Fresh gyaan, straight from The Alps.

To be honest, I am not a punctual person. I respect punctual people. However, I will not fuss too much for plus or minus five minutes. Mostly plus five minutes, because there has never been a minus five minutes. Of course, the invigilator at the exam hall may not agree with me, but generally it is my personal trait. Every single day I run from home to office to swipe my fingerprint before the machine crosses the 8:00:00 mark. I will not do anything from my part to reach before time, so contrary to whatever anyone who sees me run may think, I know for one that people who come earlier to office than what is required are losers.

When we talk time, we should discuss two people whose murderous looks through my childhood haunts me till date. My parents. They are the type of people who reach before the hosts at a birthday party. I was the type who equated ‘late’ with ‘latest’. I scooped that from a Rajnikanth dialogue, but we are all Rajni fans aren’t we? We are allowed to do that.

Every single Sunday, we reached the church at least ten minutes before the service started, and these ten minutes felt like ages. Once it started and the sermon was over, I could feel wrinkles on my face. My peers who came on time or at least ten minutes into the service always stayed young and fresh even after the service. I blamed my parents for this. God was not giving out blessings on a first-come-first-served basis. Even trips to relative’s houses or shopping always began with arguments because when I start to decide what to wear, these two along with my sister would have got into the car already. Each time they honk after that, something inside me ticked off. I think that was my sanity. People need time!

As if reaching the store before the security arrived was not torture enough, they also gave me gyaan. That punctuality defines you. I thought, yeah the security decides your character. He will issue conduct certificate which you can use to avail discount. Man, I don’t understand this! The psychological move to improve my time management failed miserably. I do not clearly remember which category my sister belonged to, but as far as I know her she may have made it on time just to avoid the free advice.

When the train and you are 'On Time'.
Image Courtesy: Here

So last month we were in Switzerland on vacation. Switzerland makes all the expensive watches for a reason, my friend. Time in Switzerland is more expensive than Cartier watches. In Switzerland, it doesn’t matter if you come latest. Nobody cares. If you come late, you miss the train. If you miss the train, you wait. Also, in India you can safely assume that the train may be late. Even if you are unlucky with your predictions, you can put your money on this one. However, this assumption is invalid in Swiss. If the train is scheduled to arrive at 6:57 pm, it will. You adjust your watch with the time the train arrives.

Surprisingly there are no Rajni fans in Switzerland. People are religiously punctual, and they act like each second counts! I mean how can all the people in a country act like my parents? This is weird. I was like, this is not the place I want to be…Escaaaaapppee!

Honestly, my parents should be in Switzerland. They will have a whole country of like-minded people for friends. There will be no dearth of principles to live by. Plus, Tissot is cheap. Victorinox is available in plenty. Going by the culture of local train passengers, there are more readers than gossipers. This is like the Promised Land for them.

I’d like to add here, that the train that arrives at 6:57 will be there only at 6:57. If you get to the train station for this train at 6:00, this does not get you brownie points. You will search for seats in the train the same way the person who arrived at 6:55 does. Switzerland is cold, so you better stay warm at home for some extra time. That is my gyaan for you, straight from the Alps. You are welcome.  Okay, Bye. **runs away**

Updates from the virtual living room.

Did you know that slipping and falling down is funny when it happens to others, but extremely painful otherwise? Did you also know that the pain is directly proportional to the number of people who witnessed it? I am just adding to Murphy’s Law, because Murphy never fell down and hurt his ankle with at least 25 people watching him. Pretending that nothing happened and walking away without making eye contact is easy because the pain is already blinding.

Image Corutesy: Here

This happened to me when the week started, and I did not tell my parents. We have a family group on whatsapp so anything that is said in it, is like talking in our living room.  There are not enough emoticons in whatsapp that represent most common emotions from our living room, but whatsapp has certain limitations you see. It cannot cater to the emotional demands of every family. However, the shocked emoticon would have been used more often, if whatsapp existed in my school days.  If you are wondering why my parents should be shocked, you don’t know me enough. My report cards usually evoke feelings of shock. I sometimes wish that had I been a school girl now, I would just take a picture of my report card and send it on whatsapp before opening the door of my room. This way verbal abuse and emotional blackmailing could be avoided. The luxuries kids enjoy these days! Back in time, we had to make eye contact with parents on report card day. It was so hard I tell you.

