Cooking and me

I love holiday baking . I actually love baking any day .But holidays are especially convenient since there are no immediate lesson plans or assignments that need my attention .

I  cook with all my heart . So what I need is absolute peace of mind to whip up something  special. The whole process fascinates me , or even the thought of the process, which involves measuring out the ingredients , mixing them in the correct order , whipping the eggs to a fluffiness or the cream to the required thickness .Then watching the outcome patiently through the glass door of the oven , waiting to see, the gentle rising of the cake , or the bread . The sheer sight of it makes me feel like an expectant  mother  viewing a sonogram.

The only thing we fight about at home is my reluctance to invite my husband’s friends at home for dinner or lunch. My husband calls me asocial and a sociopath. I am not really that , but on a regular weekend , I am not exactly relaxed to cook for people. When I cook, I need to know what you like. I prefer thinking  about the person I am cooking for ; not about the action plan I have to complete for the weekend . For me cooking involves love and passion and if you get an invite from me to dine at home, then you can be sure. Yes, I love you .

 I am an introvert and having friendly conversations with strangers terrifies me . Hence I avoid such situations .No offense meant .

Today I decided to bake cinnamon and raisin bread for dinner. After all, vacation is for unconventional  meals. The aroma and taste of cinnamon bread is to die for .I roll my bread dough tightly with a layer of cinnamon powder and sugar sprinkled, which would give the bread a lovely  brown streak when sliced.

To go along with it, I have my crispy baked chicken which was indeed the fourth item on Phinnaeus vacation baking list .

And here it is .

 

Difficult Choices

I have been extremely proud of the fact that I have always succeeded in giving satisfactory answers to the "whys" and "why nots" thrown at me by my children . Yesterday was an exception .I am yet to give an answer to a nine year old.

The nine-year old in question is none other than my younger son , Phinnaeus.

He is not the kind of person who would sit with books for more than an hour , be it fun reading or studying .His mind is always on an overdrive and hence he needs activity.The only time one would find him patiently concentrating is when he is on one of his creative projects ...drawing , craft, and innovations.

I let him have his way on all days except during examinations.Terminal examinations are a nightmare for me .He loves Science and is alright with English and Mathematics , hence no stress in that front.

Hindi is his bete noire. This time too he refused to study anything other than grammar .

The day of the Hindi exam, we were walking towards the car on our way back from school and I asked him .

"Baby, will you pass in Hindi?

Phin: How much is passing marks ?

Me: 20/50

Phin: Then I am not sure .Paper was very hard.

Me: You should have studied better.

Phin: Momma why do you want me to be expert in everything ? I am good at drawing and Science. Isn't that enough?

I have not found an answer that would satisfy him. I could say "It makes ME HAPPY when you get good marks" or "Your teachers and my friends will compare you with your brother and ask you why you are not scoring like him"

The first answer would be the most selfish thing which I could say because , he would do anything to see me smile , even if it is studying .

Comparison and how to deal with it , is a topic which I would address later .

Our children , most of the times do stuff , just because they do not want us to be disappointed in them .Parents know it very well. We ask them to excel in something , not pausing to think if that is what they really want .And what is our excuse as parents?

"Whatever we do, we do it for you . It is for your own good. You will get a plum job with high salary . We don't need your money anyway ."

This holds true.But isn't there an under current of hypocrisy?

I WILL FEEL PROUD

I WILL FEEL HAPPY

I CAN BOAST BEFORE OTHERS

What if , we let them choose their own path ? They may not always bring success in term of money , but they would be doing something what they are passionate about .

If we do the above and if our children don't succeed, will they turn back and ask" Why did you let me do what I want to do? Why did you not tell me that I am wrong? Why did you not force me to do something which would bring me a secure life ?"

I have no answers. I do not whether to wind the watch or bark at the moon. Trial and Error is the only way left with me .

So I am pushing one of children towards what I think would be good for him and I am waiting in the wings to see, to what extend he would let me do that . I am trying to get him hooked to the picture of his probable future which I am painting for him in fascinating colours .

The other one, I am letting him have his way , and waiting to pull him back on his feet in case he needs me .

In the end , who will LOVE me and who will HATE me for the choices I made or I didn't make for them , only time will tell.

