. She grows money plant in odd bottles, tidies after us, feeds us an innovative lunch (chicken in a basket is my favourite), gets homework on the front burner, reads to and with us, limits our tv viewing and encourages talking to each other instead.

My parents have the big bedroom beside the dining room on the first floor. The stairs curve upward from just next to their bedroom to the second floor. At the top of the stairs is a long thin corridor with a bedroom on the right and a bathroom in front. Turning left onto the corridor leads to my very own bedroom. After all at nearly 11 I am a big girl now and this merits my own space. The corridor has a wall on the right but the left is open and at night if I creep into the corridor and look down through the railings I can look right into the dining/TV room for the reassuring bulk of my parents. There is a balcony on the left just before my room and another smaller one leading off my bedroom. My bedroom isn't very big but it has a little store room attached to it which is full of boxes, suitcases and other stuff clearly not immediately needed. Mostly I like to think of my room with its many doors as my own apartment. I even make Nik knock on the door if he comes up to call me or play.

The news says that the murderer Charles Sobhraj has walked out of Tihar jail after drugging his prisoner and guard friends. If it is that easy what chance do any of us have? Tihar jail is at one end of Delhi. Since he escaped into Delhi and is most likely trying to get to the otherside of Delhi to avoid capture it is not unlikely that he is headed straight for our house. I am in Delhi, he is in Delhi, my house is the safest place I know, surely he must be hiding here!!! In the BOXROOM! on either of the BALCONIES! under MY BED! in MY CUPBOARD! OMG he is going to kill me next. Nothing will convince me to go upstairs on my own. Each time I go up a parent must accompany me. Fearless 4 year old Nik is not enough. To get my uniform, to bathe, to get my school books, to get my shoes etc. etc. etc. - I want a parent tail. And I will most certainly not sleep upstairs. Why heavens, he could burst in and stab me in my sleep! My parents bed seems like the best possible safe haven and that is where I shall stay till he is captured. Or I forget about him.

This is the life of an overimaginative child. Who has no 24 internet or TV newsfeed to update her on his whereabouts or hunt and capture in Goa. Only the once nightly Doordarshan news or the Times of India newspaper to wait for, to make the world a safe place once again.

Memory Box 1: Gaining a brother

2010-02-04T16:48:00.005Z

This is the last day my nani will collect me from the bus stop, bundle me into the car and drive me miles across the city to the hospital where my mum and brand new baby brother are. He is tiny and not shiny like a new toy. Instead he is all wrinkly and his hands are balled into fists. His tiny hands were joined at the wrists by a tiny piece of skin that he has now illustriously pulled apart, leaving little blue birthmarks that need to be observed.

My nani will sit with me in the hospital gardens and as we stare up at the big big building my six year old self is impatiently fidgeting for lunch. Everyday this week it is podi-sandwiches, a treat of thick white bread slathered with butter and sprinkled with tongue burning podi, clearly called gunpowder for a reason. If we were at home I would be made to eat something sensible that probably inludes vegetables, so I am relishing every bite of this forbidden lunch.

After lunch we will go in and see mama who is resting. And then walk to the nursery to look at the Nik through a window, lying in his bassinet, all bundled up. Even though I like coming here, in no small part because of the sandwiches, I want everyone to come home. This commuting is boring and takes away from my play time. Also I imagine my brother will instantly be a captive candidate for my endless games of teacher - student. A live one to make the dull toy dolls seem a bit more real and give my game some credence. Isn't that the entire purpose of having a sibling?

I clearly have no idea that I will get chicken pox within days of everyone coming home and be quarantined to my room across the hall. And that I will stand in the door every day demanding to know when the scabs will dry and fall off and I will be allowed to play with Nik. Agreeing uncomplainingly to another layer of lacto-calamine being applied. All this time I never realise that even once the quarantine has passed the Nik is not nearly big enough for my games. And when he finally is big enough I will have outgrown them. Childhood is fraught with random memories like this one.

The Five VIII

2010-02-03T17:00:00.001Z

1. I'm ready for spring. Never have truer words been spoken. If I see another snowflake or sleet stone hit my windows before next winter I might scream. Long and loud. Not losing my temper as part of my resolutions is really hard to keep in sh*t weather where the grey outside sometimes tranfers itself inside. To remedy feelings of gloom I intend on planting some small evergreen succulents. And putting them on a high shelf where crawling creatures cannot venture.

2. This year I am all gung-ho about sending my friends gifts and random things in the mail. A few of them already got the scrummy little calender refills from etsy (although most were handed over in person). And now I have about 6 more ideas of things to buy online and get sent off directly. Wait for your birthdays or just random days for a surprise in the post.

3. The main idea of de-cluttering is not just to organise what we have stashed away like jewel thieves (mainly paper!) but to come to a path where I don't need to be surrounded by stuff stuff and more stuff. So I'm organising and getting filing for one but also abandoning a variety of things I can easily live without. It's difficult, this learning to live with what I need and only a little of what I want (i.e. not buying every beautiful thing I see to adorn shelves/ walls etc.) So throughout the year I am going to implement ideas to organise and de-clutter and to keep me on my toes I am going to blog it. And post pictures.

4. I was afraid to put this down as a resolution because I am pretty sure it isn't going to be an easy one to follow through. The bottomline is that I can no longer do without driving and after weeks of rubbish classes in India (which I never followed through) and a perpetual irrational fear of the roads, this is the year I am going to have to learn. I'm spending the first 3 months of the year psyching myself into it and getting on with some precursor paperwork that needs doing before I can apply but sometime this year I shall be behind the wheel of a car. I'm aiming to learn and get my licence before I turn 36 (in 2011, that's how long this project shall take I expect). Will you commiserate when I fail my driving test multiple times on the way?

5. I'm also startng a mini-series called Memory Box. I've had it in my head for a few years now (see, 2010 is totally about getting off my butt and follwing through!) to record incidents from my childhood before my brain caves in. I am also planning a paper version for my family in which I shall write down stories and incidents that are narrated by my dad and aunt. My first memory box story is already a draft.

Resolutions future: Blame Dell

2010-01-23T12:29:00.002Z

So the next day or Sunday turned into way more than a week. But this time it is not my procrastination but the hellish customer service from Dell that is the reason for the silence. Here I was with my list of resolutions all ready to type away and start to follow through, partly attempting to guilt myself into doing something about them by the fact that I write them down and because last years were a washout, and I am usually very very good about resolutions. Of course the laptop refused to cooperate. It's given us problems from the day we bought the damn Dell. The keyboard is the main accused, with keys behaving errantly and causing words to come out looking all sad and misshapen. I won't bore you with more, I already chewed a whole bunch of people's ears with my miserable life. Anyway, it seems to work now and so here are my resolutions for 20-10.

1. De-clutter: Our house regulary looks like the paper monster came and threw up his lunch all over it. There is paper everywhere and no matter what we do it seems to never come under control. Of course now we have hideous plastic toys and furry animals and spilt biscuits to add to the mess. This year I will devise a workable filing system and get rid of as much unused stuff as humanly possible.
2. I will finish my scrapbook/ photo album which has been lying on the bookshelf, filling in pictures and ticket stubs etc that hark back to 2005. I will also get on with the new scrapbook that I enthusiastically started and have somewhat abandoned.
3. Lose all the weight that having a child has added back on. This will include going back to the gym with enthusiasm by April and not eating the dregs of leftover food. And abandoning chocolate and anything Ben & Jerry's (within reason of course; a gals gotta live a little!). So 20kgs lighter (and make no mistake I will still be grossly overweight!) by 31st december 2010.
4. Lose my temper less and count to 20 before I nag. Harder to quantify but I shall try try try to not sound like a whiny old woman. And I don't want to hit 35 and look in the mirror and see a curmudgeonly wizened hag.

That's it folks. 4 resolutions in what promises to be a busy year anyway. And this year I aim to meet them all head on.

Resolutions past

2010-01-08T16:21:00.000Z

The first week of a new decade over and done with - a bit quick don't you think? All a giant blur in face of rubbish Dell laptop and endless screaming at their poor employees via phone while small child purses lips and refuses to eat ANYTHING. I can already see how the tone of this year, if not decade, is set.

So very quickly on resolutions past:
1. Learn to de-clutter: Tried. Valiently. But did not count on arrival of small person and all their clutter.My once 'good sized' home now looks like a small hovel made of hideous plastic toys and fluffy animals.
2. Read read read: Bought a second bookshelf. Unsurprised to find that it is already full. And I have stacks lying on the side, homeless. Not inspired to try much writing though. Have ideas but too chicken.
3. Treat my friends and acquaintances better: Was ruthless about people taking advantage, expecting me to call, takers not givers – I cut them out. And seriously pared down the ridiculous numbers on Facebook, giving email and the many phones their chance.
4. Host yet more convivial meals: More or less the same as the previous year which I came to realise was very hectic with socialising. More than I imagined considering the second half of the year brought us a whole new timetable and takeaway menus to keep up with the upkeep of a small child.
5. Slow down with the blogging. But try not to stop. Stop being obsessed by blogs. And by people who write them: Yes. Yes. Yes. And Yes. Although I was not much less harsh about other people's crap. Only now I do it in private and learn to temper my feelings with the 'to each their own' philosophy!
6. People watch: Failed miserably. Basically I have no time to stop and smell the roses. More like daipers these days.

Resolutions future is nearly there although not quite. List should be up tomorrow or Sunday. I guess not putting everything off all the time ( I have so many book and restaurant reviews in draft stage it is frightening!) should make that list....

The Five - VII or the New Year One

2009-12-31T13:36:00.004Z

1. I have come to love this time of year in London despite the bitter cold. It's crisp (yes, I feel like a shivering lettuce when I am outside) but so long as it is dry I try and go out for a short walk each day. Of course we've just had two solid days of rain (drizzle) which were miserable but on the whole we've had more sunshiny cold than wet cold. We've already seen some snow and apparently there is more to come in the new year. Of course it is nothing like the States or Siberia but it is always amusing to see how 5 snowflakes cause an entire city to shut itself down. No wonder the world laughs at us when a bit of snow closes the transport system and has people working from home to avoid panic attacks of commuting in an already rubbish system.

2.This year, after 7 cold winters dealt with, a small miracle has occured in the 30 household. V turns on all the heating as soon he is awake. Yes, in every room. And encourages me to keep them all on till the house is like a mini-furnace by mid-afternoon. Now to people who turn their heating on in September and only turn it off in April this may seem like a non-event. But for the penguin that is V this is a total turnaround. Till the day we discovered that a child was on its way we never turned the heating on because it 'gives me a headache' (his mantra) and I should 'add some layers (my winter fashion look). Well, miraculously the headaches have vanished because house must be kept warm so said child can crawl around. If only my double socks, multiple layered person had known that it was a child that could procure me heating I would have had the child years ago!

3. We spent Christmas day as we always do, making and eating pizza and watching rubbish on TV. I had a glass of wine after about 4 years. Sort of went to my head but no hangover whatsoever. I shall be returning to the occasional social drink in 2010 after a long dry hiatus. Tequila shots here I come!

4. Unlike the past 7 years of New Years parties this year we are staying at home like boring old people. For one, most of our friends have gone out of town on exotic holidays - Boston, Spain, India and Argentina. Two, V would like to not have to host yet another party but instead stay home and play with his son. Three, I guess it's impractical to host a party for the 6 people who do remain in London considering we'd have to dumb it well down for the sleeping child. I have to say though that I am disappointed and sad for I love-hate hosting parties and look forward to this every year. Instead I will cook couscous with peppers and peas and bake chicken with lime and chilli for dinner and possibly have another glass of wine while watching the fireworks, to bring in the new year.

5. All that remains is to say that I am busy compiling my 2010 resolution list and going through last years resolutions to see how badly I fared. In the meanwhile I hope you have a splendid New Year party (think of me - grumpy old woman wrapped in blanket and with her bedsocks on by 10pm!). This is 30in2005, V and babyboy signing off for 2009 and wishing you the best, brightest, healthiest 2010 possible. See you on the other side!

Merry as wine

2009-12-24T17:29:00.004Z

A break in my (slow moving, rarely read) Delhi stories to say Merry Christmas all.

At around 5am UK time, 10.30 India time, it will be 8 years to the hour that V and I stood in front of our closest family and friends and declared mental fitness to be tied in holy matrimony (the requirement of a public registered wedding!). Under a tree draped in strings of jasmine and terracotta lamps, on a glorious Delhi winter sunshiny morning, decked in finery and smiles so broad they contained our whole hearts in them.

Like every year between then and now we will celebrate with homemade pizza and wine, perpetuating a tradition we created for ourselves to mark the passing of time, the strengthening of bonds, the joy of our lives together and the anticipation of another year. Happy Anniversary V boy.

And if you celebrate it, Merry Christmas cyber world people.

Dilli Kahaani 2

2009-12-21T14:02:00.003Z

I think I've said before that in our family it is the Nik who has the midas touch. Each year he plays cards before diwali, wins a s**tload of cash and then uses that (plus some) to do something house enhancing. In the crap construction of DDA it is only enhancements and continued bolstering that ensures the buildings remain standing or re-saleable. Last year it was pop (that's plaster of paris, not my father) and painting. This year, in anticipation of being a married man next year, it's fixing his loo and building a walk-in closet for his room.

