Of Brown Diaries and Ink Pens

It has been an interesting week (the one that passed, that is). The elections were interesting - and that's all I want to say about it. Finally, after 43 years of existence, I have found my feet planted somewhat on real ground, but let me not push it and pretend as if I have deep political views! I am on top of all the trending stories, however, though I did manage to escape to the 1940s via a nice little novel about The Channel Islands, for part of the time. 

One of the recent things we have been doing is a Sunday family workout episode. We drop the child off to basketball and proceed to the gym. Due to some new rules they have brought in place there, I go to the aerobics room (which also, conveniently, has weights). So we are all in separate places. The duration of the class is sort of insufficient to have a satisfactory workout, so the best bet is to push oneself. The sweaty car ride on the way back when the child cribs about her team mates, and we both jump in as we are wont to and say "You see in the 1985 when I was playing at XYZ..." are good fun. I carry several towels 'cause I care about how my car smells later. 

Noting down the food, exercise routine, and something of feelings through the day in a diary - albeit from 2011 - has been an interesting experience. The online notings I have done while training for the recent marathons were alright and they are there for future reference, but this one, where I write alternately using blue and black ink pens, is better. I was writing in real small font though today I have decided to increase font size 'cause eyesight. 

The photography workshop that I was a reluctant participant at (because I was the driver and did not relish coming back all the way and going back all the way using googlemaps) talked about shots being framed correctly and the background cleaned of clutter. I went with a 'medium' distance shot above and I think to tell the story correctly I should have followed it up with a real close shot. Maybe of my brown 2011 diary which has my name embossed on it (with incorrect spelling). 

Next time. 

Togetherness

How to get a selfie together? 

Some of our most memorable times have been when we are exercising together. Over the years, we have had basketball, running, volleyball, gym, long treks, p90x, and more recently, walking (!). All of these have been fun in their own way, and though we do a number of workouts separately  as well, I feel like these together workouts are an important component of our lives. True, we have never run a marathon together like some of the other couples that we know. We haven't even run a half marathon together, though, compared to the former, the latter is not too far-fetched as a possibility for the future. The photo is from a gym session yesterday.

We had a schema for our weekend treks during our Massachusetts days. I remember agonising for days over the what-to-wear what-to-pack questions, while he just threw some random things together in like 5 minutes. Sandwiches, water, trail mix, some chips in a backpack. An insanely long trek which I remember now with only pleasure. Reaching the summit. The exhilaration at seeing the vistas at the top. Me, always impatient to climb back down. Chinese take-out at night. Waking up with really sore limbs the next day. Such a long time ago it all seems!

Nowadays we have our very short morning walks together, that's it. So far it is something we manage to do after dropping the child off, a time to breathe a bit. The whole child-house-work-deadlines-morning meetings saga has put paid to anything more than that. And our running goals are not yet aligned well enough that we do that together. I do my strength training on the terrace for expediency. He prefers the gym. I am still an impatient sort who always winds up at least 10 mins before him and sort of breathes down his neck, at any rate.

So it was a pleasant thing overall that we found ourselves with a nice hour long window (not more not less 'cause the child had to picked up from her basketball session) on a Saturday morning. We went together to the gym, and though we exercised separately, he on the treadmill and me doing my workout in the "padded" section, it still was reminiscent of that past life. I suddenly felt very grown up. And not for a second did I ponder the 'What-To-Wear' question. In fact, I think I picked out my workout clothes (blue TWCM volunteer tshirt and a pair of Nike running tights), with my eyes closed.

Of Careers and Creches

Today I want to muse a little on parenting - as loyal readers know, it is one of my favourite topics. Mostly, it's a chance to say unkind things about The Child, who is, thankfully too preoccupied with a pile of books borrowed from the library last week, to get back at me.

I attended an interesting session at IIT today. I was the "Chief Guest" at the creche in the campus. I agreed to go simply because a friend of mine asked me and I found it hard to say no (she is most accommodating and I owed her one). I was a bit hesitant at first, 'cause I didn't have a ready made speech to give. I know, I know, that has never stopped me before, and it did not stop me today either.

I laid out a salwar kameez to wear then on the spur of the moment ditched that and wore a sari. It was a purple-ish one and I wore matching earrings and a bindi. My parenting moment involved the walk to school to drop the child off, during which she laughed loudly and informed me that all three were different shades of purple, and nothing matched. Oh well.

My parenting philosophy has mostly revolved around Role Modelling. I can't for sure say that it has worked out super well for us or anything. But it is something that makes sense to me, and it gels with my own personality. Some aspects of role modelling are such that it can backfire on you - for e.g. the fact that I wake up early and run regularly leads to a certain disdain for running, for sure! But so be it! I am hopeful that in the future she will be somehow inspired by it, and last week I distinctly heard her say "I need some exercise now, it has been a while since I had a proper workout."

Speaking of creches, I think an important thing to bear in mind is the fact that all the feminism and equal rights and lack of a glass ceiling and so on falter at the altar of early motherhood. I know that in the absence of a high quality day-care center, on campus, right close to my work place, with a reasonable philosophy of child rearing, I would not have managed to have a career.

I could have handled a job, yes, I would have worked for sure, maybe simply because I am not very good domestically, but having a full fledged career would have been well nigh impossible without a set-up such as the one I was at this morning [My own early motherhood was dedicated to a sister concern that is in IIT Bombay, where the child went from the time she was 16 months old].

For that reason among others, I am immensely grateful that such things exist today, unlike when I was a baby. While the grandparents are super awesome and are any day better at parenting than any creche (or myself), the guilt I felt for putting them through the whole feeding - diaper changing - nap-time - and other routines of babies, was strong. Plus I think for a single child, having a set-up outside the home and some friends and non-family adults to interact with, were valuable.

It was a great walk down memory lane for me today. It was nice to introspect a little and tell the eager young parents that were in the audience, that the "Food Battles" are really not worth it. It was so hilarious to think about how much I used to agonise over her food, considering that she is 3 inches taller than me now!! I tried to convince them that it has been one of my failures as a parent.

Most of all, it felt good to do this informal session and spend the rest of the day mulling over the various things said and heard this morning. As we move on to Phase two - 'Parenting a Teen' - due to happen soon, while all is said and done, it has been a really wonderful journey. Although it sounds geeky to say it, the apple of our eye has grown to be a good (if distinctly disobedient) friend, and perhaps when she reads this she will recall those early creche days with fondness...