Do We Need All The Modern Trends in Education?

Recently I was having a chat with one of my Grade X students who aspires to pursue a career in Sports on improving his grades and he asked me “ Ma’am how can I work hard for something I am not obsessed with?”
He is right. In our education system , parents and teachers push children where they want them to be. We hardly take the cue from the child and lead him where he wants to go .
How do we best educate the students of tomorrow? Is it really required to accept and implement the latest educational trends? Why can’t I teach them the way I was taught?
How do we best educate the students of tomorrow? What we teach our children – and how we teach them – will impact almost every aspect of society, from the quality of healthcare to industrial output; from technological advances to financial services. The world is racing ahead and hence it is the need of the hour to adapt to keep pace with the bewildering array of possibilities that will shape all of our futures.
What if a class consisted of words that led to information that led to realms of creativity set up just for students, created by students. The students then dictated what they learned instead of reluctantly ingesting information and standards imposed upon them by the education system . The students will follow their passion and dreams and might just learn what they want to learn and actually find success while improving the world around them.
This exists in some of the modern trends . Indian classrooms too have started adapting and evolving, learning to follow the lead of the learner . As of now , this is what everyone clamors for . The long term cons would be revealed only when the learners who learn using the new methods would rule the world .
Will the changing trends encourage wholesome development of the learner? Will it teach life skills necessary for surviving in a society ? Let us keep our fingers crossed and believe that we are building creative, entrepreneurial students and our modern format helps their talents to flourish and take shape ..

A Place on the Road to Somewhere

Something brought fond memories of this little village in which I spent my growing up years, as a girl and a teen. A place called “PoomKavu“.Nothing spectacular or picturesque about its geography , just a place on your road to somewhere else…..but for me everything else

We came to stay at Poomkavu in the year 1984 in a rented two room kitchen house with both front and backyard.There was a cashew tree in the front yard and a few bushes of hibiscus along with a poinsettia.
The house itself was small, with no porch or sit- out but just a couple of concreted steps outside the doors of both rooms which faced the road. At the backside, adjacent to the kitchen ,there was a shed too which we utilized as a play area and also by our house owner for storing wood and other such things.

It was a 10 minutes walk to my alma mater , St Mary’s Residential School.I was in Grade 5 and Lincey in Grade 1. Linta was just two years old.

The very first friend I had there was Anita .She was my neighbour and was in Grade 4. My relation with Anita and her family was not just that of a friend. She was my confidante , comrade –in – naughtiness, my soul sister . All those memories bring a warm comfortable feeling ….just like snuggling under a blanket on a cold winter morning and not wanting to arise …….

Our morning procession to school started from her house. Me and Lincey used to go to her house and the chaos there …..In all those years there was hardly any day when they were ready before we reached. Anita and her sister Aleena, then her cousins Jomon and later Gregory getting ready to be off to school, her aunt Laisa and uncle Georgekutty ..off to college ..all in that morning hours. We would be impatiently waiting in their parlour …..someone would be plaiting hair….other packing tiffin..Anita’s grandmother complaining of them not getting up early …..and finally somehow around 9:20 we used to rush off pulling our siblings along.

All our girlish tattle and discussions happened on the way to school and back .From teachers to classmates , stories of movies , neighborhood gossips, who loves whom , both at school and church ..and so on.
On weekends we would be visiting each others house and we would play together . It was house-house mostly,transforming lungi’s into sarees or draping mom’s old sarees (when she is in a benevolent mood). Someone would be the man of the house,wearing a lungi (as a lungi) ,going for shopping.Sometimes I used to climb the window ,which would be our coconut tree,with my lungi folded up to bring down the imaginary coconuts…..Then it would be travelling in a bus with one of us as driver and other conductor issuing tickets and making someone get up and offer their seat, because a lady with a baby has boarded and needs to be seated.Or else,hospital with doctor and patients with any ailments,ranging from fever to pregnancy.
Now when I look back I feel amazed,how even the tiniest conversation, or deed which is seemingly insignificant to an adult, is absorbed and emulated by children.We did then ….and our kids do it still,maybe in a different way .