In true desi style the builder promised a one month slot in which he would finish everything (before diwali) and of course nearly 2 months later when we arived things were more than a nudge away from being complete. It didn't help that only my dad was at home to supervise while the loud, bellowing, authoratative voice of my brother was sitting at work all day. So when we arrived in Delhi it was not to the room of my youth that baby and I settled. It was my parents room, thereby displacing my father who was more that happy to live with the gadgets in the TV room.

Once the dust had settled and every garment and shoe in my room (see I still refer to it as my room, even though it was always 'our' room and even though it hasn't been my room in about 8 years) had been washed/ drycleaned/ ironed/ scrubbed to a shine, we began the slow move. Of course not before we procured new matresses and unpacked our suitcases into the new shiny cupboards. This whole process took most of the second week and it was not till week three that the room was actually usable.

By the start of week two I had shed my sloth like avatar, comandeered the car and driver and was trying to leave the house each day, father, baby, car seat and 10 million pieces of equipment in tow. We had lovely lunches with my parents (kidnapping my mother from work), an afternoon with my cousin M & her two adorable children, and an afternoon with my school friends sitting around our living room and chatting nineteen to the dozen over chai. I read bundles of David Baldacci books each afternoon and night (the Nik has every single one) and ordered a different kind of stuffed paratha to be made by the cook each morning. I tell you there is almost no vegetable that man cannot stuff into a circle of deep friend cholestrol.

In the evenings, the Nik and P would entertain us with stories, gup-shup and the bubliness of youth (mainly funny noises which baby thought were hilarious) and sometimes their friends would drop by for a bit. We ordered in a variety of eats from momo's to kathi rolls to kebabs to ice cream depending on the day, mood and state of stomach.

It was a tiring week what with all the weeding and cleaning out, one final push before the room could take shape and the rest of the house and we could all settle in our respective corners. But it was that most pleasant of aches, where all the activity made for a little progress each day and a deep satisfied sleep each night.

Dilli kahaani 1

2009-12-15T22:09:00.000Z

There is so much to tell that I think it is wisest I break it up into little stories. Also it's been over 2 weeks since we got back and it all seems a bit like a fairytale to me rather than a real life lived. Here goes.

My parents live in a DDA flat. For those non-familiar with the term, officially it stands for Delhi Development Authority. Unofficially, as my father succinctly puts it, it means lowest tender construction. It's a south facing ground floor flat, well proportioned but not of garangutan proportions. When we first moved to it in the early 90's even our school bus would not venture this far south. We had a private pool of parents taking on the resposibility of organising transport for school and lobbying for the windowless DTC buses to ply our way. It was a deserted shell of a colony and people stared in utter amazement and laughed out loud (at us, not with us) if I ever told them where we lived. It was akin to telling someone that we lived in the middle of the Thar Desert. Of course now it is considered a reputable outpost of south Delhi and with burgeoning Gurgaon to its south it seems almost central what with its endless malls and ridiculous rents and house prices. Who's laughing now?

It's south facing-ness with just a prk in front always made my parents feel like they had won the lottery. My brother and I used to grouse growing up that living at the back of the colony with wilderness in front of us meant that we lived at the southernmost tip of the southern end of Delhi. It also meant a 10 minute trudge to the bus stop each morning - and that meant a few extra freezing cold or burning heat minutes (depending on the Delhi season) than the oh-so-lucky kids who lived facing the front road. We hated it.

Well, now we have no one peeking into our house and the flat gets that delightful Delhi winter sun streaming through its large windows. And we have a park with somewhat mature foliage between us and the ample parking space. So I guess in some small way my parents did win the lottery. For the entire first week I stayed indoors, reading and napping and eating my way through anything made of flour and deep fried in butter. And most mornings I lay on the sofa chatting with my dad as he sat on the doorstep, reading and chuckling with the baby on his lap on the doorstep, soaking in the sun, listening to music on one of his many many music systems. After our whirlwind 4 weeks, 3 cities tour both baby and I needed it, that feeling of stopping and letting everything settle. It was a good week.

Waapas in London

2009-12-02T10:43:00.003Z

It's been so long that I think I no longer know how to write or how to organise all the gazillion things I have to say to you my dear blog. That is what comes of a four week break in Delhi, at my parents home, where I don't have to think about what/ how to cook, when to do laundry, whether said laundry needs to be seperated into colours and whites, how clean clothes can be magically ironed or if I take a long bath will my kid bawl his lungs out. Bliss. So much 'breaking' in fact that I took long naps, read and chilled out at home for 4 straight weeks and as a result look like Goodyear blimp. I blame it on fried parathas for breakfast.

Of course we are waapas (thats 'back' for the non hindi speakers) and I am trying to adjust to the reality of cooking, laundry and the zillions of other small chores that need doing. Really a tough gig when all I want to do is crawl under the duvet at 4.30pm. Reality sucks.

Here's back to blogging more frequently. Already a 100% improvement from November. But I promise more Delhi tales and food stories.

What have you been upto peeps? Miss me at all?

The Five - VI

2009-10-27T15:23:00.007Z

1. Done with Diwali for another year. The silks held up. Mainly because I wore them for a grand total of 45 minutes. It was blazingly hot what with all the diyas and lamps and Calcutta weather etc., so I breathed a sigh of relief when my MiL said I could go change after the puja. Dinner was scrumptuous (it always is in their home) - the highlights were badam halwa and dahi badas. The Kid slept through it all, not even stirring when the fireworks went off in the vicinity. I think he has my genes.

2. V left us at Calcutta airport for his long return via Mumbai to London. We took a much delayed flight to Chennai, port three in our round India visit. People were uniformly helpful, whether in their official capacities as airline crew/ staff or just as friendly passengers. The flight was fine and we got to sit in the empty business class section so that 'with a baby you need more space ma'am'. Great.

3. Chennai is lovely. My favourite city in India I think. Despite the searing humidity. I have the fondest memories of summer holidays with my cousins (although I think all we did then was fight!) and then of living here when I first tackled the corporate world as a youngster. The bonus this time has been the retreating monsoon - sheets of rain each night with that earthy smell accompanied by claps of thunder and bolts of lightening. We sit on the balcony in the generous swing and sway and chat while enjoying the sudden cool breeze. Simply lovely.

4. In food I am a confirmed idli and sambhar addict. I think everyone is quite sick of me and the amounts of sambhar I can consume. I have most certainly eaten my own weight in light fluffy piping hot idlis. I can bet you both things are off the menu for atleast a week once I have left. We try and go out for a 'chakkar' each morning. To a saree shop or Hot Breads or Landmark or just to drive past Marina beach where my grandfather used to take us as children for ice cream. Everything in Madras is for me suffused with a memory and I continuously chatter to my father and aunt ' oh this is where/ when/ how...... I feel almost like a child again, so many are my memories. But the reality is that I am grown and want my child to see somehow what my history is made up of. He is not being at all obliging - the second he is in his car seat he falls asleep thereby avoiding any of my lectures.

5. Finally, we leave for the last of our Bharat Darshan destinations tonight. Delhi, my original love. But Chennai you are a wonderful second. Besides seeing my family the great highlight has been the news of a baby boy born to my cousin A a day ago. It's been a wonderful, relaxed and happy trip so far (although I and the Kid miss V dreadfully). I expect my home in Delhi will make me yet happier if that is possible.

The Five - V

2009-10-08T10:00:00.005+01:00

1. Never thought I'd get sentimental about a book. And more than want to, I feel compelled to review it here. For posterity. To remind myself how I felt when I read it. It's been over a week since I finished Fugitive Histories by Githa Hariharan. But it's left so many thoughts swirling around that even now I can't promise I'll be coherent. And since I'm on holiday there is not enough time for me to do this now. I'll wait for coherence and leave the writing till I am back. It's enough to say it is a wonderful book that brings home the fragility of life and the thoughtlessness and cruelty of human beings. It's a simply wonderful, tender-harsh book that I enjoyed immensly despite its great sadness and hurt.

2. We are in India. The first leg of the journey is over and we are in city 2 of 4. The long London - Mumbai flight was a doddle but once here adjustment for the tiny person in our midst has been fraught. He seems to sense we are away from the only home he has ever known and is both happy and sad and stressed and smiley. It's funny and difficult both.

3. Mumbai was quick but fun. We stayed home mainly and had loads of friends drop by. The cousins played and we ate some lovely food and took pictures and chatted till early each morning. I made a quick trip to a bookshop and bought 10 books - just the start of my book retail therapy.

4. Enjoyed a sudden Calcutta shower this afternoon from the confines of a covered balcony. What they call a drizzle is what we call a downpour in London. But there is nothing to match the smell that the first few minutes brings - fresh rainwater hits matti smell. Thereafter it is the smell of rubbish and water.

5. It's hot. In Mumbai and in Calcutta. Sweatingly hot. The kind which needs continuous air conditioning. Even though Diwali is just around the corner. I was complaining till V reminded me that I'm used to Delhi where winter is between Diwali and Holi and even though Diwali is super early this year I hear that already the Delhi nights are cooler. But Diwali is to be celebrated in the Calcutta heat this year. How will my silks hold up?? Report in the next Five.

The Five - IV

2009-09-28T18:11:00.003+01:00

1. Why do I have no faith in the system? After I fought with the Bloomsbury aunty I was sure I would not get a replacement for my faulty copy of 'Burnt Shadows' by Kamila Shamsie. On Saturday, after a week drought of post, my brand new proper copy arrived along with 5 other awaited parcels of internet shopping. Am waiting to finish 'Fugitive Histories' by Githa Hariharan which is my current midnight feast before I get stuck back into the wonderfully compelling Burnt Shadows. So many books so little time.

2. Actually that isn't strictly true. I finished Zoe Heller's 'The Believers' in one night, a birthday gift from a friend. And then 'The Inheritors' by Neel Chowdhury in three nights. I would recommend both and have every intention of getting everything else Heller has written. She has a wonderfully descriptive way of writing, setting the scene as if the reader is a fly on the wall, urging the protagonists forward, cheering the underdog, debating every side of the story. Eminently readable. 'The Inheritors' was interesting in that it was about the high flying business and social worlds of Calcutta marwaris, a quantity unknown. But it had its shortcomings in the simplicity and neatly tied ending, which made it predictible after a point. Good not great. I find myself speedily going through my very diminished book pile at great speed. Cannot wait for my replenishment run.

3. Talking of replenishment runs, I am off to India for 7 weeks in mid-Oct. I intend to make use of all pampering facilities and extended jaunts to buy books for who knows when I shall have the chance again. My bags aren't packed but the collection of stuff to be carried is now living in piles on the bed of our guest room. To look at it one would think we were moving permanently, not just going for a bit. As for whether this mountain shall mould itself into our Samsonites with ease is a question that no one can reliably guess. We are taking bets as to how much excess baggage we shall have to shell out for and how much stuff we shall have to discard at the airport.

4. In India I am doing the bharat darshan version of things, introducing my son and relatives & friends to each other in Mumbai, Kolkatta, Chennai and Delhi. Varying days in each city but none so short or rushed that we shall feel harried or cheated. Numerous flights which shall be erased from memory no doubt by the wonderful hospitality of family in each port. For the first time ever V and I will vacation together in India, having 2 whole weeks in which we do not scatter around the country like headless chickens. Our speciality so far has been 8 day trips (3 in 2 years on average) where we travel the long legs together and then scatter, only to re-group 7 days later having given pieces of ourselves to various cities. Not so this time when we will spend the 2 weeks entirely together before I continue on to the last two cities for varying lengths of time with bubba in tow.

5. Sadly this trip will necessitate big changes to how much we manage to do in each place. No more scurrying around cities trying to see/ eat/ buy everything in sight. I figure that since I cannot/ do not want to go to the mountain, the mountain shall just have to come to me. So family and friends shall have to come see us and thanks to all that economical labour food too shall be delivered and/ or carted home when leaving home in the cold winter evenings with tiny person in tow no longer becomes an option. I look forward to staying indoors, warm and comfortable, with dvd's to watch, hot indian food to imbibe and gurgles to respond to. Shall I blog while I vacate mes amis? Or will I be revoltingly boring droning on about my wonderful vacation and should spare your sensibilities for when I am back to the hard edge of life in London? The honest vote is now open.

The Five - III

2009-09-17T11:47:00.005+01:00

1. It's winter. Not autumn, just winter. Which is disappointing because either summer never really had a chance to settle in or I was too busy to notice it. There is a chilly breeze and mutliple layers including a jacket are now needed for adventures in the urban outdoors. We even had a day of lashing rain to bring the point home. The only redeeming features about winter are warm duvets and comfort eating. Hot chocolate anyone?

2. After a summer of visitors and the new addition to our busy lives, our home is now preparing for the long winter. The last of the parents or GOD (Grandparents on duty) as we refer to them, have left and we have been left holding a little boy whose new skill of smiling (and this time it isn't gas!) has us both enthralled. Life has changed immeasurably, it's a much tougher gig than before and at some level I miss the carefree life of coupledom where everything was about me and us. But as with all decisions in life that are taken and need considerable thought we knew this was the stage that awaited us. And although certainly different to our restaurant hopping, all day sleeping, much partying existance, this too has it immense rewards. Luckily there are friends with advice and plenty of Toblerone to see me through!