A long-ago memory captured for posterity

   

At least there are no cats

(From: amazon, not my copy - which is anyway from the library)

I have stopped myself from buying any more Murakamis. I still like him fine, I assure you, despite the fact that he was yet again passed up for the big prize & yeah, sure, I have listened to Bob Dylan for a long time now and love him and his voice and his weird lyrics. At any rate Dylan is not a runner like Murakami so there is that corner of my brain that is going to always pro-Murakami despite what the Nobel Prize committee feels.

At any rate I rapidly read this anthology of birthday stories and all of them without exception were decidedly scary. Ranging from that one about a king without skin to the absolutely outrageous one about the two call girls and the Italian husband, they were all, on some levels, scary. The worst was the one about the ageing parents and their only son, and that birthday meal in that distinctly bleak Irish village setting. That one I narrated to my husband (to his horror) hoping that our future is not that.

I waited anxiously for the one authored by Murakami himself, and of course he saved it for the very end. I read with interest that it was written exclusively for this anthology, and that it was triggered in his mind by his own experience of turning twenty. I tried to recall my own 20th birthday and frankly, I just don't recall a single detail of it. Likewise my 21st. Anyway, I hurriedly read it through to the end, and of course, did a double take and read it again to make sure that (a) I understood it somewhat and (b) the story had really ended.

I was a bit disappointed with that one, I admit. I expected something poignant, thought provocative, with a hidden depth that I would explore at length in my mind later, and yes, the word I am looking for is haunting. Instead I was left with something that felt, for lack of a better word, just plain unfinished.

Before you accuse me of it, no, I am not a fan purely of the long form, I like short stories. I read them quite often, especially when going through a busy stretch of life, they are the best. I like the suddenness of them, the inherent unpredicability, the comfortable lack of deep character exploration, and ultimately the fact that they allow me to imagine beyond the typed words.

But this book left me - not - as I expected -  in a thoughtful mood where I would sit around and think about the stories and try to pick at them in my head, but in a hurried mood wanting to pick up something else to read and replace it all with. Nevertheless, there was one saving grace in it all, and that was that none of the storied featured cats! Cats! I have had enough of and will take Dylan's 115th Dream over anything to do with cats, anyday! 

Hydrating for a marathon

(source: not me)

I usually carry a water bottle wherever I go. Especially if I am running a marathon the next day, and all my friends are busy hydrating for what seems to be a week and I figure I may as well do that too, 'cause you know, you never know the day before the marathon that you may twist your ankle and throw 16 weeks of training (even if desultorily done amidst much stress).

But I forgot.

Plus the rule in the airport is never really clear. Can you carry your bottle through the security if it's empty? Or should you take a sip and show them it's potable? Or will they chuck the damn thing into the trash? So of course I don't dare to carry my good bottles. But a random one lying around the house can be recruited for this purpose easily.

But this time I forgot.

So I sucked it up and bought a bottle of water paying an astronomical amount in both paper currency and mother earth screwing up currency. I drank up a bunch and decided to save the rest for the car ride in Mumbai (bound to be long).

I got on the flight and proceeded to do my usual thing of sleeping from before take off to just after landing, waking up only to scarf up the breakfast they provided (don't recall what it was, I was awake just long enough to consume it).

When the flight landed in Mumbai I woke up and twiddled my ears a bit 'cause they were blocked and looked for my bottle. It was all crushed like. I guess they make these water bottles from cheaper and cheaper plastic of late, and plus all the pressure changes or what not. A bit of OCD made me try to straighten it out a tad but it wasn't important so I left it.

Then this stranger woman sitting next to me says "here, let me". I was fine, I DO NOT MIND I wanted to say but before I could capitalise my letters she grabbed the bottle. And believe this. A stranger of a woman who I had had no relationship with up to the point we boarded that 1.5 hours flight. SHE BLEW INTO THE BOTTLE.

I am not known as a good poker player. She must have seen the emotions clearly go across my face. I am not violent by nature so I could easily resist the temptation to slap her on the cheek. But I was so so annoyed! I am pretty easy going among friends and family about sharing food or what not but *shudder* what was she thinking! I pictured all the germs in her mouth, all the cooties and what not.

I reached my room and gave that bottle a nice big rinse. And yes, I did not hydrate (at least not from that bottle) for the rest of the day.... 

For the love of writing

At the end of it all, when I think about the reasons why I love this little space of mine, it boils down to just that. The love of writing. The joy in seeing words form in my mind and find their way to the keyboard and then on to this nice little template on blogspot.

Admittedly, 2016 has come and gone and I have very little to show for it. I used moodle a fair bit for my course and even that was not with the same degree of enthusiasm as usual. Aside from that, I wrote a number of articles of a general nature for The Wipro Chennai Marathon's public outreach. The most fun I had was when I wrote for our magazine The Rundown. Here have a look at something I recently put together, just some irreverent stuff in the context of The Wipro Chennai Marathon.

From The Rundown, Dec 2016 Edition

I like my alter-ego Maami Thayir Saadam, or MTS. She has gotten around to saying things that I wouldn't have said as Preeti, or KPBM, for that matter. But it's a tag team effort with the one and only ludwig for the column (not that he is a Maami, though he could be I suppose!) and so it may be that we have to fight it out for our space there at some stage, we'll see!

Meanwhile, having finished with the myriad responsibilities of 2016, which left me breathless and with barely a minute of time for myself, I am glad to be back here, doing what I like to do on a Saturday evening! (Having spent Friday evening putting together a little space for my course, over here). 

A page for my current course

I am also determinedly attending to my twitter and facebook handles, I won't repeat what I said over there about the annual pilgrimage to the Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon, go see it over there, instead! 

Oh I suppose I will do this. The child, monster, as it was referred to earlier times, does occasionally use the opportunity to diss me in public, on her own blog, at The One Blog To Rule Them All  as she likes to call it. Do have a peek and give her some back pats once in a while. I do rue the day I set up the page for her occasionally, as my name is dragged through mud, but I guess it's all a part of the joy of motherhood! 

Till later then. 