Anita’s father was in Kuwait and during his yearly visits he used to bring dresses for us along with foreign erasers and pencils and chocolates which was my first taste of luxuries provided from an alien land.I used to listen to all her stories about her Dad’s office and Kuwait with awe. They started the construction of their huge double storeyed mansion which became our play area when the construction work was not happening.

I did my first act of dare.....jumping down to a heap of fine sand ,first from the first floor and then from the second floor never realizing the danger .Anita sprained her leg in the process and I do not remember whether we did confess the cause to her mother.

It was a second family to me where I had all the love and freedom and all those moments which I spend there, would remain with me forever . I do not recollect every minute detail, but all I know is, those years with Anita has left a mark on me …it is just like this bump on your forehead, having collided with someone you love, when you both bend down together to pick up something from the floor at the same time…….It wouldn’t go ….and every time you see it ,you cannot help smiling .

This is just one of my bumps….my marks…which I got from Poomkavu...

My memories of You

I read recently in a not so famous book ,that the saddest part of losing a loved one is when you realize that you have finally moved on ….that you can live without them .And if you thought so otherwise , it was during that moment when your heart is trying to burst due to overwhelming grief .

Initially your grief comes to you like an angry wave on a high tide ,lashing against all defenses …then slowly the intensity decreases ,reducing to ripples that broke smaller and less fierce and you watch them come towards you and stop short, not reaching you and you stand there watching ,being aware that they cannot grasp you anymore , nor disorient you , but only leave the frothiness and carry a bit of sand from under your feet .

And hence here I am, trying to pick up the pieces of my memories and polish them and preserve them before they fade too.

My first memories as a child is associated with the morning cycle ride from my home at Konni to “the tailoring shop” .I do not remember the name of the shop but at present Konni Telephone exchange is located at the place where the shop used to be. My school pick up car used to halt in front of the shop .It was about 15 minutes ride and my daddy’s cycle had this green coloured tiny seat fitted in the front for me .I do not know if we had any conversations during that ride .But once in a blue moon ,he used to buy me steaming dosa’s with coconut chutney from a shop on the way .It was during my pre-primary and primary years ,till third standard . I can still clearly see myself sitting slightly hunched on that tiny seat and feel my daddy’s face nuzzling my hair .This will remain as one unforgettable memory of mine about my daddy .

Then comes books. He bought books for me ,Balarama.Poompatta, Amar Chitra katha,Paico Classics and many story books. Here I see myself seated on the doorstep , on the eve of my social studies exam of third standard ,reading “Thacholi Othenan “ and my mother scolding daddy for buying story books during examination .We had this yearly visits to my daddy’s native village Kattanam during summer vacations. On the way, our bus “Prabhat” used to halt for 15 minutes at Pandalam right outside a Bata showroom, which used to sell books too. He used to buy books and sometimes allowed me to accompany him and choose one for myself . If I am a voracious reader today ,it is only because of my daddy and I have passed this legacy to my elder son .

I have a rather terrifying memory too .My daddy excelled in Mathematics and he used to teach me the subject .He lacked patience and his teaching method was more of scolding and less explaining .I hated maths then and I remember him slapping my mother once.(which is my only memory of him slapping mommy ) .I can still recollect her words .
She said “ You are mad like your mom .Why are you beating her? Can you never teach anything without scolding and beating? “. He just got up and gave one tight slap on the side of her face.

There after most of my memories are terrifying .He wanted me to be always first in the class and I had tough competition with Mercy Joseph and Binu Annie John .Whenever I failed to come first, me and my mom used to invent stories to escape the wrath of daddy , in which the fault would be of the teacher and me an innocent victim of some unfair game. I do not know if he really believed those stories but my mommy had to go through severe mental torture to save me from daddy’s punishments which would be harsh words and more rebuke.

There was a very huge distance between me and daddy .I was scared of him and always tried to get out of his way .Whenever he was at home ,I used to sit with books. I cannot remember any normal conversation between us other than asking for marks or words of reprimand .I always believed that I am not his daughter and hence his dislike for me .This sowed in me seeds of low self esteem and I became an introvert .