3. For a fair few years now I have always had the thought in my mind to be a kind, fair and good person - to think before I act. This does not mean that everyone I meet becomes my best friend or that I go around giving hugs to strangers on the street. What it does mean is that I endeavour to connect and do things for/with family and friends and give them the opportunity to reciprocate appropriately (not do things necessarily, but be there when I need them or atleast show a modicum of interest/ concern in our lives). Of late with a certain couple (family or friends I won't say) I have felt taken advantage off Both V and I have made every effort with them but there seems to be some coldness and aloofness building. Luckily for them (and me) I know my limits of bullshit-taking. I am fast reaching the point where after cajoling and then resorting to a sarcastic email I am at the end of the rope. I'm done. It's their turn and if they don't respond it's their loss. There are no second chances and I am clearly humanly fallible in that I cannot always be good and kind no matter how well intentioned I aim to be.

4. Finished all my books from Amazon. That's what a young baby who stays up a lot at night demands. Thankfully I shall soon be off to India where I can buy the next 25 books to read. In the meanwhile I am re-reading lots of old lovelies from my bookshelves such as Listening Now by Anjana Appachana and The Memory Box by Margaret Forster (next). And some books from previous purchasing jigs which fell by the wayside for one reason or another (the Harrowing by Robert Dinsdale, The Inheritors by Neel Chowdhury and Soul Mountain by Gao Xingjian) .

5. What with the 'wonderful' weather, little person, swine flu advisories and laziness/ exhaustion I spend most of my days at home. Changing diapers. And watching TV. And reading. And napping. And eating Toblerone. And Ben & Jerry's half baked I have strayed from my point. What I meant to say was, we get out a few days a week for a wander and a baby weighing but not much else. This means that I need to find things to occupy myself. Yay credit card era. I have spent the last few days indulging in the purchase of half a new wardrobe and am extremely pleased with myself. Of course it won't last, because everything will arrive and nothing will fit and then when it comes time to write the next five I will be all grumpy. What with clothes and weather, consider yourself warned.

The Five - II

2009-09-03T20:12:00.003+01:00

1. It's been a slow news week. Actually it's been the wierdest kind of week, one in which I have had no inkling of date or day unless I look at a news channel on television. I feel like I am living in somewhat of a vaccum. And although I know this is only a temporary state (and clearly one for which no amount of preparatory talks are enough) again I have friends to thank for calling to check I am alive, awake and kicking!

2. Skype works and I have everyone of any importance in my life on it. The problem is that some people don't have camera's or good quality camera's which makes it a bit of a one sided discussion; it gets old fast when you can only see a static picture and/ or no picture at all. Then there are the vagaries of internet speed which picks on the streaming quality making transmission shaky and unpredicatable. And finally the timing of getting to see/ chat with anyone is down to luck/ texts/ calls to get people online. When it does work though it is a joy to see smiling faces. In one case we will be conferencing a whole bunch of spread out family once a week so everyone can see everyone. This Sunday is the trial to see if it works for 4 sets of us simultaneously across countries and time zones at a pre-arranged time.

3. Not much by way of snail mail but I did get a host of books I ordered online, all neatly boxed up. Here is what is on the midnight menu for the next few weeks: The weekenders: adventures in Calcutta by Bella Bathurst, A good Indian wife by Anne Cherian, (Un)arranged marriage by Bali Rai, Tales from Firozsha Baag by Rohinton Mistry, Swimming Lessons and other stories by Rohinton Mistry, Such a long journey by Rohinton Mistry, The Cardamom Club by Jon Stock and In times of Siege by Githa Hariharan. By way of explanation on the Rohinton Mistry's, I have read them all ages ago and the copies are living in Delhi adopted by my mother. I need my own and to refresh my memory with these wonderful books.

4. I had a huge fight with somebody at Bloomsbury. I was reading 'Burnt Shadows' by Kamila Shamsie (one of my favourite authors) and suddenly the story made no sense. It was 3something am and I was somewhat sleep deprived so I thought it was just exhaustion playing tricks with my eyes. When I went back to it the next morning it still did not make any sense. Turns out the book has been wrongly bound and has huge chunks of pages missing - just when it was developing the most intriguing of turns. Anywho, I called Bloomsbury's complaints department and the long and short of it was that they wanted me to go return the book to the vendor I pruchased it from. When I pointed out that it could have been at an airport on another continent or a gift from someone the woman thought I was not being 'accomodating enough' at which point I lost my cool and pretty much yelled at her. I have to send her the book and a replacement will be posted. I have her name and her supervisors number so I'd better get it back in a hurry!

5. My new favourite ice cream is called half baked and has among other things brownies and cookie dough in it. We don't readily get cookie dough in London, or if we do I haven't seen it. I also don't know anybody who uses it so I would ahve no idea what to do if a roll of it came and thwacked me on the side of my head. I know it from the serial 'Friends' and am intrigued by how it can be eaten raw or baked. I want cookie dough.

The Five - I

2009-08-25T15:11:00.002+01:00

1. If statistics are to be believed apparently I can no longer be counted upon to come up with cogent posts worth reading. So for the forseeable future I will be making these mini-lists of Five. Feel free to ignore me.
2. I have become the scatter-brained woman who neither brushes her hair nor bathes till all hours of the day. I blame it on the baby who does not yet have his own blog to defend himself.
3.The best books for midnight reading are the non-heavy paperback kind that can be held with one hand. This week I have finished the 4 Ox-tales books: Water, Air, Fire, Earth - each a series of short stories by remarkable writers. Loved most of the stories. Should I bother with a review?
4. Have discovered that homemade garlic ciabatta's are the stuff of evening snacks especially on days when it is raining. It's also something that everyone will happily eat without comment or advice on how to make it better. Take one ciabatta, slice through, butter on both sides, sprinkle chopped garlic, dill and chives, wrap in foil and refrigerate or freeze. Then bake at 180 deg preheated oven in foil for 22 minutes direct from freezer or 18 minutes from the fridge. Slice while hot and eat while hot.
5. I have installed Skype much to the delight of my parents who NEED to see their one and only grandchild gurgle and coo in order to be able to sleep each night. And introduced my in-laws (staying with us) and V's brother in Singapore to it as well - so all grandbabies can be seen across the world. Everyone is behaving as if they have just discovered electricity.

ThirtyFour

2009-08-16T14:27:00.002+01:00

My how time flies when you’re changing diapers (yes, British people I am using Amriki Ingles – I say diapers; somehow nappy just seems not to flow off the tongue as easily).

I’m going to finish this post today come baby bath time or bedtime. It’s been circulating around my head so long that it’s demanding a post code of its own. So 34 points, no order, no hidden meanings:

1. I turned 34 on the 15th of July – 9 days after a small person was yanked from my insides and therefore it has taken me one fuzzy month to get my act together enough to put it down in the blog I started for that very purpose. To mark my years.
2. I was going to write / publish this post by the 15th of August 2009. Of course I began and other demands caused the draft button to be pressed.
3. My birthday gifts included some amazing musk lotion and foot balm from Laline, another bookshelf (finally) and mastitis. The last gift was painful as hell and proves that the baby is cute for a reason.
4. It also meant that most of my day was spent with 103 fever, under the blanket and topped up with a trip to our local GP to get antibiotics.
5. The antibiotics make it to the top of the list of most wanted.
6. Super dinner of goulash and tagliatelle conjured up by my mother to end eventful-uneventful birthday.
7. My parents were in town for 5 weeks. And then they left. We survived a week on our own (yes I know most people manage on their own ALWAYS – I am not one of them). Now V’s folks are in town. Both times we have had incredible menus to keep our tummies warm. Lucky us.
8. GOD’s (Grandparents on Duty) are a wonderful support system and something that not living in India has taken away from us (or is that us taken away from it?). I escaped for the odd hot chocolate and spot of retail therapy while they were around.
9. After all these years it’s no longer an immediate fit for anyone. Parents have their way of doing things in their homes and then we bring them here and demand they do things our way. Add hormones into that mix and I make for a horrid host. I apologise unreservedly.
10. Of course they were superstars, taking him when I needed to nap, burping him when I was at the end of my tether and generally providing the boosting moral support and motivational speeches of what a good job we are doing (not).
11. My mum wandered around with bowls of fruit, cups of milk and biscuits trying to stuff the abovementioned into my mouth while my hands were otherwise occupied. Annoying but clearly necessary.
12. She also massaged my swollen feet with soothing salves each night. For this I and my feet are eternally grateful.
13. My aunt came and stayed a few days before and then after, bookends to her big Russian holiday. Along with my mum she had plenty of wonderful advice and a pair of helping hands that left us a freezer of sambhar.
14. My mum added to this a week of dinners before she left – high protein and highly tasty non-vegetarian delights. It made our in-between week much simpler being able to just defrost and eat with rice/ roti/ bread.
15. My cousin (very same aunt’s son) came to on holiday (so convenient) to London after the Moscow leg. I saw my adorable niece and nephew (him for the first time) when they came to see the baby.
16. My 6 year old niece wanted to know why there weren’t two babies (crossed wires in a child’s mind) and where was the lip balm?!. And my nephew told me all about his holiday where he had seen nothing, done nothing, except ‘walking’. For a 4 year old I guess pounding the pavements of London all day long was the highlight – oh, and also going on a boat. Adorable.
17. In-laws are now in residence. It’s the month of vegetarianism.
18. I have given up television. Or rather it has given me up. With so many people wanting a share of screen time getting ones hands on the remote is like stealing the Kohinoor diamond. It requires getting past an intricate guard system of relatives. Without hurting anyone.
19. I want a television on my bedroom wall. And yes I know it’s not good for us. I also know it’ll never happen. But a want is a want.
20. I shall have to catch up on Law & Order in its many versions as a box set.
21. I borrowed a box set from friends to watch during the first days on my maternity leave. It’s taken me over two months to get through the fantastic ‘The Wire’. And with the best will in the world I’m still not done.
22. I have lost all touch with the news and my obsession with the weather has all but disappeared. Seeing as I may never leave the house again thanks to an unpredictable routine does it really matter if it’s raining or sunny?
23. On the other hand I am reading with speed bordering on conorde-ish (yes, that isn’t a word, yet seeing as this is my blog I am allowed to make it up). I am loving living in a world of fiction, all history, magic and make-believe
24. I am counting on the Economist to keep me up to speed with world affairs.
25. I am officially a professional at multi-tasking. I can read, feed, and sing a lullaby all simultaneously. In the middle of the night.
26. Maybe I should / could join something as a logistics officer.
27. What I cannot do is fall back to sleep instantly. I have never been able to sleep without reading and this habit of old persists. This is a problem for my sleep deprived day persona. What it means is that I am reading swathes of books by lamplight each night. I have at least 10 I could cogently review. Should I?
28. We got 15 cards to congratulate us on the arrival of the baby. I got 1 birthday card and most of my friends forgot. Oh well, I guess it (and I) are getting old.
29. There is to be no more baby talk on this blog. I am not and never will be a mother blogger. There are those better suited to gushing about their children and spouting advice. I hope to glean some of it from them, ignore the sanctimonious others and muddle my way through motherhood thank you very much. For my friends in London who live on the other end of the phone and regale me with news of the outside world – thank you. You make my London life brighter and better each day.
30. Even though my ventures out are limited the glass walls of the house decide my mood each day. The weather outside our windows is undecided. Some days it’s all rainy and others all bright. Summer is almost at its end and it never truly got here.
31. Our new laptop arrived. I got a skype account. The laptop keypad has a fault and does not yet work. We are still stuck with our 17th century old-timer. And no skype.
32. I am obsessed by chinese food. Particularly fried noodles with beansprouts.
33. And Green and Blacks chocolate ice cream. Which I can shamefully admit I will go and have 2 tablespoonfuls of in the middle of each night without an iota of remorse.
34. I’m undecided how I feel about 34. It comes with a whole lot more baggage and responsibility. And my mind is befuddled with all the trivial day to day chores at the moment. What I do know is that no matter what life throws at me I am a year richer and more ready than ever to face it.

Revolting appliances, reading books

2009-07-29T09:54:00.003+01:00

Thanks for nothing internet. I am having to re-type the whole of the post that I wrote last weekend. Boring.

All the household appliances are revolting. Going on strike a la London style - one by one. The washing machine went first. It refused to dry anything or even remove the excess water. So every morning we had to wring out sopping wet clothes and hang them up on our rickety over the tub stand. Then in a moment of early returned home panic I dropped a glass of water on the laptop rendering the ‘c’ key and one of the ‘ctrl’ keys useless. So now I have to type everything in word and paste ‘c’s into it before transferring it to its rightful place.

So we got a new washing machine (requiring a third mortgage) and of course we had not bargained for the integrated-ness of our kitchen so we had to return it and buy a yet more expensive one to fit our kitchen. It worked fine till one night last week it suddenly went off its rails (literally) and threatened to take off, the sound was so deafening, with all of us suddenly jumping out of bed in a panic. Emergency switching off and call to the installer next morning determined that the level of the floor the machine was off/ uneven and the sole cause of the sound/ jumping. The dude came and fixed it and it worked for 2 washes. As of 3 nights ago it is back to its old tricks, this new machine. The guy has readjusted it. And when it happens again we have a plan to rectify it that is more permanent.

We also ordered a new laptop. Ours was on its last legs before I dropped the glass of water on it - although that is not a good enough reason to christen it with water. It’s mouse pad temperamental, the contrast on the screen fluctuating, the memory and speed too low; 6 years having served us well it is ready to retire. So my days are spent waiting at home patiently for things to be delivered/ fixed etc.