Nostalgia

(with thanks to facebook for unearthing this gem)

I think when you are 42 years old, you spend a whole bunch of time thinking about the past. I recently met with some friends - girls err women - I went to college with. We had a nice lunch - chat - exactly like we would have in those days in the early 90s'. Well, except for small differences. You know, one of the kids came along, one of us drove, the other brought her bike, Ola cab was summoned. We talked about calories. And uteruses.

But mostly, we talked about - and thought about in between sentences - about our life in those days. The fun days in the hostel. That old tree outside the library. Boys. Rules. Life lessons. How we thought we knew everything there was to know. We laughed at ourselves - our naivete, the confidence that we had in those days.

In many ways it was wonderful. We have been in touch for the most part, we know a lot about what our lives have been in the past 25 years since that day we all first met, back in 1991. We understand each other without having to say much. We can talk about the others without having to give the whole back story or explain things. We are happy, secure, and life is just generally awesome in one's forties no?

But then there are always those lingering moments - sometimes during our meet-ups, but most times afterwards when I think about it. It's a sadness, for what has clearly been left behind. And a regret that I didn't do that or say this. For me, these are not about the big things - career, husband, family. It's the small things. Not understanding someone's cry for help. An unnecessary argument I still recall. A small meanness I once displayed. A jealous feeling I had. A callousness... Taking someone for granted at times...

Oh I was young, I tell myself. I couldn't have known better. I was grappling with a ton of things. I was working myself to the bone on so many things. I justify it, in my head. I wouldn't call it guilt - not like there are that type of big old skeletons in my college closet to make me feel guilty per se. I guess it's an inescapable feeling that I should have been a better person, and a fear that even now, at 42, I may not be as good a person as I want to be.

Overall though, I clutch jealously to my old friends. They give me a peek into my old self, they remind me of the firebrand I used to be, they tell me the stories I have forgotten, and the best of it all is that they have grown meanwhile, into lovely women. All the edges rounded, a really peaceful aura around them. Of course, I can stay 'Hey BSA, Can I borrow your SLR?' and they will laugh, and we will talk about the godawful common room where the TV was located... 

Again about Gulmohars

I used to love the summertime back then. There was the whole last-day-of-school ritual. We would just go crazy. I would warn my family that I would be back home late. And we would get up to something or the other in school - just silly things - like playing a lot. That one time we challenged each other about using the teacher's bathroom; or to throw something into the staff room and escape before we were caught... Random stuff.

Once that was taken care of and all the sundry people we would not really see through the summer vacation dispatched, my friend & I would return home slowly, on our cycles. Weaving in and out and trying out any cycling tricks we had mastered. And then, reluctantly, with regret, we would separate and go to our individual homes (that were two streets apart, so not like miles away or anything).

The evening brought much excitement as my sister & I ran to the library and checked out as many books as the guy would allow. He was always very wary about us, I guess he was convinced that between the three of us (my mom, sis & I), we were capable of making him go out of business! Which was rather silly 'cause mom was one of his biggest supporters and always paid him extra. IF he had shut shop during our Mysore years, we would have been devastated, so seriously, he needn't have worried. [Last month we walked past and yes, he has gone out of business now, surely].

I would make grandiose plans for the rest of the summer. It involved things like: borrowing all the books my friend Anu's parents would allow from their collection (mostly, P G Wodehouse, Agatha Christie); & checking out all the arts & crafts books from dad's college library (all those special things I imagined I could do, if only I lived in the U.S., and had access to pipe cleaners, double sticky tape, craft paper, & what not). I signed up for several hours of basketball. I walked over to houses of my seniors and begged them for text books and work books (seriously).

May in Mysore is really wonderful. It's boiling hot - something that didn't used to bother me as much in those days as it does now. The large number of Gulmohar trees in the city are all in bloom (they were, this year as well, no worry). The koels and other birds are in fine form. And the general atmosphere of laid-backness is only amplified. I barely noticed that people in jobs continued to rush over to their various destinations in the morning. There is a fresh smell that used to hang around in the air - and believe me, I have tested the air right from early morning hours (basketball) to mid-afternoon (cycling expeditions here and there), to early evening (play time with friends).

Most of all, it was time for renewal and to do all the things I wanted to do in my life, which the regular schedule of school & homework & exams and so forth didn't allow me to. Over the years, I have become rather attached to this, which is why it's a good thing that I am in an academic job. Whatever else it is or isn't, the summer is awesome. Except that over the years, it is losing it's charm. One year it's a house move, the other a school move, or it's house painting or a family function. It's some unanticipated travel. Or that pile of things left over from the semester.

Obviously, as a full grown (ahem!) adult, it's incumbent upon me to finish all those tasks. To use the summer, when there is no teaching, to check all those boxes. To make sure that, by the time the undergrads come back to the campus and life goes back to insane busy-ness, I am ready to give my undivided attention to just juggling the usual teaching-research-home-parenting-other stuff stuff. So no more dreamy lists and fun "projects"; no more 3 hour basketball sessions (or whatever). No origami. No writing. Just Nose To The Grindstone again. Fine, I will do it. But I am under no obligation to like it. Mind it. 

London Marathon and So On

Thank you random google searchable website with such cards. It captures the essence of my relationship with my daughter perfectly! Though the visual is quite off. She is about an inch taller than me now, and it may interest you to know that recently, she outgrew her crocs, passed them on to me, and bought the next size. 

It has been an interesting summer, for sure. Last summer, in one more of those incessant food battles at home, I had thrown her a challenge. I asked her to grow taller than me by the end of the summer, and Show Me. It was awesome for me that she didn't manage that last year, but then the time to gloat has passed, and I am officially the shortest person in our house, plus have the smallest feet.

We had a great trip to London. I ran the Virgin Money London Marathon, it was amazing. It was my dumb luck that the day of the marathon turned out to be a super cold day. I barely sweated, and held together very well for a long while, running even Kms. The last few Kms were tough, I was still a bit cold, but no big. Met the family at 40th Km, gave me some mojo, finished in decent spirit and time (4:24), felt strong but was very cold. By the time I settled down near the other Indian runners, my lips were blue and all the clothes I wore were of no use. Thankfully, after a coffee and a hot bath, I felt fine!