There is a particular scene which keeps replaying in my mind .I was in seventh or eighth standard and my sister was in fourth or fifth .Mommy made tapioca and chutney with green chilly . Lincey splashed the spicy green chilly chutney in my eyes since she got angry with me over something and my father did not scold her .I felt so heart broken and let down that day and I think deep down somewhere in my heart I resented my sister form that day on ,since she was my daddy’s favourite. Or so I believed.

I did not mean to summon up my painful recollections but I happened to go back to my four year old self and travel with my flow of thoughts and feel once again what I felt during each one of those occasions , joyful and distressing . I never thought them to have the clarity with which I see them even now.

Daddy and Mommy and their kind of Love

Five more days for my Dad's first death anniversary.Two days ago, Linta rang me up from London ,to tell me that Mommy was under depression for a couple of days.I loathed myself for not reading it from her words ,which she speaks to me everyday.I realized that I have been so caught up with my life here that my conversations with her were just that ...mere conversations...insensitive ...hurried ...

My Mom..I wish I could erase a few pages from her life and rewrite them all over again.I would change her life partner in my version of her story .My Dad was not at all the person whom she dreamed about , though he loved her in his own way.She expected a friend with whom she could share everything and Dad was uncommunicative.This was and still remains my mom's one regret about the years she spent with my Dad
I could do nothing about it other than lend my ear to her grievances.She survived despite their differences and I wonder if the bitterness succeeded in clouding all those good memories she had of their life together.
She was always a giver and hence a person who is taken for granted.My taciturn daddy and suppressed mommy.But still I have observed this unspoken words of love and affection between these two people who are poles apart in their nature.
I recollect this vivid picture of daddy leaving a portion of all those delicacies which mommy would make for him,at the corner of his plate and his voice calling out for her to come and collect the plate.It was my daddy's way of acknowledging " I know that you give all the best portions for me and your children.This is for you .Now eat it before the girls take it away too." I am a witness to this silent declaration of love and have also heard it many times from my mommy .

Daddy was never a person to express his tender feelings towards his children. But I know that we were the world to him ...his universe.
Does love need display ? Yes.Yes because then you don't have to dissect and analyse actions to assign this or that particular act as a declaration of love. It is just like pulling out the petals of a flower repeating 'he loves me,he loves me not ...he loves me ..he loves me not ...and you are never sure what you would end up with .

It took years for my doubting mind to have complete assurance of my daddy's love.Hence it is not a predicament which I would wish for anyone.
My Mommy would have hoped for something more than these snippets which are difficult to preserve with its total warmth and radiance.She wouldn't have to have pasted Daddy's photos in the kitchen and for once,complain and impute him for all his dominance through this one sided exchange.
She is donning up a brave exterior for our sake but she needs someone to talk to,face to face and not this everyday telephonic conversations.By believing her facade, we are doing her the same wrong.She needs someone with flesh and blood,next to her,when she talks and not a photo or a voice at the other end of the line.

P.A.O.S.U.I....meaning PHINNAEUS

Winter holidays are zooming away and the countdown have already started .Kids are using the last two days for full time playing and me for reading .
My younger one Phinneaus came up to me telling ” Mom see I have written M for MOM.He had marker stains on his fingers and his forearm had a big “M” .And on his left palm he had written “PAOSUI”.I went to inspect the extent of damages he had done to his room playing with the marker .Nothing much , just this word “PAOSUI “ on his toy boxes and bigger toys .The rest of them had just a “P” inscribed on them .

I was wondering who this PAOSUI is ,maybe some word he found from his Chinese toys.
I asked him where he found the word “PAOSUI” .He replied innocently ,”Mom,you don’t know anything .It is not Paosui ..it is “P.A.O.S.U.I” , Phinnaeus..”

The little chap was writing his name on his toys .I think it is high time that I have a word with his teacher .Is this how they teach phonetics in school…? Or maybe I should have given him an easier name to spell.....
Whatever be the case, of all the possible spellings he chose a Chinese sounding one …..PAOSUI…I guess his brother is going to use it to tease him for the rest of his life ....or at least till he gets something new .