I decided not to tell parents about the ‘great fall’ of this week because it was not as fatal as the one Humpty Dumpty had. However, I am the ultimate dumbo who  took a picture of my foot in ankle support and accidentally posted it in the group. Don’t ask what happened next.

I am kind of responsible for most some of the disasters happening to me, so I owned this one completely. Thanks to WhatsApp I didn't have to make eye contact and I also have options to send flowers, hearts, wine and beer to cool them down. And it is FREE ! Now it is all fine.

We have some upcoming holidays (perks of being in the Middle East) and a Switzerland trip coming soon. Real soon! Adding a cherry on that cold coffee with extra cream, this blog was chosen by Blogadda as one among the top five blogs in India under the ‘Humor and Satire’ category! How cool is that? That is cooler than Switzerland right now!

Well, there are so many things happening. The ankle should heal, packing is pending, and it is getting busy at office each day. I have to update my virtual living room as well about the progress I am making. I am doing pretty well in heels today ;-)

My son had been asking me repeatedly to show him exactly where I fell down. He likes my ankle support and wants to wear it too. Which means, he probably thinks once he stages a fall there he will get to wear ankle support too? Man, how his brain works! My son has widened my imagination exponentially over the years.

Hence I solemnly dedicate the blog award to him. 

Vacation, Onam and a Dress Code Disaster.

I am back after a three-week vacation to India, and boy what a getaway it has been! Braving the rains we travelled to Thekkady, Kuttikkanam and Kanyakumari apart from Cochin and Trivandrum. Then there was Onam, two baptisms in the family, a housewarming, an engagement party, catching up with old friends… Three weeks flew by like a dream with lots of food in it. By food, I mean meat and by meat, I mean red meat. Going by the red meat I ate in the last few weeks, I realized that I am not the same person I was maybe ten years ago. My younger self would feel guilty before sinking my teeth into that third cutlet, but now I am arrogant, unregretful and endlessly hungry.If that is the case, in another ten years I may become a cannibal.

The thing I hate the most about our vacations is the inevitable train ride between Trivandrum and Cochin. Being the Trivandrum person that I am, I was warned against marrying the Cochin guy, citing geographical hurdles I may have to overcome. Like all things we learn only from experience, this one was learnt in a hard way. Trains have been hell rides for me. I have tried to dodge the train by planning car/plane trips, but it has to be the train to get the collective approval from elders. Well. The train is basically a reminder that life is not a bed of roses; it can be a rodent infested compartment too. From the smelly curtains to the non-functioning fan/AC to the nosey aunty who wants to record the census of my family, I hate every bit of it. The only thing that is to be loved is the super economic ticket charges. IRCTC is slow for a purpose, my dear friend. It knows that you will wait.

Another remarkable achievement during the vacation was that a lot of badminton was played in the evenings. Cochin is known for mosquitoes that barge into our houses in large numbers in the evenings. If we didn't play, we’d be anyway doing something similar in action, which is swatting mosquitoes, so badminton seemed like a strategic choice of sport. Whenever I was not playing I stayed close to my son who was wearing a mosquito repellent sticker. Note to parents: If you want to visit Cochin, buy your kids mosquito repellent stickers and do not snub them during your stay there. Cochin mosquitoes can bite like dogs I tell you.

Mahabali. Image Courtesy: Here

For my son, this vacation had been immensely enriching. Like, the time he met Mahabali at the mall during Onam week. Now he points at random potbellied men and screams ‘Look Amma Mahabali!’

Ranbir Kapoor played Barfi in a two-hour movie. God knows how many times I played Barfi.

The vacation was not all rosy, though. There was a sufficient dose of embarrassment too. During our stay in Cochin there was a memorial gathering to which the in-laws were invited. According to the understanding I had with the hubby, we were not planning to go and were supposed to drop them and return to the mall. So I was dressed for the mall, in jeans and a loose top. Later, in an unexpected twist, we were forced to attend this prayer with no time to change. At the event, all people were elegantly dressed in pristine whites and other respectable colors. I was the only one, in jeans, loose top, unkempt hair, a small backpack and flat shoes. I wasn’t the immediate family so people did not care about what I wore, but I felt like being in a spotlight. Yes, I did get a few lame looks here and there, some with pity and others wondering if I wore skinny jeans at a memorial service, what I’d wear for a party. After I topped my plate with food and hid behind a pillar wishing that I was invisible, I realized how important dress codes are and how it can make you squirm with embarrassment.