The week long vacation we had after that was really fantastic. We did a walking Harry Potter tour (Muggle Tours) which was incredible, 'cause it was super geeky (so child lapped it up and answered all the questions before they were even asked). We did the Universal Studios thing also, which was alright. Butterbeer was terrible. Ugh. SO SWEET. We went on a Beatles walking tour (cute), saw Matilda (amazing), Mousetrap (super), rode everywhere in the tube, went to the Lord's Tavern (glug), drank some awesome beers (mmmmm...), cooked in our apartment (why not, dammit?), lost a scarf in Hyde Park (but found it again), & stood on the Prime Meridian. 

Birth Month Update

It has to be most lame birthday I have had in my 1000 year life on earth. First of all, I bought a bucketload of things earlier in March. Like, an iPad (admittedly, I have barely touched it up to now), and a Garmin (Love It), boots, and clothes, and things. Not to mention an inverter battery, and new tires for my car, and stuff like that. When some NGO called me repeatedly and emo-blackmailed me into donating some money, I sort of did that too.

So, all in all, it was no time to treat myself to an iPhone (like I did last year) or anything. & I went off to the holiest of holy places - Tirupati. Though I couldn't walk up the steps, go stand in the Serpentine queue, and get darshan of Lord Venkateshwara, I was happy that I could visit there and see a whole new bunch of students!

First up I met up with some 200 girls in the Engineering stream at Padmavathi Mahila University. It was a great experience to be in a room of enthusiastic, well dressed, neat and tidy students! It was great that it was all girls - strange as well! I spoke about a bunch of things and threatened to ask Chemistry questions if they didn't interrupt me. So, interrupt me they did!!

"Who is really your inspiration" they asked - after I had rattled on about Tessy Thomas and Kathrine Switzer and Lijjat Papad. I hmmed and hawed and said this and that and finally the bulb clicked and I said "MOM" - and they all nodded happily at that. And I nodded inside as well, because, well, that's epiphany in public.

I then spoke in the weirdest shaped room in all the civilised world! I mean it was a super wide room - how to cover that much ground? I walked everywhere and had them swivel their heads like that horror movie child thingie, but still, it was weird. This was in IIT Tirupati (temp. location). I spoke about adapting to change, and marathons, and stuff like that, and it was good fun though the bunch was pretty rowdy and noisy.

We ended the session with a loud karaoke rendition of Lungi Dance, and I resisted the temptation to Dance Like It Was My Birthday. After all, 42 is no joke. Yep, that's me, the forty-two year old who rode a train and took selfies and resisted the temptation to eat Masal Vada in the train station. 

Meanwhile, the child has, in a moment of inspiration, and in an attempt to avoid learning html coding that the school wants her to, started to blog. I mean, she has started today, just hope she keeps it up. I will be fine with all the hazing-the-mom activity if she keeps it up and practices writing or vents her thoughts, or whatever it is she wants to do with it. Here, read if you want to:

New Kid On The Blog

Image Make Overs Are Overrated

This is NOT me, she even spells her name differently, so there. 

So it has happened. The undergrads are all back in the campus. In characteristic style, a large team of workers has taken it upon themselves to fully dig up the road outside the building where our classes are. They have blocked up about 3/5ths of the road. One can't drive, walk, cycle, or breathe forget about parking or anything nice like that. The campus is bursting at the seams, I swear.

I am getting that familiar Friday evening feeling of being bone tired, but in a good way. However, this I admit. I started the week thinking that I would transform myself a bit this semester. Image Make Over Baby! I kept telling myself. Vaguely defined, I admit, but I had a few thoughts:

• Wear sarees more often
• Be super organised with daily calendar and meetings
• Be ultra prepared for class with all fun things lined up
• Shoo off anyone who comes to see me without an appointment
• Be serious and firm about rules like the above
• No compromise on exercise + no junk

Let's see how it went and a bit of projection about what I expect to happen. On Monday I wrote a brand new saree and was well prepared for class. Actually I was over ambitious and could only cover ~60% of the material I had planned. No worries, 'cause I used it for Tuesday's class. The other classes went fine as well and I used coloured chalk and stuff.

I gave a talk outside campus - at a local college here on Thursday. I wore a gigantic saree. Traveled a long way. Gave my long talk, had lots of exercises planned which they (who are professors themselves) participated in enthusiastically. It was super fun. I excused myself from lunch and rushed back but traffic made me miss an informal session in lab I had planned.

Lots of people came and got signatures and asked "Two minutes ma'am" type doubts and the phone guy called tons of times to tell me he has fixed my new office phone. I had to be called frantically by my student for a meeting that I semi-forgot. And when another student called me a day in advance to remind me well in time about his meeting, I had a panic attack (almost) 'cause I thought I was late to meet him.

I suddenly discovered (seriously, this shouldn't come as a surprise) that I have Lab class. The lab is large, warm, toasty and dusty. It would be good practice to wear closed shoes to the class. Saree + Sneakers! UGH! So while I did OK on saree wearing and generally being decently attired this week, prognosis is not good. I am likely to fall back to my usual well worn pants and kurtas and stuff, specially with the house painting going on.

I was too zonked and had all sorts of pains Mon-Tue-Wed so I have essentially had three good exercise days this week so far. The cycle ride was fun as was the workout I cranked out yesterday on the terrace. And today I woke up extra early to make sure I got my workout - which was hard, but possibly not hard enough (lift to failure? Seriously, I need a better handle on that).

In short, my make over has ended before it even began. The future, it's bleak. I am me, and shall remain so. Messy, distracted, hair all piled up on my head, and wearing ill fitting clothes. Yep. Me.

Mysore Half Marathon

Even in the most megalomaniacal mood I couldn't write this in TWCM blog, so here I am. With some not-so-breaking news! And musings! 

On Sep 29th, I ran in the 3rd Namma Mysore marathon organised by Life is Calling. I have been meaning to run in this event since inception but it was always one thing or the other. All legitimate excuses, I promise. I managed a quick trip in and out of Mysore this year for it, so glad I could. Plus met up with the family and ate mum's dosas.... Yippee!

Of course, it is an exciting thing. I drooled over the race route every year - it starts at the Mysore Palace, winds all over, hits the Kukkarahalli Kere, goes past my sister's college and my school, dad's college, Neha's college, comes back down near where we used to live in those days, and returns to the Palace again. Drool.