Of course there is a lot in a name

Recently we were watching a malayalam movie in which there is a character named "kalidasan" .After the movie,the discussion was why didn't we name our younger one with an exotic Indian name say Kalidasan ...
Ashkenaz and his brother Kalidasan ....
In a way the name would be apt since he says he is mama's boy and his mom is nicknamed Bhadhrakali by his Dad, owing to way she acts when she gets really mad at them...
At the end I decided that I would call my dear Phinnaeus, "Kalidasa" as and when I like which he protested immediately and declared ." Call me only Appu or baby or Phinnaeus.I am not kalidasan .What do you mean by Kalidasan,kalidasan ...?"

His brother used the name to tease him once or twice and stopped .
Ashkenaz is very proud of his unique name though he used to ask me during his preschool days "Mama why didn't you give me an easy name.Nobody understands my name".
Now he is extremely proud since he aware that he has a rare and excellent name with Biblical roots and he is called ASH by his friends who do not want to call him his full name.

There is a lot in a name....

My Pre-School

I dreamt once again that I was back at school.I couldn’t study well for the exam and moreover I got up late and was really running behind. This is one of my recurring dreams which always wakes me up in cold sweat only to heave a sigh of relief when I realize it was only a nightmare.
I wish instead of this scary one, if only I had dreams about the beautiful times I had with my friends.
My very first memory of school is the smell of warm milk which my teacher used to pour out from the flask that we had to carry from home .How I hated that smell and even now I dislike milk. As a pre-schooler I detested school. My bus stop was a tailoring shop, ran by an old man who was a communist. He used to allow me to go through his boxes of pamphlets with the symbol of scythe, hammer and a star and I remember taking bunches of them along with me. My bus driver had a tough time every day since I used to hide behind the boxes and he had to carry a kicking and screaming me and place me inside the bus.
My teachers were all Anglo-Indians and they trained us in the western culture .My best friend was Finny ,a boy who loved to grow his hair really long .Our class teacher Loretta miss once tied his hair with rubber band since he refused to get his hair cut. His granny and mine were friends and I used to tell everyone who would listen, that he was my cousin. I learned my first steps of ball-room dancing at school with Finny as my partner. I left my alma-mater; St Mary’s R.E.M.H.S for an year and later rejoined as a fifth-grader. Same year Finny left school and I have no idea regarding his whereabouts till date.
It is so weird and wonderful how certain memories refuse to go away .I can still see myself as a child in a blue pinafore before the flask of milk and walking up the stairs with Finny holding my hand ,the two memories of my Pre-school that remains still vivid .

Krishna Ray that I knew.

Sometimes even the sweetest of the memories pale as years go by, leaving behind just a faint whiff of whatever feelings that came along with that memories.
So here I am, inscribing them so that when I wish to fish them out some day,I would acquire them strong as ever.
During my first year at Sanjivani, my direct interaction with our Vice-principal, Krishna ray was almost nil. But there was no dearth of gossips .Eventually I became aware of the different groups that existed in our school .I took special care to keep myself distant from these so called groups .
Towards the ending of the session ,one fine day, we were all summoned to our Principal’s office to discuss the most shocking event of that year ,the sudden oust of a senior teacher .Instead of thrashing out behind closed doors ,we had to witness the washing of dirty linen in public. Allegations after allegations were thrown at Krishna .All the while she sat there ,holding together her dignity ,not losing her temper , giving clarification to all the charges.That was the moment when I first made personal judgement about Krishna .She secured a place so high above everyone present there. I never troubled myself in finding out if any of those accusations were true or not.For me she became the synonym of restraint.
When the new session commenced, I was promoted as the primary co-ordinator and she called into her cabin to instruct me about the expectations from the school management side.
There is a lesson that I learned through the hard way.If you wish to tell someone something, do not delay;for, time doesn’t wait till you gather the courage to blurt it out. That day I told her about how I placed her on a pedestal from the day of her trial at the Principal’s office. She was quiet for a moment and then her eyes welled up .That day I realized on more fact, she is not used to getting compliments for her work and what she is .Not from our school anyway.
The past four months, I got the opportunity to work alongside her.My respect for her as a person grew every day.Her ability to not let her emotions rule her words and actions,that cool and relaxed exterior is what that I admire about her.
Our respect and affection was mutual. On an occasion, while I was writing my resignation letter, she literally caught hold of me and dragged me to our Director’s office, sorting out the issue in no time.She told me not to act when negative emotions are strong, to wait and make decisions when you get the clutter out of your mind.
The last few days of hers as a Sanjivanite, must have been the most beautiful ones for her. Everyone let her knew how much they all loved her and how much they all will be missing her. She was shedding tears of distress and joy.
I am positive that wherever she goes she would gain respect and love for the wonderful person that she is and I know that she would remember me.
I would never forget the great lesson that I learned from Krishna Ray.