In other news, it took me 12 days from the 6th of July to finish 1 book. An all time slow-ness record, but with good reason. The book was ‘The Associate’ by John Grisham, a man whose book redefined legal fiction in my youth. The book was good to start with, the story following a law student into his first job at a big Manhattan firm, egged on by blackmail for a college indiscretion. The blackmailers want inside information on a lawsuit that that firm is pursuing, something big and involving defence equipment. The process is long and arduous and he flits with the ethical dilemma of betrayal and pursues his own methods of finding out about his blackmailers, finding a way out of this safely. While the writing is good, it lacked the lustre of his earlier novels. It sped along and then slowed and then sped, threading stories of people around him, his father, colleagues, roommates from college, to make up the numbers and provide adequate background. Sadly it ended badly – very up in the air, with some FBI involvement but no real conclusions. It’s all left to your imagination and random options. The abrupt end left me very disappointed. I shall have to re-read one of his earlier books to persuade myself to buy his next book.

Since then the speed of reading has picked up and I finished Testimony by Anita Shreve (very well written, worth the effort) and am now onto the ‘The Senator’s Wife’ by Sue Miller (so far so average). More book reviews seem to be the order of the day…..

Paste?

2009-07-23T09:33:00.004+01:00

I used to be able to write in word do_uments and then paste stuff into blogger. No more apparently. As half the keys on my laptop are not working this is imperative now to be able to write anything of substan_e. Any ideas on how I paste stuff into blogger? Or is this the end of the road....

The world this week...

2009-07-11T20:52:00.003+01:00

...has changed in this 30s household beyond all recognition.

30in2005 and V had a baby boy on the 6th of July 2009.

We are both completely in awe and totally exhausted...

See you later alligators!

Wimble-done

2009-07-05T20:16:00.004+01:00

It was Wimbledon weather (i.e. rain rain) for only a day in the past two weeks - besides that one day of run we have had uninteruupted days of glorious sunshiny weather. All the better to welcome my parents and aunt into town. They arrived on Wednesday morning and in a manoeuver reminiscent of troop movements my mother came home with one set of baggage while my dad waited for my aunt and fthen ollowed a few hours later.

What has followed has been days of eating and drinking and talking. Mostly talking with short pauses for the other things. Stories and gossip and news and reminiscing. Fun fun fun.

My aunt left on Saturday for the next leg of her holiday. Then we went for lunch to my favourite Royal China where copious amounts of dimsum and beansprout noodles were consumed, all sitting outside in the bright sunshine and enjoying a cool riverside breeze. Came home to watch the Williams sisters play for the Wimbledon womens title - all sitting in our sun soaked living room and drinking cool things. Of course the weather won't last (already it was cooler and cloudier today) but while it does YAY!

Spent today at home, pottering around and organising the chaos that so many people in one tiny flat are bound to create. Watched Roddick and Federrer go at the Wimbledon title. Thrilled that Fedex won even though Roddick looked like the stronger player throughout.

Wimbledon is done for this year. Strawberries and cream no more.

Oh June

2009-06-26T19:55:00.005+01:00

So many bits, so little time or energy.

Summer is here. The odd thundershower threatens but basically its nice and hot mostly (although at 45 degrees in Delhi, my parents regularly dispute my version of hot with a roll of the eyes I can see through the phone) - and of course this has dulled us into forgetting how horrible winter is. Although at this point I am ignoring the idea that the longest day has passed us and winter is months away. I guess it all depends on my mindset - is it MONTHS away or months AWAY?

Our balcony has a serious spider problem. Two successive cleaners have declared that having spiders is good luck and therefore they will do nothing to help eradicate them. I convinced both to atleast remove the tangle of cobwebs that the spiders keep weaving on our outdoor furniture. Pest control companies assure me that spiders are good for the environment and therefore not considered pests. We've polished up the furniture and wipe everything down as speedily as we can but they always come back. To the point where I am thinking of getting rid of all the plants (before I kill them that is). I have not managed to find any medication to remove the darn spiders. All suggestions are welcome. Workable ones which work could win a prize.

London's tube sytem is officially a shambles. We had a 48 hour strike over pay and redundancies. I worked from home one of the days. I thought I could manage one of the days by taking a direct bus to work. Only instead of taking 40 minutes it took 2 hours each way in a city gridlocked by road traffic. So essentially I spent 4 hours on the road and 6 hours at work. What a waste.

Additonally every weekend large parts of the tube system shuts itself down for 'upgrade work'. This has no noticable results as during the week there are still perpetual delays and sardine can carriages. A startling example is a platform extension programme at one station that shut the station down for over a year. When it re-opened with great fan fare we went to check it out and it turned out to be the same platform concreted over and with a glass/ perspex siding (so that people would not fall off the other side) and a similar roof to stave off the rain. And this took them over a year. Yet another station has no interchange because they are repairing escalators - and this has so far run into its second year with no one seeming to care how much we pay to travel around the tube, how much we pay in taxes and how ridiculously low our expectations are.

To top it all they have announced some fabulously revolutionary system of *-gasp-* airconditioning on some parts of the tube that are outside the underground bit (which other cities like New York and Tokyo take for granted). Of course this is on 1.5 lines for 0.6 of the line and after their wonderful beauracracy is scheduled to be completed in 2013 (with delays I make that 2017). And not without those lines being shut EVERY SINGLE weekend from now till completion (in 2017 I hasten to add).

The olympics is nearly here - in 2012 as per schedule - in 2013 in reality (which they will blame on the recession) ha ha. The truth is crap budgeting to start with from well before the recession (but hey you can blame anything on the recession these days). Nothing is on schedule or within budget. They have already used more than 3/4th of the contingency budget, cut down on new buildings by declaring random parks as possible (and free) venues. Shambles. Expect nothing short. So people who are planning to come and sleep on our floor to watch the games, don't buy those tickets just yet. Oh, and the tube is being upgraded purportedly to cope with the deluge in those 16 days. Because at the moment London clearly has no people. Jeez.

I'm addicted to the Wimbledon. Terribly sad not to be able to see hunky Nadal. Not sure Andy Murray will be able to win it, no matter how hopeful the crowds of Henman Hill are. Sure that now they have the retractable roof the rain gods will spite them all by holding off. Hoping Federrer wins it - although his coat of arms and crazy suits are more than a bit OTT - he is a dream to watch.

And finally Michael Jackson. I mean OMG. Can I say that again - OH MY GOD! Was woken this morning by V, hopping around and yelling while brushing his teeth, Michael something something (obscurbe by mouth full of toobrush and foaming paste). I was too fast asleep to figure it out but he was persistant and I finally got something through sign language that made me hop out of bed and lurch blurry eyed to the TV. I have to admit that after a whole day of endless news bulletins on the subject I am still in shock. I listened to him on my ipod as I took the tube this morning. I don't think I can fully describe what an impact he had on my growing up years - I can't comprehend it yet or make any sense of it and what a loss this is yet. He was about to come to the O2 arena not far from us for his final tour. And even though we couldn't manage to get tickets for any of the first 10 shows, the idea of nearly 2 year residency and 40 other possible shows was thrilling. Michael Jackson - no matter what his personality, his problems, his complex life - it's his music for which I am thankful. RIP.

Tata June.

The stakes in May are always high

2009-06-15T12:55:00.001+01:00

It’s clearly a very popular place if just starting the word ‘Smith…’ can get a taxi to take you to ‘Smiths of Smithfields’ without need for further elaboration. The problem is that on this May evening we weren’t looking for the ever popular Smiths of Smithfield, fondly known as SOS (and yes, I am over one month late with this post). We were looking for Smithfield Bar and Grill – confusingly also in Smithfield Market. We had a dinner reservation there to celebrate 18 years since we first met, a date to dine out we keep each year because it makes this old lady feel young and foolish at heart.

The Smithfield bar and grill is owned by the Blackhouse Grills and it was recommended by a fair few people in V’s office. So reservation duly made in advance, a day of work complete we met up and travelled to it together. The entrance is a wood paneled bar area with some booth and bar chair seating, large chandeliers and thumping music to aid the ambience of an evening of drinking. The restaurant portion is set back and right through two open rectangular arches and the ambience is decidedly different considering what a short distance lie between. The walls are mainly brick and the walls are adorned with empty black frames. I saw more than one person get up to check that they were indeed empty and not just an illusion of the light. Three of the walls had built in leather booths while the centre of the room was all tables and chairs. Soft lighting and music a total contrast to the front of the house, it was a pleasant atmosphere to unwind from a hectic work week. And the correct volume to be able to talk.

We shared a Thai fishcake starter with sweet chilli sauce (good not great) with a basket of warm bread (again good not great), V drank wine (excellent, his words not mine) while I indulged in a chocolate milkshake (good; I am indeed young AND foolish). And for mains we ordered the chateaubriand for two with peppercorn sauce, sides of French beans, creamed spinach, honey glazed carrots and chips (which were fab). Everything was served beautifully and the waiting staff was neither overly intrusive nor ever too far. The meat was tender, flavourful and done to perfection. Nobody tried to rush us even though the restaurant was filled to the brim in the few hours we sat there. In summary I would say it was not the most inexpensive meal but it was good value for money. It was nice to eat a meal that showed how simple food could be well done. I would recommend it and I would go back.

The year and day we first met May was a sweltering summer month in Calcutta – I suspect like every summer before or since in Calcutta. In London all these years later it is still spring in May, the sun and wind and rain tussling to give the greenery their best chance to grow lush and people their best chance to awaken from the slumber and depression that the dark winter days can leave behind. This fine evening it was still light when we left, the first of the long days of summer. Year nineteen, off to a fabulous start.

The Smithfield Bar & Grill: 2-3 West Smithfield, London EC1A 9JX. Tel: 0207 2460 900

The Margarita Club

2009-06-10T12:54:00.004+01:00

It all began on a Friday in summer last year. The wife of V’s friend, my firm friend and then a very new mother, e-mailed to say she needed an afternoon of lunching with adults and not thinking about feeding, pooping and sleep schedules. So could we meet in town to have lunch while her husband stayed home and looked after their child? Of course I could! The added advantage that there would be no possibility of spontaneous breaking into nursery rhymes would just be a bonus for her. Another relatively new mother, friend in common, would join in. And to keep pace/ balance with the child-free one (me) company we roped in another friend in common.

And so it was that we met at Covent Garden (sans any children, bequeathed to their fathers for the afternoon) on a sunny Saturday and proceeded to procure a table at Wahaca. I’ve reviewed Wahaca before (I love the place) and although any American (and some in particular) will tell you that it is not a patch on what you get in Amreeka, sadly (not) it’s what we have to make do with in London. On this particular Saturday it did not matter. Glasses of Margarita’s (and other non-alcoholic beverages as I don’t drink) and a bunch of street food plates accompanied by nachos and guacamole kept us going while the 4 of us talked non-stopped. About what specifics I do not clearly recall – but it was a mix of childhood/ growing up in India experiences, relationships with spouses, friends and family and anecdotes of life in London. What I do recall is that we sat there for nearly 4 hours and we laughed a lot. And I mean a lot. It was a Girl’s Night Out in the daytime. The Margarita Club (which only I refer to it as in my head) was duly born.

In a land where help is scarce and expensive it falls to weekends to socialize and run errands and so it was that a few months and a stack of 27 emails passed before another common date and our next meal was planned. This time we chose trendy Angel and a highly recommended Italian place to eat. La Porchetta on Upper Street did not turn out to be all that I imagined but it was neat, clean and the food was hearty and wholesome rather than delicate and pretentious. The conversation was outstanding yet again. And with the added bonus of pastries and coffee in the lovely Ottolenghi (which is a sweet-toothed girls café heaven by afternoon and sophisticated, sparkling restaurant by night) and a walk through Camden Passage we had a lovely day.

By this second rendezvous the opportunity to whinge and talk freely without the need for censorship had quickly come upon us. Clearly this was as much therapy for me as it was just good solid connectivity with women friends for us all. In my many years in London it has always been socialising with colleagues or other couples that V and I know. I have made some great individual gal pals but thus far no group to be a foil to my endless conversation with their endless conversation. So this has been an opportunity I have grabbed at – a small group of 3 girl friends who will not just hear but listen, share advice, give as much as they take, banter, argue, tell it like it is and chatter. Women who share a context with my life in that we are all migrants to this country. Of course there are many such but it takes an invisible, unquantifiable clicking to make that connection and somehow we made it without even realising it.

We’ve had a few more meals since, each as special for the company as the food -trying out new places is now part of the dance. But in this hectic pace of life where work, distance and other commitments take up so much of our time and energy it is difficult to find the time to do this as often as one would like. And in a strange way that just makes each time, once a quarter or so, something special.

For this, the (randomly named) Margarita Club I am grateful.

La Porchetta: 141-142 Upper Street, London, N1 1QY. Tel: 020 7288 2488
Ottolenghi: 287 Upper Street, London N1 2TZ. Tel: 020 7288 1454. E-mail: upper@ottolenghi.co.uk

Life Lessons: Great at doing Nothing

2009-06-02T13:08:00.002+01:00

I’ve near given up on blogging. Not because I have nothing to write; more because the weather is so nice that I cannot muster the brain power to do anything but lie in the sun and bask, my mind a total blank.

For those not in the know Great Britain does not have enough public holidays in the year and gets 3 additional Mondays a year off to make up the numbers – first and last Mondays in May and last Monday in August. Taking advantage of the Bank Holiday last Monday and adding on 4 days of left over annual leave from last year I decided to give myself a week off. And what a glorious week it was.