I am in decent shape lately, I must say. The hyderabad marathon, where I was the 5 hour pacer, was good. I finished strong. The crazy flyover runs we have been doing in Chennai actually helped a bit. I have reduced mileage since end-August as I am working with a group of beginners training for TWCM, but have been super disciplined anyway.

The first km is itself uphill at Mysore. It's a super familiar place (Devraj Urs Road) having been here a million times but I was quickly out of breath running there! Of course I started in typical fashion at an insane pace (someday I am going to learn to start slow). It stayed uphill past Regaalis etc. and then it was up and down but I was enjoying running in all these places so much that I kind of didn't worry about things till the KM 15 or so. I did slow down but was still at a good clip throughout.

I saw all the lead runners on the trail part of the run, and was glad to note that I was in third position. But wasn't sure if there were any women near me, with all the uphill parts I was sure I would slow down in the later part of the race and that if anyone was near me they would overtake me. Not that I was too worried about it, of course. If they did, they did. Nothing I could do about it.

When I passed my school - 12 years there - I really really wanted to stop and take a photo. I was grinning like an idiot. But I was also hurting a bit and didn't think I would get a good shot thanks to the high compound wall - so continued on. I was all alone on this stretch, I couldn't wait for someone to catch up with me to tell them. That someone was a nice looking chap from the Navy or something but by then I had stopped tearing up and it was cool. I just told him, my school is lovely.

Dad's college passed by too quickly and I was going down a familiar downhill. How I used to love to ride my bike fast down that part of my commute home! I advise all the people to chill out and not run fast downhill lest they blow their knee out, but I couldn't resist... One final small hill to crest - and then the course flattened out nicely, and I left behind sentimentality and concentrated on keeping to a decent time.

I ran into a friend from Chennai at some stage and he pulled ahead, strong, at a water point. I was glad to see him go 'cause the sub-2 was in the bag for him, it meant. But I looked down at my watch and realised it was likely that I could do it as well. So I urged the little heart to fight it out. Another friend who had finished earlier showed up to pace me the last few hundred meters. I didn't put in as much as a kick as I usually do at the finish ('cause I only do that if I am on a track!) but came in in 1:57 and change anyhow.

I was super duper happy with the time. I did feel like I had worked hard, and finished strong. Did my usual Viparita Karani (suspending my legs) move on some random palace wall (after finding one that didn't have any gods on it!) and drank up all my water, and stretched out nicely and walked around a lot, admiring the Palace and taking pictures...

Then waited and waited and waited a long while to finally get the chance to go up on stage and collect my third place trophy. The auto I flagged afterward had this super chatty driver who refused to believe that anyone would pay money to just participate in this mad caper of a race....

Mum and Grandmum and Aunts and all were very kicked about the whole thing... Paper had my name going on which was cool. And check me out all pink and smiling with my trophy thing!

Another life, lemons post

So it has come to pass that I am on kitchen duty for the past couple of days. My cook has reported an unidentified back issue. The rest of the household is all up in arms (except my husband & I, who believe her) about this, as she does a fair bit of the cleaning as well. And her absence means the lackadaisical approach to cleaning my maid adopts is evident to all. Among other things.

But y'all know my life gives you lemons attitude right? It helps a lot, in such times. I feel bad for her, as she has a tough life, and hope she gets better soon. It has only been a couple of days after all, so I am feeling fine about it all. I am a bit worried about next week, of course, but I can definitely postpone that worry for a little bit.

In the meanwhile, I am enjoying my kitchen time. In the mornings, I enter post-workout for school lunch dabba + breakfast activities. We recently bought new lunch boxes for the child as the old one left much to be desired (she was using my ancient three tier box for some reason I don't recall). It is all beautiful and colourful, and she loves it.

As she is not the world's best eater, and not in the least bit adventurous, her lunch is best described as unimaginative. Everyday. Seriously. It is quite boring. Not very unhealthy, thankfully. After years of haranguing by all parties involved, she generally finishes it (it is a very small amount at any rate), but it is frustrating for me to think about.

Now that it is in my hands, I strongly feel that it is much better. I do repeat a few of the popular things every day (one of them is rasam rice, I swear). But I mix it up a fair bit. Especially if everyone else in the household can be convinced to clear out of the kitchen. Today we featured brocolli & green gram sprouts in the snack boxes, for example.

Breakfast has also been very much more enjoyable (at least for me). Eggs, fruit, oats, idlis, dosas, are all rubbing shoulders with each other. If the milk management is a little off, I am not to blame, I promise.

I discovered something about myself. I love working in the kitchen. I like EVERYTHING about it. The cutting of vegetables, cooking, cleaning, clearing up, washing dishes. Seriously, everything. It has been very fun. This is very positive and nice.

And there is one thing negative that I have discovered as well. I don't like other people in my kitchen. At all. I 'allowed' the child to chop some tomatoes for me (I was grateful, really) last night. The cook - she sort of takes over my kitchen when she is around, and of course, I tolerate it.

I remember how my mum would only reluctantly allow me kitchen time (which I loved a lot even as a child). I recall several discussions with my husband about this matter. Over the years I have worked hard to overcome at least in part this control freak nature of me. I mean, circumstances prevent me from having the luxury of ruling this part of my house. So no point frustrating myself by being up in arms about it.

This morning during my very enjoyable track workout, this is what I came up with. It has been great. I love our new kitchen and it makes me feel all gooey and heart-melty that this our home now. But I have to chill out. Take what I can get. When the opportunity presents itself, or when the situation forces my hand, I will enjoy it. There, I am chilling now. Calm. 

Notebooks & I

I carry a notebook around. I am also viscerally attached to my laptop of course, and do lots of stuff on it all the time but my favourite thing to do is carry a physical notebook with pages, around. One of my office shelves is filled with my grad school notebooks, still. I used to use the long spiral bound ones with the school logo embossed on it. Lovely, they were.

The stuff inside doesn't make sense any more but I am loathe to throw them out. I am more ready to throw out the several shelves of research article print-outs I have in the office. Yes, this was a time when one had to go to the library, pull out thick volumes, take them down to the photocopy place, fight with the machine, and so forth. Yes, we had heard of .pdfs, but just about.

In recent times I like the several-subject notebooks. I haphazardly allot sections to different things. My own doodlings and thoughts and analysis for new research ideas go in one section. Student's work discussions go in another. The rest have various projects and so forth. I also have a completely dedicated notebook for the course I teach, of course.