Lincey and Me...

November...I can’t wait for November.Two reasons.First, my sisters have already planned their leaves and is tempting me with all their plans .This would be the second get together after my youngest sister’s marriage.Secondly,the thrill of driving down to Kerala.
This Rakshabandhan ,I had been thinking about my sisters.I never realised how close we were till we marriage took us physically apart from each other .
Lincey was the naughty one who always gave my parents trouble.We used to have fights on a daily basis where I used to be the loser.( Though I am admitting it for the first time .)Once I succeeded in pinning her on the wall which Linta witnessed and which I used to boast off every time when I couldn’t beat her in an argument.Or I would call her ,her nickname(I am not exposing that here or else she would reveal more darker secrets of mine.You see she is on Fb too.)which she hated eventhough it was the name which my dad used to call her when he wanted to annoy her.
As a child,she was too lazy to brush her teeth and mom wouldn’t give her food .So she would start her morning raga which sounded exactly like a truck going uphill...uuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh......She was so adamant in every single thing and I strongly believe my younger son has inherited that gene somhow.Don’t ask me how ,maybe I had been thinking about her during my gestation period.
She is the most intelligent and talented among the three of us .My dad wanted her to pursue Physics but she joined for Literature .Her reason ,Physics department was at the crown of hill on which our college is situated and she didn’t want to climb up every day.(Now she is a gazetted officer.)She writes,paints,excellent fashion designer..there is no end to her talents.
She is an adventurous spirit and would act first and then think.It is her name and address in pen-pal column which brought me where I am now.Though she got bored of her pen friends ,the one whom she chose for me later on became my life partner.Even though she tries to remind me that often, I would brush her off, giving the credit to serendipity.
She was always and still remains my best friend .We still have our secret codes which we haven’t revealed even to our husbands.
Adventures of Lincey would be an interesting read which I would write someday ..obviously after she grants me consent.

Deciding your fortune

All of us have a certain amount of clairvoyance buried deep within us.It may not be forseeing future or anything similar .It is rather the power of our thoughts. Scientifically,thoughts can be called as energy, having a certain amount of mass ,which has the power to attract the very essence of that thought.
Have you wondered why certain bad happenings that you were scared of, exactly happened to you?
I have,many times. I know exactly why it happens.That negative thought which pops up in my conscious mind remains there .How much ever I try to shake it off, I keep thinking about it, empowering that very thought, thereby attracting that very negative thought to come down with force. I have not found out how to kill that thought .It roams free like a wild horse.
I have brought minor mishaps to me,my family and sometimes to people unknown to me, by my negative thoughts which are very powerful.None of them happened because I wanted it to be. At this moment I am facing the music of having attracted something negative ,something I have been fearing for almost a month.Even as I write this, there are strong fears deep down in my heart .I have decided to write them all down Maybe that would stop me from thinking about it.
This is how blessings,curse and prayer works.
If the blessings and curse have a powerful origin ,nothing can stop it from becoming real.
This is also the very essence of mass prayer ,faith healing. The power of positive thoughts.
Hence it is essential to harbour positive thoughts and to avoid negative ones.
If only it was as easy to do as it is to write..

Sweet Revenge

Everything was absolutely in place and customary when she got up early in the morning.She switched off the alarm, carefully removed her husband’s arms entwined around her and headed off to kitchen .
She liked everything normal and habitual that followed a preset pattern. Having to do things differently caused her irritation and she loved her robotic life. Even going out and having fun followed a time table which they did on Saturdays .It was always a movie, random shopping and lunch.Once in a while she would do things unplanned and chaotic.
On such occasions she would be restless tills she falls back on track. Even though she was aware of this she didn’t find anything strange in her behaviour and her husband never complained.