Lesson learnt; when in India, always carry an alternate decent dress. You never know when you will be dragged into a church.

I consoled myself thinking about the day I spotted a Dominos Pizza delivery boy who turned up near our building, on Onam day around lunch time. Eating pizza for lunch on Onam day is far worse than wearing skinny jeans for a memorial service, right? 

Right?

No?

Project Broccoli.

 Two months of school summer vacation are almost coming to an end with just two days to go. People of Middle East who were on their annual vacations to India are back, with Oman International Airport Authorities detecting banana chips in almost every single suitcase going through their scanners. Here we are, the couple who did not go on vacation and enjoying the scorching hot summer, eating freshly imported chips, playing the sympathy card.

So now all our friends are back from vacation and official projects that have been dragged beyond its capacity due to the absence of key resources (that were partying in India), are back in full swing.  Little one’s school reopens next week, so that is when we will go to India. Well, his IIT JEE exams are not for another two decades and it’s not like alphabets and numbers are REALLY important for entrance examinations.

Annual leave is exciting, but the week before is a period of low in areas of sanity, self-control, emotional quotient and common sense. When these four key factors hit a low, then it is madness that prevails. When madness takes over, I am usually not seen in my best behavior. For example, one of the tedious exercises the week before travelling is emptying the fridge. Unlike a lot of people we know, we are unique in fridge matters. We do not store cooked food inside for more than a day, cakes and bread are a rarity on our dining table, but there are vegetables in its tray lying forgotten, grated coconut in the freezer, two sets of tomatoes I bought by mistake, and few other stuff ignored because ‘problem of plenty’. I realize that I am writing this when kids are starving in Somalia, and I am such a moron. One problem at a time, Anita, one problem at a time. Tomatoes and Broccoli.

Image Courtesy: Here

Basically, I can make yummy things with all the tomatoes and exhaust it completely. However, even though I hate to waste food, broccoli is something I wish got spoiled so that there is a reason to throw it away. I always get the grocery myself, but whenever the hubby does it, broccoli comes back with him. I never ask my kid to eat broccoli, because even my parents can’t coax me to eat it. Broccoli never was a reason we had Isaac Newton or Steve Jobs. 

Coming to think of it, this whole thing is a project in itself with a deadline in place. The only difference is, I am my own boss. Life, my friend, is a consolidation of mini projects. Who you report to (it should always be you) and who will report to you (kids) matter. Deadlines should be met. Spouse is an like an acting CEO (or so he thinks ). As I write this, somewhere in the corner of the vegetable tray of my fridge, the broccoli is (hopefully) changing color.

It's time I use my corporate expertise in this situation. The strategy to be adopted is, I will wait until the last minute comes. Then I will escalate the broccoli issue to the CEO who can take a call on the matter. By then it will be too late, the CEO will have his hands tied and is most likely to approve the suggestion collectively made by the board of directors (kiddo and me).

Hey, that’s how all projects run, right?

The unusual hater !

Did you know that cars are females and they have favorite drivers too?

My theory comes with distinct evidence from 'The Fast and The Furious', in which a specific car performs best when the handsome hero drives it. This also proof that cars are females and why it is always addressed to as ‘she’. Sleek, shiny, elegant and comes in all shapes and colors. She behaves perfectly when there is a guy on the driver’s seat. Whereas when a woman drives, Madame gets pissed and does whatever is required to make the universe believe that women are bad drivers. Even some kitchen appliances hate women, but we will come to that later.

Okay, so all people secretly know that women are not the best drivers in the world. Trust me whenever there some kind of idiocy going on a busy road, my first instinct tells me that it is a woman behind the wheels. That’s also when I think I am a man in a woman’s body.  Well, even if I fast forward a hundred years women will always come second when it comes to driving, and this is not the woman’s fault. That is where my discovery applies – cars are women too and they hate it when women drive. Fair enough.

To begin with, I already know that our car hates me. Ever since I got a license it has been showing displeasure whenever I sat on the driver’s seat. For instance, five days after I got my license, she banged herself into an electric post (may be in an attempt to commit suicide) when I was carefully trying to park it. I should mention here, that in India I drove a Swift, and later practiced here in Muscat with my trainer whose car was actually a tractor in disguise, so when suddenly I drove an actual sedan, my calculations about its sensitivity was nowhere close to reality. This car actually does not even require a touch on its accelerator to move. You just have to think about going and it goes. Such is the technology built into cars these days and I am not used to such sophistication. So basically, it is not my fault. The car just decided to take full advantage of my unfamiliarity and this would not have happened if it was the guy behind the wheels. Being the forgiving person I am, I just let bygones be bygones and went on with my life. Meanwhile, in the basement parking, the car was silently scheming against me.