On Saturday we had our usual swim, followed by friends round for lunch and a whole afternoon of non-stop chatter and a delicious little boy to play with. Soaked in the sunshine we ate Mediterranean vegetable couscous, slow-fried potatoes with tallegio and thyme, garlic butter & dill ciabattas, chicken baked in lime & chilli chutney and salads. And in the stupor after we ate leftovers and cleaned-up.

Sunday was errands all morning followed by the IPL final. I was planning an afternoon nap but some neighbours decided to come and watch the match at our house and so I stayed up watching it as well. Then everyone wanted to go out for some Indian food and so we hot footed it to Caraway. It was midnight by the time we got home.

On Monday V and I caught up with random DIY and general lazing - totally ditching a plan to go meet some friends for lunch at Saravana Bhavan and get some grocery shopping done. He tried to talk some of the plants back to life while I tried some long overdue kitchen spring cleaning (overdue by one spring at least). Everything was half hearted and the daybed was well used for short lie-downs and breaks.

On Tuesday while the world went back to work I braved the hideous dripping rain (yes, our weather is so unpredictable) and the battered tube system (particularly bad when it rains for more than 5 minutes or a person decides that chucking themselves on the track in front of a train is the only solution to Tuesday mornings) to go and spend the day with 3 lovely ladies and a trio of children. We spent the day fielding questions from a little man and watching a pristine living room turned into toy explosion by the younger ones. Just watching children run around and expend energy non-stop is exhausting and that evening the silence of my house was such a stark contrast that I turned on both ipod in dock and Tv on simultaneously. But it was a day well spent and a ginormous meal imbibed – I would do it again in a heartbeat.

For Wednesday, Thursday and Friday I had big plans. I woke up on Wednesday and used one of the sheets of beautiful origami paper to make a to-do list for the next 3 days. I have not the first clue about origami but buy sheafs of the paper regularly because it’s so pretty – it’s no wonder I live in the House of Clutter. On this list, besides waiting for delivery of a new chair and bedside lamps I had bones to pick with our grocery delivery people, the hunt for a gardener, research on how to get rid of spiders, things to sell on Gumtree and measuring for new blinds. There were half a dozen other mundane oh too boring to mention things. Needless to say I did not even get through half my list. Besides waiting for the deliveries, which are brought to my door and therefore require nothing more strenuous than a halfhearted signature and a kick to the other side of the room, I did nothing. Nada. Zip. Double Nada. Triple Zip. You get the picture.

I watched repeats of the Gilmore Girls and The Practice, random DIY and property developing programmes and did an incredible impression of a sloth by not even getting up for the ringing of my mobile phone which lay just more than an arms-length away. I lay on the daybed in my glass walled living room, often still in my pyjamas and read at great speed, dozed in the afternoon sun and indulged in the wastefulness of time. Every time V called from office (which was about every jealous 10 minutes apart) I would sigh at having had to answer the phone and repeat the same thing, ‘Nothing’ in reply to his inquisitiveness of what use I was putting my day to. You would think he’d get it but I think he was living in hope that continuous questioning might get me to move my butt. Poor man, even after all these years he doesn’t know me.

By the end of each day, sun soaked to the bone, I would venture into the kitchen and cook enough of something light to last till lunch the next day. And then after an evening of yet more mind-numbing TV and promises to myself that I would in fact move my butt the next day I would retire to bed with a book. The end. Get up rinse and repeat 3 days in a row for wonderful glow of person just back from beach vacation without the sand in her hair.

Now that I am back at work and the sun is still shining all I can think of is my next tryst with the daybed, a pile of books and the TV remote control. Here’s to another day of laziness. May this glorious weather and my genetic love for the sun forever last. Although rain is forecast before the week is out I remain an eternal optimist.

As cool as a cucumber. Or how to ruin Monday night

2009-05-19T11:15:00.003+01:00

What is Monday night without doing something silly? Like decapitating your thumb while slicing a non-descript cucumber.

What began as an idea of feeding V leftover pizza and eating cucumber and yogurt myself to avoid doing anything but slumming in front of the TV went horribly wrong at 8pm last Monday. I bought these amazing new knives recently and in forgetting every chef rule and years of practice of tucking my fingers under while I hold something to cut I chopped straight into the top of my left thumb. It was not a particularly deep or big cut but the flap of skin looked menacing enough with the blood flow refusing to stop. With no visible clotting happening and two cotton pads quickly soaking through it became apparent that a trip to the A&E was in order. So we got into a cab and toodled off to the nearest A&E. Thankfully there was nothing of great interest on any of cable TV’s 999 channels.

We’ve only had one previous experience with the A&E in our area – it was not great but hey that is what ‘free’ healthcare is like. This time we went in and got behind about 6 other people in line for the reception/ triage, amidst a room full of people waiting to be seen. 15 minutes later we were at the counter and beside being asked stupid statistical questions like how did you arrive here (by foot, bus, private transport, taxi, cycle etc; to which I am always tempted to say helicopter) we were given a yellow form and asked to wait. After a while we got called in and a doctor in a suit from one of two rooms off the main room asked the details of the injury, like a registrar. He gave my thumb a cursory look and was instantly quite dismissive saying there was nothing to worry about and that a few stitches and tetanus shot might be needed. Then he asked us to go back and wait.

15 minutes later we got called into the other room by a doctor in proper scrubs who after making me flex my thumb and declaring it not as deeply injured as it looked, cleaned it and applied some surgical glue and steri-strips to seal it shut. Then saying he was going to dress and needed to get the materials to do so, he disappeared. Half an hour later a nurse who finished plastering a broken wrist in the next cubicle while majorly flirting with the patient appeared and deftly dressed my thumb in multiple layers of gauze and tape in under 2 minutes. By this time (2 hours into our stay here) some serious traumas were beginning to arrive, foul mouthed and clearly drunk. It took 3 healthcare professionals 2 hours to sort out my tiny mishap - and people wonder why the system doesn’t work! Our work done we took a cab home where I proceeded to eat the uncut cucumber and yogurt before turning in for the night.

Three interesting incidents from the A&E:
1. Two young Bangladeshi boys are in line to get to the reception windows before us. With the buzz cuts, hooded jackets and track pants and giant shoes they are just pandering to the stereotype. The conversation between them in a mixed Bangladeshi and British accent is amusing to say the least. One of them is telling the other how he scammed £2,500 from somebody he was involved with in an accident by claiming he had got whiplash. His friend was eagerly quizzing on him on how to go about perpetrating said scam. WonderBoy was offering advice on how to fake whiplash and the number of his very good lawyer. When they reached the window it was for both of them to report injuries, as one was limping and the other was complaining about his hand. No way of telling if this was another scam.

2. While I was waiting for the disappearing doctor to come back with some plaster (a bank of which was on the wall facing me) a young boy limped in shouting and screaming and followed by his friends. A male nurse was trying to clean his leg wound and all the boy could do was yell and shout about wanting a scar, how nobody ever look at his legs, how the bad bad nurse was hurting him and how much he wanted a cigarette. His slightly schizophrenic girlfriend kept wandering in an out alternately saying things like ’sorry baby, do you want me to hold your hand’ (in her best crooney voice) and ‘stop behaving like a baby, they pushed you the front of the line man, ahead of all the other people, suck it up’ (in her best shouting voice). Imagine that conversation with a lot of bad language thrown in and you will get most of the picture.

3. And just as the nurse appeared to dress my finger a very drunk and emaciated man was brought in on a gurney by paramedics. While he was being transferred to one of the beds in a cubicle by the very kind paramedic, she told him his stuff was at the foot of the bed and asked him if he wanted anything else before she left him in the ER’s capable hands. He growled, ‘yes, can I have a beer please?’. To which she, without blinking an eyelid, replied, ‘No darling, someone will bring you a cuppa tea shortly. Now won’t that be nice?’

Such is a big real life ER – I have huge respect for paramedics, doctors and nurses who walk these halls each day and night, trying to help people who come to them for emergency care. Of course speeding up looking after smaller insignificant injuries i.e. being seen by and attended to by one instead of three people, in one shot instead of over 2 hours, would probably make everyone’s life a bit easier. But I am sure there is method in their madness.

Thumb is healing well and as off this Saturday I have a fully functioning left hand – which means I am back to the chopping board for some home- cooked grub. Much as I enjoyed eating takeaway all week I am glad for the simplicity of not fighting over the menu anymore.

And as far as the ER goes all I can add is that a George Clooney lookalike would have made the 2 hour stay way easier! Why are all the cute doctors/ nurses only ever on TV shows?

Friendship V: Friends vs. Acquaintances – the endgame

2009-05-10T09:22:00.000+01:00

Oh so long that you might need some coffee (to stay awake) and a comfortable chair (in case you don't manage to).

In the hectic pace of life in London, there are hardly enough hours to fight the transport system, do a full day’s work, go home to cook and tidy (many forms: laundry, ironing, dusting, vaccuming etc.), prepare for the next day and maintain full blossom friendships. What meager time of each evening is left after an exhausting day is usually spent watching television, reading and unwinding from the trauma of an adrenaline paced rush. Socialising is for the weekends unless it is well planned for and similarly executed in a timely fashion during the working week. The weekends are filled with errands and ‘me’ time and ‘us’ time and larger scale socialising – all before mentally clocking on for a new work week. In short, friendship maintenance and acquaintance developing take skill and patience and committment.

The key reason in writing this post is to examine the difference between acquaintances and friends. In 2009 (and for some years before this) there has been the massive influx of people in one’s life thanks in no small part to technology – so where earlier you would have called to wish someone a very happy birthday late at night from the one phone booth near your house VERY QUICKLY because it cost an arm and a leg, now you have the option of sending a free e-card, skyping them, leaving a message on their Facebook, e-mailing and having a gift delivered direct to their doorstep at very little extra cost. Where in college I lost touch with all but a few close friends thanks to these long distance phone calls and the vagaries of the postal service today everyone is out to be friends with everyone else and their brother, distance be damned. This often makes things difficult and confusing, for all parties concerned.

Sadly I am an old fashioned girl. Or is that just plain old I wonder? To me there is a marked difference in friendships and acquaintance-ships and in my world these are two distinct things. I find that often in my interactions with people this is where the confusion lies. Friendships in adulthood are harder to come by, gauge and access with any modicum of sense because of the way we form habits and interests that become more settled and staid as time goes on. Things don't click like they used to. There is a level of apprehension and thinking 'is this worth pursuing' if the click is not instant. On the other hand it is still easy to make acquaintances – we said hi at a party, small talked about the weather, your kid, how cool you think living in Wembley is – and lo and behold we part acquaintances. I would then never describe you as my friend. This is the bulk of our adult social interactions and the examples are endless. People you meet at work and then decide to go for a drink with, people at blog meets, picnics and parties, friends of friends of friends. Mostly you meet, are introduced by the common denominator, exchange pleasantries, swap life histories, look for the things, people and places that you might have in common.

Sometimes you come up trumps and there is a an instant connection and you just know that you will exchange mobile phone numbers at the end of the evening, at which point you will not only give them your real number but you will also make an effort to meet for lunch, introduce your partners to each other and possibly make plans for a movie. This is not the norm but the exception. Unless you are a very friendly person (i.e. not me) who makes friends with everybody, want them ALL to come to your house, share childhood photographs with, see each other every weekend and make one giant group - in which case we clearly have nothing in common and you shouldn't even be reading this.

But most often the introduction, swap stories stage will remain just that, the extent of how much information you will swap. Because in yours and/or the other persons mind it is clear to see or muddy as hell as to where this might go. There is no potential and no matter how hard you try you can see that you will not be friends in the true sense of the word. Sometimes you give it a second and third try, you mix and mingle whether out of politeness or to genuinely give it a shot but unless something magically appears between you it is unlikely that a long and lasting friendship, that keystone to adult life, will appear.

Being a friend, even as an adult, is about sharing confidences and enjoying each other’s company in a more uninhibited way than say a formal relationship with a colleague. It's about sharing common interests, laughing at the same things and connecting. Most of this is not a learnt behaviour or response. Mostly, but especially the connection, has to come naturally, because anything forced will not thrive but make each of the people more resentful and untrusting of each other and jeopardise other future relationships. Sometimes things click, other times they don’t. Thankfully the world is a big open accepting space and if one friendship doesn’t work out to ones satisfaction you don’t need to crawl under a rock to be forgotten. You just get back out there and try, try again.

Some people are loners and don’t need the adult interaction with anyone but their partners and their 4.5 friends from chaddhi-hood. But time and distance from bedrock friends of yore necessitates some socialisation - how likely is it that you and all your college friends will stay in the same city throughout your careers in this fast moving world? Else an adult life in a faraway place (or any place really) would be impossibly lonely to bear. I like to think that with age comes wisdom and the finesse to maintain ones dignity in the face of forming friendships. Alas this is not always the case. It is, as I am learning, a trained response. To have the grace to accept ones shortfalls and the understanding of what the difference is between friend and acquaintance. Which is not to say acquaintances are a bad thing – in fact it’s quite nice to, once in a while, have a slew of people with whom random non-meaningful, yet colourful conversation can take place. Checking about health, children, movies watched, opinions, cultural interests – these are all things that might widen our understanding and view of the world. But they are distinct from the influences of friendship where the conversations impact how we think and behave. And no matter how many advances you or I make, in some cases you will never go beyond the veneer of acquaintance-ship into the warmth of friendship.