The course notebook usually gets filled to the brim and, there are spill overs. I hate when I run out of pages just before the final or something. So I have to take care to allot a book with enough pages, depending on the course. And no, I don't use last year's notebook too much even if I teach the same course (so sue me).

Currently, since there is no teaching, I don't have a course notebook in my hand. My fat research notebook I put away over the weekend, into my bag. I allotted a smaller, handier notebook for current purposes. Which involve the making of lists. And more lists. This time I chose interesting ways to title each list, unlike the last time. "Absolutely critical things I have to do" "Things that the movers are likely to lose" "Precious things" (the last includes a bite-sized bottle of smirnoff, for one).

The last time I moved, it was across the breadth of the country. It was a nightmare to say the very least about it. We had part of our stuff in our flat in Hiranandani. We had most of our stuff in the IIT flat in Powai. The contractor we had hired for fixing up the rental house in Chennai proved to be an ass, and it was unclear if he had finished our work. Dust was bound to abound.

We had a US trip planned some 4 days after arriving in Chennai. Oh yes, I had stuff in my office to be moved as well. And my husband was traveling a lot in those days. It was summer, and I didn't have a class to teach and I had gotten rid of at least all my master's students, but still it was a pain as I also had to do paperwork at work for various things related to my sabbatical leave.

I still have that notebook. Lots of things are ticked off in my really voluminous set of lists of things. I feel good looking at it, but also, scared. The sheer number of things involved is just ridiculous. I have some pet obsessions, which are not easy to deal with. Gas cylinder and washing machine set-up come to mind. Not to mention lines for hanging clothes to dry.

This time the pet obsessions pale in comparison with the larger set of things that are going to hit us in the face. The cement, dust, wood splinters, weirdness of the doors, the fact that the carpenters are probably going to be honorary family members for the near future, the unfinished basement, Oh I don't even want to think further.

Yes, we are moving. Its best that I check out of regular life for a bit and concentrate on that upcoming ordeal, and use my organisational skills to ensure the family is not too pained overall during this time... 

Lets talk about the weather

When I was a child, I lived with my aunt. Wait. That came out wrong. We were a joint family, so my aunt was there at home. But so were my parents. And my grandfather. And my big sister. And uncle. For the most part, that is. Occasionally, one or the other relative came and lived with us, briefly.

The aunt, though. She was the head of our household. And boy. She ruled with an iron fist. Margaret Thatcher would have been proud. Why? Indira Gandhi would have been proud as well. I am sure, if she could, she would have made us salute her every morning.

I am not sure why we all put up with her shenanigans. But thats how the die used to roll. Even my grandfather, who was often accused of being a bit of a patriarch, would crumble down in front of her beady, disapproving eye. My parents, they had no hope.

Sometimes I feel I inherit from my mum, not just genetically, but also based on watching her as I was growing up, that ability, maybe disability, to just allow others strong wills to wash over. I argue often that its because I truly don't care. But at the core is something else. Something not too nice, thats inside us both. Which was fostered by years of living in that household.

So the aunt, she was of course one of those traditional ladies of that generation. The kind that holds aloft the rules of bygone eras like shields. Dishes were triple washed. Once by the maid, in tap water. Then by my mum, likewise. One final time by the aunt, using well water (which stank though, again a matter that we were not allowed to say much about).

My sister is not like me. In fact, we are chalk and cheese. In adulthood, you would probably say that she is the easy going one. While I am the vociferous one who might get in your face (if I stopped living my life long enough to care). But when we were kids, she was really, all over the aunt. She tolerated very little nonsense and came up with stuff about all the rules of the household that sounded very hilarious if not for the outburst we were sure it would cause.

One for tantrums, this aunt. For the most insane things. I remember many of the big tantrums, the basic stuff like when my young uncle was to be married and something most silly transpired in that context, and one time when a visiting aunt took my sis and me and got our hair chopped off. Not to mention the time my dad refused to take the day off during a solar eclipse. Seriously, the most absurd things.

We had all these rooms in the house one inside the other. The last one being the puja room which was super sacrosanct and you couldn't randomly enter it during your period or if you visited someone's house where there was a death, and I am not sure, if we ate at a hotel or something like that. She would just go off, like crazy.

I am sure that we all did stuff to irritate her, dad being all rebellious and always insisting that science trumps religion and tradition and stuff, and granddad also being a bit like that. And mum working outside the home wasn't helpful. Not to mention my sister who questioned things all the time. [I was a nice girl also very young at that time, but am sure I got on her nerves too. My squeaky voice for one was enough to irritate anyone, I'm sure].

Dad would return home from college and ask, as he took off his shoes "Hows the weather down south?" That was code for how the mood of said aunt (usually lurking deep inside the house in the puja/kitchen area) was. We came up with various. Sunny. Cloudy. Thunderstorms. Stormy etc. and got a good laugh at that. The mood would invariably reflect in the dosas she made for us, so sometimes I would beg my sis to lay off and not irritate her in the morning time...

I suspect I imbibed some of that, however hard I have resisted it - again, I cannot blame my genes as I don't share mine with her... I am continuing to have a stormy sort of mood. Who knows. Maybe its mid-life crisis. I feel that mid-life crisis is unavoidable, you know, like menopause. When you storm, it leaves a wake of sadness too, right? I feel bad for her now. I am sure no one showed her any love during that time. 'Cause we all just remembered the tantrum and not the person hidden inside it. Anyway she is gone now, very long gone, so really, no point worrying about it... 

Hello, Weekend? Goodbye, Weekend.

Do you dislike Mondays? I don't, so much. I used to hate Sunday evening/night more than any other thing. This was when we were in our long distance thing. He would leave back to New York on Sunday, in the evening. In anticipation of that, we would be at each other's throats the whole day (or nearly). I also had to cook stuff to send with him (the guilt, it hangs heavy on this one). As a rule, I enjoy cooking. But sometimes, it was just sad. I was sending him tupperwares filled with Sambar and Rasam and so on, and thinking, Shi-ite, he is going to have to make this last till wednesday at least (Thursday being Happy Hour day and no one eats old Sambar when you can play ridiculous games involving beer pitchers and such like, not even vegetarians. And Friday is when he would drive back up to College Inn - Seriously, I lived in a place that was called College Inn).