It is the peak of summer here and all we want from Middle Eastern cars is the AC. The hubby was at a different location that day for official purposes and I was on pickup and drop duty for the little one. By noon, the summer camp gets over and I walked over to the parking area in the scorching sun. As soon as I entered the car I  switched on the AC which blew hot air in my face. Such wicked humor I tell you. I called the hubby, who was in a meeting and he answered after I repeatedly called at least 576 times. I spoke about the AC and he had no clue, so obviously this car was missing its real owner. I still drove the car to the summer camp, at approximately 47 degree Celsius, and hot air blowing on my face. When the kid came in I had to convince him that the AC was not working and he started a mini tantrum. Completely drenched (in sweat), I looked like an extra for a Bollywood rain dance. Somehow the ride home was made and I reached the last signal before home. When it turned green, the car started jerking like crazy. Some sadistic morons started honking behind me and the kid looked baffled. I took the foot off the accelerator and the jolting stopped. I slowly managed to move forward and parked in the nearest available spot.

Image Courtesy: Here

It was the day before Eid holidays when a car is all one wants. On further investigation by an expert, it was revealed that there was a radiator leak. All this happens when on one day of all the years in Muscat the guy happens to be away on duty!

After two days, we managed to get it back from the garage.

I need a car which is male. Straight, young and handsome. Suggestions are welcome.

The Hedgehog.

The worst mistake I may have done as a parent, may be reading the story of ' The Hedgehog’ to my son. The little guy who used to walk into rooms alone like everyone else is now frightened to go from one room to another, thanks to my story reading skills. He thinks there are hedgehogs hiding in our rooms, which I did not convey directly, so basically he has started reading between the lines and that should be counted as a milestone. Instead, I am facing a lot of flak from his Dad about misleading the child and other blah blah. In my defense, I was trying to improve his imagination and vocabulary by reading an actual story. I did not make him watch any Rohit Shetty movie and ask him to FIND the story!

Image Courtesy: Here 

The fear of hedgehog has turned out to be bothersome for all of us. For example, if I am sitting on the sofa watching TV, and I need my phone which is ringing in the other room, I can no longer ask him to bring it to me. He asks me to accompany him, so I’d rather get the phone myself. Moving from the sofa can be a really exhausting experience, and there is none other than the hedgehog to blame. The most brutal part of this whole ordeal is that I can’t even complain.

To be honest, I read a lot of children’s stories in my childhood and the ‘Hedgehog’ was not one of them. Until recently I dint even know what it was, I had to actually Google it. In the story that I read to him, it was mentioned that the hedgehog springs into action once the lights are out in the house. Aaron initially was worried that it was going to finish the milk he was supposed to drink next morning. Later he started wishing that it happened.

Stories are known to have strong impact on little minds and one can't unlearn it. I was actually having a fun time reading to him, because now he doesn’t ask unanswerable questions, like ‘Amma why is the ugly duckling ugly?’ I mean if anybody had the answer to that then half of the world’s problems would be solved. He was beginning to understand what I read and my horrible selection of stories is proof that one day I will be a producer in Bollywood.

One evening I was searching for his school bag but it was nowhere to be found. I walked into the living room and he was engrossed in ripping a car open with a screw driver.

“Aaron where is your schoolbag?”

He: “My schoolbag? Come with me ..”

He lead me to every corner of the house, and I obediently followed.  He quickly glanced at the places it is usually dumped in. Finally when there were no more rooms left he said,

“I think the hedgehog may have taken it”

Until then I hadn't realized the extent of the damage I had done. The hedgehog had started taking the blame for everything that went missing, and I am sure if it lasts long enough it will soon steal his homework, marks and girlfriends too. That night I tried to tell him that Jesus came and kicked the hedgehog out of our house and now it does not exist at all, I made the nervous boy a bit confused. 

For a while there was no talk of hedgehogs in our house and I was relieved. In fact I was secretly feeling proud of myself for having instilled in him the ‘Jesus saves us’ concept.

The next morning we were walking down the road and saw a bearded man coming towards us.

‘Amma, is this Jesus?’