I want to leave this with two prime examples from my life - to explain how even technology trumps this very human of relationships:
1. Evil evil Facebook: I am no fan. Before I could say ‘Jack Sprat jumped on a mat’ I had nearly 300 ‘friends’ on it – and to be honest I pursued only about 20 of those to become my friends. This is not because I am so popular – it is because everyone wants to be everyone’s friend and use it in a totally different way than I do. I use no applications; I have no interest in taking the multitudes of tests to see who my top film stars are or what kind of flower I am; I don’t get throwing of animals and food at my brother and my birthday calendar is a book that lives on my kitchen sideboard. I use it to put up random pictures (with no given regularity) and share what book I am reading at that moment – nothing deep, insightful or meaningful. I have ‘friends’ on it who are people I barely talked to in school, distant relatives, people I haven’t seen in 20 years, people I will never ever bump into on the street, friends of friends who remember me from the common friends 20th birthday party. All kinds of people, who are lovely no doubt, but not really my friends. These are mainly acquaintances. With friends and some acquaintances I stay in touch via the odd email, the phone and in person. So in one fell swoop, a few weeks ago, I deleted about half my ‘friends’ from Facebook. I feel lighter and I have no remorse. Because the people I kept on are still not all my ‘friends’ but they are people in whose lives I am vaguely and genuinely interested in following (loosely) and this is the easiest way to stay in touch without having to delve deeper.
2. But to illustrate that I am not a Luddite who believes that too much technology is a bad thing let me tell you about my friend Pretty. She used to write a blog which I loved reading. We met on a whim, for coffee, on a dark winters evening on the steps of the Bank of England. She claimed to have few friends being new to London and I was feeling a particular friend shaped hole in my life as well at that point. Long story short we exchanged e-mails for a bit and decided to meet. From the instant we met I think we both knew we’d be friends. We sat in Starbucks far longer that planned that evening and over coffee and laughter arranged to meet with our spouses very soon. I could tell then, immediately in fact, that we’d be pukka friends. And I think over the years we have become and we are just that - friends. But she stopped writing. Which is a crying shame because her writing though usually brief was always insightful, tinged with humour and good cheer. She claims she doesn’t need the blog to vent into an abyss anymore. What she forgets is what the abyss throws up is unexpected treasure (um, me?), sound commentary/ advice/ viewpoints from independent third parties (um, you?) and the odd stalker (which could be fun, no?). Nothing I say will convince her to start again – thank goodness we became friends before she stopped. If it weren’t for our blogs we’d never have met. So for some things I am grateful to technology.

Life is full of treasure and friends can be found in so many avenues in this big bright world that it is a shame not to try and to be closed to the idea of new friends as we grow old. I give full marks to extroverts like my mother who is surrounded by acquaintances and friends constantly. And while I realise that I am not at all like her and have real friends far and few between as opposed to her many many, like her I understand that there is a difference between the two, what loyalty in friendship means, what the power of being an acquaintance is and appreciate both friends and acquaintances for what they bring to the table.

Once you learn how to make the distinction and set your sights accordingly life can be wonderful and fulfilling with people who fill it meaningfully and with people who entertainingly live in its fringes. Whichever you are or whomever you choose to be, remember that life is never lonely if you have a friend. And being a good friend can be an entirely fulfilling way to get through life.

Friendships IV: Mentor and Mentee

2009-05-08T11:50:00.002+01:00

Not everyone has one and not everyone needs one but mentors can be an important part of one’s adult life. Beside the very formal way of being assigned a mentor by your work place (to boost efficiency, show you the ropes, be able to whinge to in confidence blah blah blah) I think there is plenty of opportunity to find mentors in life. Not like a life coach (whose job descriptions I don’t fully understand although as a career it sounds intriguing), instead a person from your area of work to be more like a sounding board.

Mentors are not people who start out being your friends, but often, given time and opportunity they can also turn into friends. But this is not essential by any means. It is important to be very distinct in this relationship because while you can sob on a friends shoulder about anything under the sun including adult acne, burnt dinner, crap movie, the job of a mentor is more focused on helping you find a solution to a problem, guide your career, be a sounding board and generally share the wisdom of their experience with you for something a bit more serious than where to get takeaway from. I also think that it should flow in that way – Mentor to friend, not friend to mentor – and this is because as friends you have a much more informal relationship and becoming a mentor is possibly harder and could be taken less seriously and jeopardise the friendship. Whereas starting out as a mentor and turning into friend is a whole different ballgame – one where the mentor is connecting with you on a more formal level, for a more specific issue, without the easy banter of friendship, and therefore is more likely to have a serious view and opinions on your problem/ situation. This then can (but not always) form the solid platform for a friendship to rest on.

I found my mentor at work quite by accident. Neither was she looking for someone to mentor and nor was I looking for a mentor. It just so happened that when faced with a career indecision I made a foray into checking with this person and thereafter it became natural without any mention of it that I could go to her with problems/ situations. She never had solutions for me as such, just a correlation to her experiences and a laying out of possible options more clearly and succinctly that my muddled brain could manage. Eventually, we voiced the fact that we had a mentor-mentee relationship and this made things easier; her more approachable and willing to share a larger chunk of her contacts and expertise and me more able to think through things rather than just making hasty, ill informed decisions.

Once she left my organisation we’d meet up once in a while and talk about my career vs. personal life balance amongst other things and she always had something interesting or useful to add to the equation.

Eventually we went from being mentor and mentee to also being friends. She still gives me good advice when I seek it but we also just go out for the odd meal, cup of coffee and chat. In an environment where there is so much hustle and bustle and focus on career and life balance having a mentor and friend has been an invaluable help. To be able to talk to someone in confidence and not have your idea knocked down cold or to be able to weigh up different options clearly and objectively or to be able to talk without judgment – these are the gifts that a mentor can give.

I know that not everyone needs one but with my change in career and city/ country it was amazingly useful to have this person on board. And over the years beside being a mentor she has also become my friend, age difference not withstanding. It is my opinion only that it is always better if you can find your own, approach them with the idea, be clear about what you want from the relationship rather than have one imposed on you because that becomes the first step in feeling forced to do something you don’t really want to.

What can I say? I got lucky.

Friendships III: The love of your life and a possible dilemma

2009-05-05T09:02:00.002+01:00

After college (and a possible post graduation) comes the real, often bright lights of a harsh world. Filled with adulthood people, the ones you pick up along the way in your adult life – mentors and acquaintances and friends (and I will come back to these in another post) - from amidst work colleagues, your neighbours and random strangers at parties and other similar avenues. With luck, from among these, you will find a life partner, someone to share the everyday with, to set-up home with, to gasp at the proverbial rainbow with, to walk the walk with. Sometimes other people pick this person for you, sometimes you stumble upon them in the unlikeliest of places and friendships blossom into love, or your eyes meet across the room and in that instant it’s all over. Any old way you get there you work like hell to make that partnership be the epitome of a happy content exciting good life.

With this appears the first dilemma. You try and meld your friends and your just chosen life partners friends together. Sometimes you’ve moved to a new city and are at the mercy of all his friends/ social circles. Other times it’s the same city but suddenly you are taken up with endless ‘family’ affairs and all friendships take a back seat. Or it’s a new city and there is only family, nobody has friends and it’s like being at the kindergarten playground all over again, wondering whom to talk to, how to make friends etc. But usually, no matter where you landed up the initial being married stage includes loads of ‘us’ time, where the need for other people is low and goes unnoticed till a more stable daily routine of work and play makes its mark. This short season precludes anyone’s friends. After this initial honeymoon/ tourist-in-new-city phase it’s time for friends to meet the new partner. So dinners, get-togethers, movies, coffee, picnics – a number of ways in which friends of one spouse are introduced to the other. Sometimes they stick, and everybody gets along with everybody else. You form a wider group and with luck the fact that the husbands were friends becomes irrelevant. In fact you become such good friends with some of the others wives that you forget that introducing you is the only good work that the men did that year. Or your friend and her partner become such good friends of your husband that you have to cry out in disgust when they form the mutual admiration society and declare presidency of the random hindi movie music club. But all this takes time, luck and effort.

Of course this is not the par for the course for most of your friends or his friends. Some you just continue meeting once or twice a year as the inescapable social obligation requires. Others fall straight off the radar and appear as hungry voyeurs on Facebook. The ones you are keen to keep and he is keen to keep find ways to work into your routines - drinks after work, afternoon at the movies, a wander on Oxford Street, dinner at a new restaurant, email and texts to keep up to date on the news – various ways for various people. Mostly you try but don’t always form cliques and groups. You just drift in each other’s company, meet when time and weather and mood suit. Other social intrusions into limited free time include meeting the odd relatives that might live in your city or the occasional attempt to meet and cultivate new friendships as a couple with other couples you both think have potential (how pompous that sounds! But it’s true). You check them out as they do the same to you and inevitably some will find things in common and become friends while others will stonewall you (or you them) till you (or they) no longer try. For the ones you are desperate to keep the easy alternate is that you organise girls nights outs while the men have boy’s nights out. The tough alternate is giving in, losing most of your friends to the institution of marriage and since this is 2009, hopefully in your book, as in mine, that isn’t a choice.

Friendships II: The college years

2009-04-29T15:49:00.005+01:00

It is purely my opinion that the linking years between ones childhood/ early teen years and adulthood are the college years. And that these are distinct from what lies on either side. By this point of joiing college we have more than an inkling about how relationships are formed. We have been trying, with any luck, to convert our parents into our friends. We are learning, sometimes the hard way, about who our friends are, what it is to be loyal and dependable person, where the line crosses over from nice to nasty, what pettiness and greed can do and which of our inherent skills in the field of making and keeping friends will stand the test of time. And while we think we know all this it will surely be tested in college, when we discover that actually we know nothing, of life of friendships. We are yearning to become our own person, to break the shackles of dependence on our parents and siblings, while yet holding them close, for comfort in times of need. We are on the threshold (to put it vaguely poetically) of wanting the best of being independent and dependent, where our own choices must matter more than any others.

And then comes college, that zenith of what it means to be a grown up, a nearly adult. We’ve made that first choice about what to study and now, with only the gravity of a young person, can expound on how this will help us reach our career goals. This is a question oft asked - “beta, what are you going to do after class XII?”, to which you resist rolling your eyes and explain v e r y s l o w l y that you are going to study X at Y and then go on to rule the world/ become the CEO of your destiny/ get married and have a bakers dozen of children.

Once through that admission process it actual collegetime and a whole new gamut of people and fashion statements to pick and choose from. Some people may have been classmates in school but depending on how far you venture from home and how specialized your studies get this becomes a progressively smaller list. For some their whole school clique is on the same campus or at least the same U-special bus. For others they are far away from home, in a hostel (possibly for the first time) with not a familiar face for miles. Either ways there is a degree of ragging to be endured, new friendships to be sought and a degree of peaceful relations to be forged with seniors.

Over the 3 to 5 college years cliques will be formed, multiple movies watched, numerous cups of tea and coffee consumed, pocket money evaporation pondered over, cheap meals hunted down, culinary expertise in making Maggie over a hotplate mastered, study notes shared, parties organised and attended, mess food complained about, jokes about professors cracked, alcohol imbibed, day trips and getaways planned, boyfriends/ girlfriends found, rumours started, all-nighter study groups pulled, exams taken, birthdays celebrated, jokes shared, tears shared and confidences built, kept and lost. The years go by in slow motion and fast forward all at once. You join with some trepidation about what the years will bring and before you know it you are full-fledged adult making life choices like you’ve been making them, well, all your life.

On the flip side you learn about nastiness, pettiness and the world of the ‘popular’ more forcefully than ever before. Traits that are a mirror reflection of the real world sadly. You will live on one or the other side of that line and with any luck you will learn compassion and leave behind shallow thoughts like ‘we should be friends because your dad is…./ or you have a big house…/ money….’.

By the time you need to step into the big bad world, with luck you will have formed deep, enduring bonds of friendship with classmates and hostel mates. Sorted the wheat from the chaff, as it were. Friendships from childhood might now strike one as shallow, lame, innocent and child-ish but the passage of time will bring some of those to the forefront as having stood the test of time. The ones that do are meaningful. And added to this wonderful college gang of ‘undying’ friendships’ will draw your circle of friends out wider and bigger and better than ever before.

Friendships I: The bedrock

2009-04-29T15:38:00.002+01:00

3 points before we begin:
1. This is based on my experience of 33.9 years. Even though I use the greater ‘us’, ‘you’ and ‘we’ – this just makes it easier to write – this is from my life, make no mistake
2. Any similarity to your life is purely coincidental and there are no apologies
3. As it is pure opinion and not fact, your contradictory life experience needs to get its own blog

This is the start of my diatribe (lately all my writing) about friendships. Something I have written about before and will no doubt reflect upon repeatedly as I grow older and many of my more materialistic pursuits fall short of the joy that friendships bring. This is just the first installment of all the thoughts swirling around my head.

Today I am writing about that great passage of childhood and how we all get to adult life with the aid of people, with any luck, not singular in any way. Parents, siblings, extended family of cousins, aunts and uncles, school friend, college friends, colony friends.

Some of these you are born into (parents, siblings, cousins etc) and often people make difficult choices or are hard pressed to connect with some or all of their families. For the lucky lot however this family is the basis for values, our role models and perpetual advice givers. You learn to love and respect people and their choices and every little argument and fight along the way only builds upon that ‘blood is thicker than water’ adage. Or not.