Now that we share a postal address, and have spawned a child, Sunday nights go very differently. We hang around. We polish the white shoes for Monday school. We eat leftovers (some things don't change, eh?). I cook sometimes, feeling very enthusiastic and driving up the house temperature by several. We go out and meet friends, sometimes, always telling ourselves that we ought to be back early because of school. I teach early class on Mondays, often. So I wake up super early and read and so forth. I wake the homies up and head off. I don't mind Mondays, its nice to have an early, fresh start to the week.

Since coming to Chennai, weekends have gotten fairly busy. There are the exercise orgy weekends sometimes - Long run Sat morning, Basketball Sat evening, Swim Sun morning, Basketball Sun evening. Those are lovely. Even though my eyelids start to droop by 8 pm. There are the social butterfly weekends - Long run Sat morning, Party Sat evening, Dehydrated Sun morning, Get Together Sun night. Then there are weekends like the last one, where I (a) cooked for several hours for several people (b) slept for several hours in several bursts. Not much exercise then, especially since there was a contagious jet lag type situation. He was genuinely, I think (having returned from parts West on Sat wee hours and Splish Splash Surely He Knew There Was A Party Going On and his grandmother was here too?). I was, just, in a zone.

I like to get my long run out of the way on Saturday. Its best for the household. My overall state of meta-stability means I get to avoid basketball for a few more weeks. I just went there and hung out on sidelines. The monster was running a bit of fever on friday so we did not bring her to the pool this weekend, which is just as well. I tried to sleep a bit extra this morning since it was a late-ish Saturday night (by my standards), but was rudely woken up by her. At least we sat in the garden for a bit and talked about Energy and so on for a few minutes. I am helping out with a summer camp for her school so that helped with some calibration. I cooked a bit. Veggie shopping combined with the dance class for monster. Lunch followed by a fairly long meeting about one of our upcoming trips. And a birthday party. Lots of new people met! A sprawling old house filled with heavy old artsy things!

So, on tuesday last, I posted the challenge. Here is how I have fared::

1. Running: 50 + 40 + 90 = 180 total mins. Possibly 18 miles, maybe a bit more.

2. Abs: 1 + 1 + 1 = 3.

3. Biking: 2 miles

4. Swimming: none

5. Interval w/o: none

This leaves me behind schedule. Definitely. By now, I should have run 25 miles. And done 5 sets of ab workouts. Other things are still handle-able. So, now I have to run 6 miles everyday this week to make up for that. The ab workouts I won't try.

Anyhow, what is left is: 57 miles, 12 ab workout events, 13 bike miles, 15 swim laps, and 2 interval workout events.

Till later then...

Tip Tap Tip Tap

Some mornings, all I want to do is put fingers to keyboard and just type type type away. Whatever comes to mind. I do have blogger's block often, but I also have the opposite of blogger's block, which is this tendency of rambling on somewhat incoherently for a bit, and then hoping some structure, some shape is miraculously acquired by the post. Many things come to mind at the same time, I guess that is the problem with the inverse-blogger-block thing.

I met up with an old friend this morning (no ludwig, don't say anything). It was really good. We used to play basketball together. Things I remember about my innumerable friends is the slightly off-beat, slightly insane things we have done together. In this case, the one thing that comes to mind is that we used to go together and play pick-up basketball games at a local high school in Amherst. Directionally, it was between his place and mine. I used to bring all my stuff to the office, and change in the bathroom and we would go over, play, sweat. It was fun though my body hurt when I went back to my all-in-one apartment and set up the rice cooker with whatever I could lay my hands on in my mini-fridge. By the time that got done my hunger and enthu to eat would both be gone. But it was a life. And it is still a happy memory. What a wonderful basketball court that one was! Soft wooden floor. Super fiber-glass boards. Expressly fast full court game. And a tall friend, and a ride to and fro in his Subaru. Wah! Wah!

It has been a busy week, as weeks go. I feel like I am in the quest for some quiet time. I need to sort through this surfeit of ideas buzzing in my brain. I am excited by them, but also, a bit worried about them. Actually I am worried about not being able to do anything with those ideas. I will be bothered if I find myself, next year, not having ticked anything off that list of ideas. But thats for later. For now I need to make that list, before all the ideas fly away and explode in the void. And prioritize the ideas list above the mundane tasks list (which reminds me, I have to order the gas cylinder for home else crisis will ensue).

Have a wonderful Friday, my friends. Look upon the weekend starry-eyed, grab it by its horns, go on.

Philosophical Grandstanding

First up I will admit that I am sort of mulling over this as we speak. So I still have not fully formed my thoughts. But why should that stop me from talking about them, right? Right.

I had a lot of opportunity for conversation in Germany. In one instance, two of us were badgering a third; we were telling her that she ought to take a particular decision (an administrative one, actually) because it was the right philosophical position to take. She was trying to convince us, mostly unsuccessfully, that philosophy be damned, practically, on the ground, her people would be really peeved if she took that particular decision, and her role was to keep them happy. Although I disagreed with her and insisted that if you took the twenty year picture it would be a wrong decision, and pretty irreversible as well, I have been ruminating since then. If thats her philosophy pertaining to her current position, whether the decision is ultimately right or wrong, she really is not violating any personal mental thing..

I have been reading McCall Smith again. The Right Attitude To Rain. (May I say, what a wonderful title! Think I should do a tribute to Smith based in Chennai, called The Right Attitude To Sweat). Of course I love Ms.Dalhousie. I thought I like Mme.Ramotswe better just last year, but now this one is a proclaimed philosopher and that just is perfect for how I am feeling about my life right now so I love Ms.Dalhousie. I love how she ponders on things and how Smith goes off on tangents in her mind even as the story moves forward, almost imperceptibly.

Many times, as I go through all these things that constitute this mortal life, I am at crossroads. Crossroads are such a challenge. There is the practical aspect, always. Maybe the easy downhill? (Watch the knees, girl!). There is the moral high ground. (Is it worth the effort? And besides me, none of my near and dear ones may care for this hill. But thanks to me, they have to puff up it as well). There is the middle path, usually, this is what I choose. I figure it gels with my philosophy of life (not that that is all formed and set in concrete, its a work in progress, obviously, as it ought to be). I am fiercely independent but I care sufficiently about other people. I am flexible and as long as I am that path, I know I can be happy 11 months out of 12, one way or the other. I don't do regret that much, I don't carry personal baggage around too much. But then I am very sentimental and emotional so there is definitely some mental gymnastics I indulge in due to that.

