Hallmark Event

Yes, ladies, gentlemen, and others, the day has come. The monster has turned five. I struggled and struggled to figure out a meaningful birthday plan (why are these things so difficult?). Wait. Meaningful, that is what I was aiming for. Fun, that is what the kid was hoping for. Sometimes I feel sorry for her, for her crazy parents. But at other times, not so much. We deserve each other.

Dora cake happened. A number five cake too. It was a particularly harrowing day. New dress was duly worn, and looked so cute, I felt really like congratulating myself. She disliked it, of course. Not enough bling I suppose. I let her enjoy her cake and lunch with the friends in her play school and then when I went at 1 pm to pick her, she accused me of being late. We returned home and she loped off to the neighbours, to my consternation, to play a secret game with the boy (scary, eh?). We caught a flight later. It was supposed to be Kingfisher Red but turned out to be Kingfisher (and yes, we did see the bird again in one of our walks in Chennai too). Dinner with the father. Jumping and breaking the bed in the guest house. This was thursday. She denies it, but she had a good day, though tiring.

Friday was a busy day, new dress, also very cute, but most hated by monster. I spoke my brahmin tamizh to all sorts of large looming men around our new place. Then it was furniture shopping time, where I spoke in English till one time I called out to the monster. The guy was mildly surprised with that (WHY?). But that was better than the KF flight attendant referring to me as 'the young passenger' - the monster's kangaroo suitcase had been pushed into the back and I could not reach it. I asked her to find someone taller to help. She thought I needed all my bags carried and called reinforcements from the ground staff. Hello? First of all, I am old enough to be your mother. Second, I can carry my backpack and this little suitcase, and my tiny laptop bag easily, please, all those years in the gym are worth something. Oh no dear, I just could not reach the back of the overhead storage place, I can carry them alright, don't worry, I said aloud. I tried to not hate the furniture shopping. I mean considering we did not really buy anything finally, and on Sunday we saw a nice place with antique-ish things which I liked a lot. Plus I had enough time to indulge my(our)self at Landmark. Pippi Longstocking. Aseem Kaul. Ranjit Lal. Presumably I went to get return gifts for the kids.

Dinner party on Saturday, almost difficult to convince her that it was for her birthday (yeah, I know, makes no sense, really). I managed to arrange balloons and a cake and whip up a cohesive set of adults. Children were lovely and I was amazed at how all the other kids have good eating habits in comparison, oh and we went later in the night to another party, and this little girl and my own sat next to me on the futon. Someone was playing a guitar and I was occasionally joining in the singing (softly of course). I mean old old songs. The girls would look up at me expectantly every time a new song started. I don't know, they were so very beautiful together, I thought I would burst though I had a headache and was eager to go home and sleep. The purple barbie shirt with the white skirt with a gigantic silver flower on it was, finally, an acceptable dress, per monster.

Back at the helm here, and yes, I am conscious of my tags, and I will post it next, chox and parul.

Hot Hotter Hottest

It is amazing how people's perceptions and opinions remain unperturbed and undisturbed in this, info-age. At first I thought that this is only true in case of senior citizens, and, since I never answer back to that species of human (my mom is a year shy of that tag, she assures me), I always smiled politely and moved on. Of course in recent times it has become rather clear that age is no bar. Children (somewhat pardonable that a child would assume that snow and snowmen can occur only in the United States), middle-aged folk, and my personal favourite, old people, are party to this.

Visiting an old person in Chennai, thankfully not tied to us by any easily discoverable blood lines (we should have spent another fifteen minutes, the vibrant photo of Venkateshwara in his home surely meant that we would have found that elusive common link). I told him I was there for just a day, from Mumbai. Despite not being of English stock, I commented on the weather at that point.

Hmm he said. At least you have escaped the Mumbai heat for a day.

I thought this was a huge joke, and was going to cackle politely till I realised he, in all seriousness, thought that Chennai was a cool haven in comparison with big bad hot Mumbai. Oh well. Why should I be so surprised? Don't I have relatives, who exclaim virtually involutarily when I say I live in Mumbai,

OH! Bourbon biscuits are so expensive there.
(I remember, I visited once, in 1960..).

My husband is a good one to have at your side at these junctures, I am just too polite and smiley faced to disagree. So yes peoples. Elders have said. Mumbai is the hottest place. The biscuits are too expensive here. And people all live in 'flats'. I will not even bother to tell them that just today, in a leisurely walk around here after a Rava Dosa breakfast, we think we saw: The Blue Kingfisher, Koel, Coppersmith, Magpie Robin, and, possibly, a Sunbird, in addition of course to armies of crows and mynas who are our neighbours (all as recognised by expert friend, not me). And no, we did not sweat although its nearly April and we were walking around at 11 am.