Friends, whether it’s the next door neighbours kid or your college roommate, these are choices, the weighing of what you need at that point in your life. Childhood and the teen years are often also fraught with indecision, bullying and the games that the young play. There are cliques and fights and the inevitable attempts at humour, bribery and subtle means to belong to the cool popular lot. There are the loners, the nerds, the cocktail children, the sporty and the achievers. Everyone, no matter who they are, finds ways and methods to work around or through these – to find even that illusive one friend that is theirs, who will stand with them, at lunch break, laugh at their not so funny jokes, share their homework and listen to their secrets with the gravity only a child can muster.

From all these connections appear the rock-bed of life, the support system of early adulthood, people you can call at 3am when you think you might be having a heart attack; the people who will listen to you whinge about nothing and everything for hours with only wise comments, useful advice and humour; or travel across town with lasagna from your favourite little eatery when you are unwell and then entertain you with anecdotes till you just have to smile; drink with you following heartbreak or celebrate promotions.

This rock is a hard wearing platform, and many many childhood friends and even faraway but once close relatives fall off it with the passage of time. It’s the ones that stick into your twenties that have passed the test of the time-space continuum. These are usually the people you will keep in touch with even when you move across the seas and before the advent of email. Standing in line at the phone booth to wish someone happy birthday, or posting a long hand written letter about hostel food, the small things that connect you with the foundation no matter what the distance or time. With any luck this bedrock will always be there, the basis of your start to a good, happy, well rounded life.

Churning of the demented mind

2009-04-23T14:54:00.004+01:00

Or things that make me mad with sadness/ grief/ anger. Take your pick.

1. Levels of respect: Behaviour of a certain family member who has not the time to attend a small family function (in spite of this having happened before and it being discussed to death last time and with me thinking that some gyan had been learnt) instead choosing to stay home and play cards with friends. The genius reasoning ‘I don’t know these people and I will never have to meet them’. Which is/ was not the point at all. Having bothered to swing by for even 30 minutes under false pretences of another function, or something, would have greatly pleased another family member. And to me that counts for a lot more.

2. Growing-up: The inability of someone to do things on their own. To break free of the confines of a protective upbringing. Missing out on the opportunity to explore something of the world and be their own individual person and instead dragging the person they love along under the pretense of inability to travel alone. Or pressure. I am not sure which. From experience of both traveling alone and with someone I love, I know that both these are equally fantastic experiences – each beautiful and empowering in a different way. And in my opinion this is the age and ideal circumstances to experience the first. But this is not my life and everyone has to make their own decisions/ mistakes. Sadly I have to be the bystander that watches them.

3. Neediness: I believe that everyone needs someone. Or rather people. Some need more, giant circles of people surrounding the. Others need fewer, a chosen few to sound out their lives. But the ways of getting to either point of people in ones life are varied and fraught with cliques, dislikes, likes, interests, shallowness, neediness and many many pit falls. I find that this topic is an often uncomfortable one. To talk about. Write about. And most of all, to be in. This is something a future, possibly my next post, will explore. It will reflect the unpleasant side of life in gaining people and I will not be gentle. Consider yourselves warned.

4. Of the 610 times that this blog was viewed since I last wrote what I thought was an interesting and informative and interactive post on gifts and minimalist gift wrapping, only 6 people bothered to leave a comment. And I know 3 of them. Even if I discount repeat viewers who stalk my blog each day because without it and a cup of coffee their day would not begin, mistaken viewers who came looking for information about Sachin Tendulkar (still my top viewed post!), and myself (let’s say that itself is 50%) looking to see who was looking/ commenting, that would leave us with about 100 individuals who either never give gifts, or get gifts, don’t believe in minimalism, don’t think the ideas were innovative, don’t like my blog, are too lazy, or just lurk and never de-lurk no matter what. And here I was, hoping that at the very least people who came to my blog were different people from the morons who agree with every word that comes out of certain bloggers mouths. And who leave 392 comments for drivel writing and simple photographs that are neither great nor scintillating yet elicit comments that make you wonder where all the good words and pictures went to die. (This is not jealousy - I wouldn’t want to be any of those bloggers if you paid me all the money in the world AND threw in a book deal). Up till this point I was thankful that I don’t live in the same world as the morons. Now I realise I just live in the world of lazy and uninspired. It makes me wonder why I am still blogging? And brings home how self-absorbed I am.

As you can tell I am in a bad mood.

No wrapping required

2009-04-17T10:42:00.002+01:00

I am terrible at wrapping things. It stems from the dreaded school notebook wrapping of my childhood when I would mess up so much brown paper that my mum would give up in exasperation and do it herself. Gifts were the same story. I would botch it up big time; crooked cuts in the paper, uneven bulges and the crushed look reminiscent of having opened a gift and re-wrapped it to give away. My mother, on the other hand, had a bag of ribbon, a selection of tissue and coloured, patterned paper and would craft beautiful bows and frills and every gift ever given would be admired for its packaging in equal measure to the gift itself.

The wrapping of things is not a skill I can even pretend to have. As a result I spend too much time looking for innovative gifts to give that involve minimal or no packaging. And in an attempt to re-stock my idea cupboard with gifts for the next year I am sharing the 10 things I am proudest of giving – in the hope that my 5 readers will leave me a comment each on what their most innovative gift ideas with minimal wrapping are.

Here are my top 10 minimalist-wrapping ideas:

1. Plants (& the odd Balloon): For his 30th birthday I woke V up to the smell of freshly baked chocolate cake, a chilli plant in a terracotta pot and a ‘happy 30th birthday’ helium balloon. Have subsequently given and received potted plants that have thrived (mostly!) – and this can be done fairly economically. I try and get mine from our local nursery or Columbia road market and then re-pot in an inexpensive terracotta/ flea market pot, tie a ribbon around the lip of the pot and viola!

2. Baby blankets: To friends with newborn child. Gift-wrapped in 4 sheets of tissue and twisted at the ends to resemble a giant toffee. This toffee wrapper trick is easy and works every time as ribbon at either end can take care of disastrous tears/ unsightly tape.

3. Jewelry, knick knacks and books: To nieces, little girls. Can be disguised in Princess themed knapsacks. Or young charges can be taken to shops and allowed to choose (under some guidance and supervision) their own gifts. This involves no gift-wrapping.

4. Desk Calendars: Make excellent New Years gifts. Small, snazzy and easily bought and shipped off a designer at Etsy, this has been my top gift to give my close girl friends for the past two years. And since they come in snazzy CD cover cases they need no additional wrapping.

5. Tickets to a musical: Can be slipped in with a card. Or else left in ones wallet (seeing as you have gifted yourself the accompanying seat) and accompanied with a meal makes a great gift. This is a rather expensive option though…

6. Cooking class voucher: Given as a Christmas gift to a friend, in a card - which finally last night she redeemed by attending an hour long class of her choice at L’Atelier des chefs. She was gushing about it via text last night and then all this morning. Says she hasn’t had such a good time in a long long while. I might use this one again.

7. Baked goodies: A small basket of home baked muffins or brownies or slices of cake. Inexpensive basket lined with parchment paper usually works a treat. Although to be fair I have only done this twice because the other few times we ate the goodies before we could leave to gift them away.

8. Wine: Needs no wrapping. Or else a fancy £1-2 paper bag from any supermarket which fits the bottle and has handles for ease of carrying it. I’m not a huge fan of this gift but have resorted to it when less than organised.

9. Jewelry: When on holiday in India I buy a lot of inexpensive jewelry, beads and silver and random materials crafted into bracelets, earrings and necklaces. My favourite haunts for these are SilverLine, Dilli Haat, the emporiums and now Fab India. I gift these away to friends in little silk cloth bags, a steady stash of which I get from India (usually free with the jewelry) or little coloured boxes from Ikea which cost about 20p.

10. Time: I have often offered my services as a babysitter by way of coupons to new mothers. I have only rarely been taken up on the offer. I have offered wandering days and evenings to friends as gifts – helping them hunt for things, wander new areas of London, organising something they need or paying for some element of a day out. These have always been accepted generously. And this is my favourite gift to give.

Now tell me your favourite gifts to give/ receive – specifically those which require minimal or no gift wrapping. Please.

Dust Mountain

2009-04-15T08:35:00.004+01:00

The bulk of last week was spent amidst billowing dust and the teeth crunching sound of saws. The first caused sneezing but more importantly the second precluded one from watching any meaningful daytime TV under volume notch 1000. Which is a health hazard and may cause burst ear drums when the sawing suddenly stops. yes, we had the carpenter in to remedy the sorry excuse for shells that we call cupboards.

The services of the carpenter were stolen off the back of the work that this Polish crew did for a friend of mine. So this one giant 7ft something man arrived each morning at 7am with his car full of cut up MDF and all his tools. Cheery fellow alright but language was a huge problem between us and a lot of our explanations had to be drawn on paper and vocalized slowly and indicated with pointing. But plied with black, sugar laden coffee he was happy to go with the flow and make changes where serious misinterpretation had taken place.

The sawing, hammering and violent application of adhesive meant that the stuff from our cupboards had to be draped across the living room furniture, packed into our 3 Samsonites, piled on beds in both rooms and covered with bedcovers. This rendered us fit for living room camping – a sport that both of us love – with me on the day bed and V on a single mattress being tortured (just me) by late night cricket watching.

In 3 short days he had put up shelves and inserted sparkling white drawers to replace the sorry MDF chests of drawers that V had slaved over and stuck onto the floor of the shells. The chests of drawers that V so diligently made have been relegated to living under the windows of the second room, storage for summer visitors. And in their place we have floor to ceiling shelves and drawers, much desired.

With the man and his materials duly paid off we spent all of Friday dusting, wiping down cupboards, vacuuming, wiping floors and doors. Then it was time to roll back the bedcovers and sort things out (read: neatly fold instead of crumple into small balls) before putting them back in SHELVES in categories. The one good thing that came from the exercise was a huge de-cluttering and 4 giant bags of clothes for the charity shop. Sadly this included jackets that I have been holding on to for too many years out of sentimental reasons and if I’m not careful might pull out of the bags (if V is not watching me like a hawk). There was a whole bag of bags that are worn to the thin, comfortable but oh-so unattractive. I also put aside a whole bunch of clothes and junk that I am sure my mother will adopt. It also turns out that V has no clothes while I own too many to any longer use the sentence “but I have nothing to wear!?” effectively to gain sympathy.

So there’s now a place for everything and everything is in its place. The floor is relatively clean and dust free. Our camping days are over.

But before I go you should torture you with what I have been tortured with all week: V’s favourite joke of the moment: “We have carpenters working in our house this week”. To which some unsuspecting person from the public or friends (who might disown us on this basis) will say “Really? What are they doing?” To which witty V will reply, “I don’t know. We don’t even have a car!” And then burst into giggles. Pliss to laugh.

Tapas anyone?

2009-04-09T09:47:00.002+01:00

If comparisons must be made then tapas is the chaat of India. The difference is that after a few plates of tapas the Spaniards call it a meal whereas after a few plates of chaat the Indians go on to a meal. It shows in the average waistline of the countries, of this I have no doubt. Also tapas is usually at a bar or in a restaurant whereas chaat is traditionally on the side of the road at a thela/ cart although Indian ‘Sweet Houses’ now count this as part of their main businesses.

I was introduced to the idea of tapas only after I moved here. Years later on holiday to Madrid I did full justice to the idea by indulging to the fullest, visiting tapas bars around the city and imbibing like the best of them. But as a novice lover of Spanish cuisine in my first days in London I often made the mistake of ordering a range of small bites, treating them like starters and then ordering a large dish of paella to follow. I soon knew this was a mistake, heck my waistline instantly knew it was a mistake. But over the years I have learnt, or rather trained myself, on how to deal with new cuisines, what kind of thing to order, what courses work with what culture etc.

On a cold cold February evening we wrapped up work and warmly ensconced in our overcoats made a beeline for our booking at Dehesa. The last time we had traipsed around central London with friends hoping to eat there we had been told that they now took bookings, a fact not reflected by their website. So a booking was duly made and now all four of us were here to commit ourselves wholly to the experience.

The interiors of Dehesa are all wood and leather and soft yellow lighting. Even on this weekday evening it is completely filled to the brim. Our table is a tiny semi-circle near the door and we sit quite squashed together on our leather sofa. The noise levels are quite high but the four of us are chatting away, catching up on world news, life events, the economy, news of friends and acquaintances.

The menu is two simply printed sides of an off-white A4 sheet. We order drinks and then, after some discussion, a whole selection of tapas to share: Salt Cod Croquetas with Romesco Sauce, Chorizo a la Plancha, Spanish Style Meatballs with Olive Oil Mash, Turnip Tops and Chanterelles, Pan Fried Scamorza with Semi Dried Plum Tomato, Pesto and Marcona Almonds, Patatas Fritas with Romesco Sauce and Alioli among other small dishes of almonds, freshly baked bread and olives. The dishes, as is traditional, are small, but large enough for everyone to taste and possibly go back for a second bite. Each ‘small bite’ is a beautifully presented dish and they come marching along like soldiers, in small clusters, to be savoured hot or cold as intended.

You wouldn’t think that a few small plates of food shared amongst four would fill our stomachs. But it does and by the time a few hours have passed we are full and filled. It is my contention that there are few things in life as cheering as good meals and good friends. Especially on cold cheerless winter days.