You can philosophise away anything, right. It works for me. As I grow older, it seems to take longer to get over some (usually minor) annoyance. The modus operandi (at least in principle) is like this. I have angry thoughts. I bite and yell. I regret the bites and yells. I get angry at myself. I calm down. I try to apologise. No one cares for apologies, I realise. Thankfully this is not such a bad thing, as I usually bite and yell at people with whom I have strong bonds, bonds which are not particularly shaken by minor things like temper tantrums or subsequent attempts at reconciliation. I spend a few days wallowing in self-pity and expecting the world to come and apologise to me and kicking myself for trying to apologise for things which are clearly the world's fault, and not mine. I think and analyse. My thoughts therefore enter a distillation column. They spend a good bit of time getting heated and swirling around there. Finally realisation dawns. And I am back. Spin-doctoring away everything.

As my body is aging, it is taking me longer to recover from injuries (and excesses). In some ways I treat it as a sign from within (yes, that is the other thing, all the stuff is from within, as far as I am concerned. I don't think its conceit. Or even supreme confidence. I don't know, its something). Sometimes I slow down, at others I accelerate, at the sign. Both seem to make sense. And recoveries from mental annoyances are also taking longer as I age. Same as the body thing. But somehow when I recover, I feel stronger, and better. My body perhaps just does not heal like my mind does, or maybe it just cannot. Or maybe its all an illusion created by my current mood of indulging in philosophical grandstanding... I am looking forward to my forties. Doodh Ka Doodh Paani Ka Paani ho jaayega, I think....

Trees On My Mind

My mind has been on trees, of late. Trees are a big part of my everyday life, anyway. If there is one thing I like about my work-place, it is that there are trees there by the zillions. Untouched for years, unperturbed by changes, oblivious to college festivals, impervious to faculty-angst, they dig their roots deep, and spread their branches wide.

I gaze lovingly at them as I run past in the early mornings. I peer longingly at them as I drive past later in the day, rushing to and from office and meetings and school pick-ups, and yes, coffee breaks.

I like to touch things with my hands. I surely love running my fingers over books. I like smelling books. I am a very unlikely convert to the Kindles of the world. I do pick up the odd leaf and smooth it over with my fingers. In my garden, I found, two months ago, the fuzziness of the pumpkin creeper’s leaf, and it has stayed with me, an imprint, a memory. But I rarely touch these trees. They look really venerable. And I feel I would disrespect them with my mortal touch. My eyes, on the other hand, swallow them whole.

Chennai is a wonderful city where you will, serendipitously, run into a wonderful neem tree, if you have your eyes open. Yesterday as we parked on the side and stepped out, I saw a forlorn house in a large ground area. “Three grounds” the guy said. The grass was overgrown, and uncared for. The batik cloth hangings in the verandah were dusty, clearly unused for many years. The trees though, were spectacular. One was a wiry little fellow, all knobbly joints and defiant looking, thriving on the Chennai rains. The other was a sedate old matron, all heavy mid-section and a wide canopy of leaves, comforting, motherly. ‘Oh I love it’ I said.

(maybe i had a telepathic thing with dipali and the spaniard, who knows?)

Colour me black

My mum had a friend at work. A lady. To me, she looked like a professional, dignified woman, in her sari and bindi. Several years younger than mum, and working at a place that could easily have been one on my list of places to apply to after my studies, she was a role model of sorts. I did not know her well enough to form a strong bond with her, however. She was single, no children, and did not seem to be the kind who knew what to do with over-eager kids either. But she was there, in my line of sight, as I hung around in the red mud near my school, playing Kho-Kho and getting my white uniform properly, deliciously, dirty.

I heard my parents talking about her one time. My ears perked up. My parents never had the chance to discuss things in private, I was sort of always there. The one time they managed to do that was close to my 11th birthday. They somehow plotted and bought me my red bike and surprised me with it. They hid it in the room in the back where we usually stored firewood (and parked dad's green scooter. One time, a rat hid its babies in the scooter and I think if not for mum's practical nature, dad and I would have managed to leave the tiny pink rat babies be there for ever).

They were saying something completely weird about this lady. Apparently, she had not changed her clothes for days. Mum claims right now that she spent three months in that period wearing the exact same sari and blouse. What about her undergarments? What about the petticoat? They laughed away my questions. Now, I sit in front of mum and ask her seriously, tell me, what about her petticoat? She doesn't laugh any more. I hope she changed those, she says.

It was all highly interesting and mysterious to me. It is depression of some sorts, dad said. Some guy must be involved, mum said. She was her friend but would not talk to her at all during those three months. She came to work, in that sari and blouse, did whatever was required (teach classes I suppose), and left. Only to come back the next day, in the same. How did her classes go, did the students complain of any funny business? I don't know, she did okay with her work, mum says.

Anyway the rest of the details are hazy now, to me, and to mum. But I have, all these years later, having even forgotten the lady's name, remembered the threemonthsari incident. And I think some days I can feel the weight of her sorrow. She has everything, why should she be depressed? This was what my parents would often ask (each other). I know though. No one ever has everything. Its just human nature to want the one thing you don't have. And if you want it badly enough, you go a bit wonky, and do funny things.

Did she take off that sari and blouse at home and wear it back the next day? Thats what I wanted to know. Mum thought yes. Like mum (and quite unlike me), the lady was very neat, and, as I said, dignified. Her saris were starched. The blouse fit properly, and matched. She wore neat little pieces of jewelry. And that single solitary sari of three months, it held up. It did not turn into rags. She never looked particularly unclean (although, compared with her original avatar, she looked slightly funny).

Me? All I feel like is dressing in black entirely. Today I suspected that I smelled bad. I took a shower just now. I do own a fair number of black things. I might be able to pull off the all black look for a bit without smelling bad. I don't promise to look very nice during this period though! But I am sure my loyal friends will bear with me, till I come out of my black phase. And start counting the positives; and accessing that bottom (filled) part of the glass of water in my mind...