Dehesa: 25 Ganton Street, London W1F 9BP. Tel: 0207494 4170. E-mail: info@dehesa.co.uk

India bit 9: The fabric of life

2009-03-31T08:30:00.004+01:00

It’s my last full day in Delhi and on holiday. Tonight our house will come alive with the laughter and voices of our friends and family, as everyone comes together to celebrate my mother and the Nik’s birthdays (which are on the same day next week but Part 1 is being celebrated in advance, kindly, to accommodate our trip).

This morning we run errands for the evening and generally buzz around the house, tidying and setting things up. V arrives at mid-day, his week with his family complete. We all sit around chatting and eating stuffed parathas (mooli and aloo) for lunch, catching up with his news and the Tiwari samosas (or singhara's as the Kolkattans refer to them). Then the preparations for this evenings’ shindig begin in earnest. The table is set and flowers arranged. The ice arrives, alcohol is ensconsed and the glasses laid out. The cook arrives to begin kebab and kitchen duty. My mother collects the bulk of the food, an impressive array of snacks and 3 different cakes to sweeten the evening. Everyone has a bit of a rest and then gets ready to part-ey.

At about 6pm our first guests arrive - my college roommate and her daughter. She has to leave for a dinner engagement but we have an uninterrupted time to be able to chat and that is precious. Almost as soon as she leaves a trickle of guests begin to arrive. And then like a waterfall it never stops. 55 people traipse through our house this Saturday night, my parent’s friends, my friends, V’s friends, the Nik’s friends, uncles, aunts, cousins, nieces and nephews. Everyone snacks heartily; chargrilled mushrooms, feta stuffed olives, spinach and corn tartlets, bocconcini (mozzarella), pita chips & hummous, arrancini (stuffed rice balls), 4 types of kebabs with pudina chutney and a host of things I can no longer recall are downed with drinks. The giant blueberry cheesecake and platter of chocolate mousse squares vanish without trace, leaving us a with missing persons forlorn-ness and only one big chunk of deep chocolate cake to put away.

The house positively glows with the warmth that only friendship, laughter and tealights can induce. We talk without pause, smile till our jaws ache, eat till there is no more room in our weary stomachs. It’s late by the time everyone has said their last goodbyes and the house is efficiently tidied by many hands. We stay awake as long as our weary eyes and minds allow, unpacking gifts, re-packing suitcases and talking till tomorrow comes.

Early on Sunday morning V and I do one final round of packing, making sure we haven't left things behind. After a quick family breakfast at our local Sagar we set-off for the airport. Long goodbyes later we are on our way through New Delhi’s airport, headed home to cold London. I sleep contentedly on the flight, dreaming of my time in India and pleased as punch that I will see our families again this summer.

The End.

India bit 8: Talking, eating, shopping for the planet

2009-03-27T08:31:00.002Z

My beloved aunt and uncle have arrived from Chennai early this morning, braving two nights on the train just to come and hang around with us and celebrate my mother and the Nik’s forthcoming birthdays. I am the recipient of many a goodie thanks to 40in2006, whom I saw in December. My mother is the recipient of goodies made by her delightful daughters, my beloved nieces (a knitted scarf and two handkerchiefs: one glitter painted, the second embroidered). Despite my haul of serious loot I am jealous – can I count on a scarf for my 40th D??

We spend the morning just relaxing and chatting at home, all of us talking nineteen to the dozen, the speciality of our race. Then we decide to check out one of the new Malls built in our vicinity and its food court. There are only a few shops open as yet – recession or delays nobody knows. Notably I go and have a stare at the windows of Tantra and admire the slogan-y T-shirts. I remember them from years ago when they retailed in limited designs and sizes at Shoppers Stop and their smart witty slogans seemed so much funnier to my less corrupt brain. Their much worn ‘over-educated, under employed’ T-shirt is still my gym/ sleep favourite.

For lunch we are sitting under fake palm trees and on outdoor furniture in the covered atrium. It is bright and light and for a weekday, very full. Clearly people have all the time and money to spend on food on a weekday. Everybody chose something different and the Nik (being the youngest and most pliant) ran around organising both food and drinks while we continued talking. I had a divine plate of chole bhature from the Haldirams stall – something that I have said I would have on every trip and not managed in at least the last four. North Indian chole bhature is so different from the equivalent in the south. This bhatura is oval shaped and its thick doughy walls hold in the air beautifully, much like an inflated rugby ball. The chole is dark and tangy, its thick gravy coating each chickpea. I’m not sure why I am describing the whole chole bhature incident, just that I was so delighted with this simple meal that I cannot help but want to write what it was that made me smile so broadly.

Then we split up into groups – the boys went wandering in the adjacent mall while the girls drove off to Fab India. I bought a few pieces from their new jewelry line and some household accessories (yet more stuff I DO NOT NEED) to carry back with me. A short trip home to deposit the bags of shopping, leave my aunt to entertain a guest and to collect the Nik. Now it’s the turn of some serious shopping – my childhood haunt Fact and Fiction and the basement Om Bookshop in Vasant Vihar are my temples. I buy 23 books to add to the 5 I bought from Khan Market’s Bahri. It’s a good thing I have an empty suitcase and have not done very much by way of actual bulky shopping.

We spend the evening at home, ordering in kebabs, butter chicken, roomali’s and naans’s and some delightful malai kofta’s (for me and only me!) and talking our way through them. And then we play rounds of cards at the dining table, which I am thankful had no money attached as I lost very very badly.

I try and do some cursory packing before bedtime. All my books fit beautifully. I cannot believe that my week is almost at its end. I haven’t had such a peaceful, relaxed, good time in too long. I must have done something right for it all to have gone so right.

Food Courts: Every Mall in the NCR it would seem

Chole: chickpeas cooked in a tangy tamarind based sauce

Bhature: Companion deep fried bread to mop up the chole. Deep fried refined flower (the tastiest heart attack on a plate)

Malai kofta: soft paneer and vegetable balls, deep fried and immersed in a smooth silky tomato cream gravy flavoured with cashew nuts

India bit 7: How to spend money

2009-03-25T16:42:00.002Z

My cousin Mandy is on time this morning for our day together. We will be joined by cousin Ro later. Enroute to Saket Ro calls to cancel due to emergency shaadi shopping for someone. I will miss her but I know that Mandy and I will have a fabulous time – we always do. We are at Select City Mall (again!), but a different set of shops beckon. I buy armloads of stuff I don’t need but definitely want (I know, it’s a curse), all vetted and devil’s advocated by Mandy who has good taste, a clear sense of value for money and an eye for a bargain to boot.

We are soon laden with (my) bags by lunchtime and we decide that our marathon spending deserves to be crowned with food. We dither between the food court and the range of restaurants available and decide on an Italian place to eat. The interior is huge and roomy and full of gold foil, mirrors, crystal baroque. Besides us the only other people are a table to 20 Japanese women (on their version of a kitty party no doubt). M and I share a spaghetti bolognaise, a mushroom & pepperoni pizza and yet more gossip. The service is a tad over-attentive with a different waiter interupting to ask if we need anything else, is everything fine, about 30 times in the short hour. But the food is fresh and tasty and these two hungry shoppers devour it in no time. We have talked without pause all morning, catching up on stories and gossip.

It is late afternoon by the time I am home for a food induced siesta. I really miss living in Delhi when I go back on vacation and meet Mandy. We used to hang out a lot (and by that I mean A LOT) when I lived at home and she lived close by. Her daughter T is just the most delightful of nieces one can have and I miss that she isn’t in Delhi anymore for me to spoil.

Tonight 5 of us are at Ai in the adjacent Mall in Saket (I should have just stayed there!) for a Japanese inspired dinner – the parents, the Nik, P and I. We are seated on the terrace enjoying the cool of a Delhi Spring evening/ night. The indoor and outdoor bits of the restaurant are full and buzzing and we do a bit of celebrity spotting. Among other things, we order sesame tenderloin, spring rolls, pork belly, chicken teriyaki, prawn tempura, a vegetable stir-fry and an egg & seaweed fried rice. Despite asking for 3 of these dishes to be served at the same time as my dad and I are sharing our main course they all come separately. So we sit around while each dish cools and then freezes, waiting for the next piece of the puzzle to appear. The server forgot to order the rice and both our main dishes are ice cold by the time we re-remind her and the steaming hot rice finally appears.

It was a shame really, the shoddy service, because the food is fresh and delicately flavoured (each ingredient really does bursts forth on the palate separately – this shocked me as I have become used to things melding as Indian food does into one giant burst of flavour) and without any pretension (as most highly priced restaurants are want to be). I’m a huge fan of Japanese food anyway (a taste acquired at Delhi's Tamura many years ago and honed by my experiences with this cuisine in London's many wonderful Japanese places) and this rice is divine to say the least. I also like the idea of a not too exhaustive overbearing intimidating menu, and in this case the fusion and traditional sit together well, tempting and pushing the Indian taste buds well into territories not often explored. In short I would say the food in Ai is spectacular but its service, on this night, did it the biggest disservice possible. I wonder if I will be tempted back?

Spaghetti Kitchen: Select City Mall, Saket, New Delhi – 110017. Tel: 42658430
Ai: MGF metropolitan Mall, 2nd Floor, Saket, New Delhi – 110017. Tel: 40654567

India bit 6: Getting my teeth into things

2009-03-24T08:16:00.003Z

The ‘accessing services’ part of my holiday begins in earnest today. I’ve given things for dry cleaning and things to be altered to the tailor, almost as soon as I arrived. But today it’s the turn my teeth to feel the love.

I come from a family of people with teeth problems and being paranoid about that being me someday (and of course an intense fear of pain that a dentist can cause) I have taken dental hygiene to a whole new level of careful. I’ve had the same dentist since I was 17, introduced by my cousin Mandy. He (desntist) and his wife ran their practice from a few rooms in a ground floor apartment in our south of the south boondocks. Of course with all the expensive dental care that people need they progressed quite quickly to a swanky purpose fitted clinic in Vasant Vihar. My annual check-up and teeth cleaning now pays in part for the Mercedes Benz parked at the entrance. But at under £10 each time (and this I do convert because the exact same things would cost me £40 at the hands of an inept student here) I am comforted because he has been examining my teeth, knows the history of the gap between two teeth on the left and has my dental records since the beginning of time immemorial.

From a dude with a few families as patients he has become so busy and important now that he now has an assistant. He still came in, looked at my records, exchanged pleasantries, examined my teeth and gums, pronounced them healthy and in need of nothing more than a clean and handed me over to the assistant. She is new but when I closed my eyes and she began to clean them I knew he had chosen wisely – she has the same light touch that he did. I firmly believe you need magic hands to be a good dentist. My teeth have a few decades of care left in them, thank goodness. Teeth cleaned and polished to sparkling it was time to get on with the having fun (read getting on with culinary examination a.k.a hogging) part of the day.

I’m in Khan Market, haunt of my school days. In those days Chona’s was the only provider of any sort of fast food in KM – soggy over priced pizza’s that surmounted to eating in a five star for cash strapped teens. Today Best Friend in Whole Wide World (One) has joined me for a wander. We visit SilverLine and I don’t buy anything – I miss going to the Bengali market one and sitting on the carpeted first floor of somebody’s house and looking at silver. This is too sterile and twangy women packed and I don’t think I can bear another ‘Gauri’ conversation. Then we traverse the market and climb up to Anokhi where a white and blue kurta (self-fulfilling purchase/ prophecy for a much wanted summer) is duly bought. Then a childhood haunt of my parents and place of mighty pilgrimage in visited – Bahri Sons Bookstore, an institution in itself. Five books are duly purchased. A visit to Good Earth turns out to be futile as the matching spoons for my previously purchased kansa dishes actually cost as much as the dishes. This I cannot abide.

We buy cookies and brownies from Mrs. Kaur’s, discuss how all these new eating places have opened up and head for the terrace of Big Chill. A delicious light and cold tomato-garlic bruschetta and milkshake/ iced tea are shared amidst our unending conversation. We head off in different directions – her to run errands and me for lunch with my mum. Lunch is delicious as usual and the conversation is very mum and daughter. I’m off for an afternoon nap.

By early evening the Nik is home and rested and raring to go. First the two of us sneak off for a plate of aloo tikki’s at our local thela wala. He is delighted to see the Nik (his most regular customer) and puts his chaat together without even asking. I ask for a plate of aloo tikki with everything on top. And cannot describe how delicious it was – served on a small disposable leaf place with a wooden spoon stuck into two stuffed aloo tikki’s with the works (chutneys and dahi) piled on top. This is my Delhi and what all my senses longed for before I got here.

As if all this endless eating is not enough we are now headed to Nanking for dinner. It started out as our local for Chinese food when it opened years ago but has progressed with time and the burgeoning economy (and money to spend) to being a very popular multi-leveled joint that attracts the expat Chinese population and the well heeled of Delhi. It’s food is divine and even though I think I have no place I eat a bit of everything – shredded lamb, hunan potatoes, chilli chicken, sweet and sour vegetables, hakka noodles and vegetable fried rice. And yes, I know none of this is really Chinese, but it is Indian Chinese at it’s very best and is by far the winner in a toss–up of cuisines if I were doing the choosing.

I have no memory of how we got home, only of sleeping a contented sleep, filled to the brim, yet again, on food and people I love. This is what trips to my home turf are made of.

Big Chill: Two spots in Khan Market, New Delhi - I was at the A 68 (not that the numbers mean much)
Mrs. Kaur’s Cookies: Khan Market, New Delhi
Chaat: Street snack food. Everywhere in Delhi
Nanking: Vasant Kunj, New Delhi - 110070