As usual she was in her comfort zone,cooking and the next agenda in her timetable was to keep the kitchen waste outside .She did it promptly and went to the balcony to collect another waste disposal bag .Then and there the trouble erupted.Her husband had not placed his shoes on the shoe rack where it was meant to be.It was on the floor with the soiled socks strewn around .She hated having to touch another person’s soiled socks even if that another person was her husband.Now seeing the balcony in a disarrayed manner ,she felt irritation welling within her like a volcano waiting to erupt.

Now this would remain within her for days ,intensifying every day due to some things or other out of place ,like a wet towel on the bed, unfolded blanket, dirty linen outside the laundry bag…..Then it would erupt and she would let her anger flow, careful that the lava doesn’t cause any harm to anything or anyone nearby.What she would be thinking of, will be leaving her husband and staying alone not having anyone to bother about or anyone to disrupt her picture perfect life.She would pour out her anger in all those conversations that happened in her head, words which would wring his heart, which she would otherwise dare not utter. Then she would feel remorse for even having those thoughts.This would calm her down .She would drown her husband in her love for the next few days till it happened all over again.

Today ,having had to face this soiled socks and strewn shoes early morning itself, she felt miserable.
“How many times have I told him not to leave the shoes and socks around…? I need to put an end to it. “
She first thought of flinging them out of the balcony, then thought of hiding them .
As she kept concoting her devious plans and thought, she felt her not so good alter ego gaining control .She was aware of it but for once she let it overpower her.

Her husband got up at 6 a.m ,came to the kitchen to give and take the good morning hug and sat with the news paper and his coffee .Her plan was to spill little water on the marble floor near the bathroom .She expected him to slip and fall ,thus taking her sweet revenge for spoiling her day. He finished his coffee and headed for his bath .She was in the kitchen listening for the thud sound and her husband calling out for her .Thud sound she heard and then silence.
Minutes passed and she failed to hear the groaning as she expected. Her wicked state of mind gave way to alarm and she flew to their bedroom .There he lay, motionless, blood trickling on the white floor ,behind his head.She kneeled down beside him and shook him calling his name again and again. This wasn’t what she expected.She did not imagine him to hit his head on the sharp corner of the bed, or for him to lay still like the way he was lying now.
“ No ,No..Oh God ,No…” She screamed…

“Stop it …wake up…” It was her husband shaking her .She opened her eyes, realizing what she had gone through, was just a dream.
“ Were you having a nightmare? It’s 5:30 .Aren’t to going to work today.?” he asked.
She heaved a sigh of relief and said,”No,I am taking a day off. Let’s spend a day together.What say ? ..”
“ You are a very wicked woman ,” he said smiling.

Life With Phinnaeus

Life with Phinnaeus is eventful ,always expect the unexpected .He is two and half years old and trouble is his middle name.
Dalton John Junior,his Papa, never bends his knees before anyone .But Little Phinnu has his Papa twisted around his little fingers and crawling for deliverance and mercy.
Phinnu needs to be dropped at his crèche at 8.30 am .He wakes up around 6 and I have to leave by 7.30 a.m .Yesterday morning as usual he got up ,had his morning bowl of cereals .I was about to leave and he suddenly felt like having his favourite fried sausages.He settled for his Papa making those for him since I had to leave.His Papa got ready with his aprons and frying pan giving me I will –handle –it –don’t –you –worry look and his little assistant Phinnu on the kitchen platform supervising.Phinnu loves to watch me cooking and he always gives me company handing me the spices from the cabinet.
Everything started off just fine .He instructed how to chop the sausages just the perfect round
size for his fork.The sausages started sizzling and his Papap was about to take them out when Phinnu said
“ Not like that …mama puts this …” and smartly handed over turmeric powder first.My husband got puzzled but eventually he had to add chilly powder, cumin seeds ,thyme and little tomato sauce.Phinnu appreciaited his Papa’s handiwork ,took a bite “Dirty..you eat “ that was his verdict and his Papa had to savour the whole sausage bits.
Well ,I am sure he would never try his hand at cooking for Phinnu ever again.

Fathers day

If tomorrow never comes…by Ronan Keating is one of my favourite songs.It says…. if tomorrow never comes ,will she know how much I love her..
Lately on Fathers Day I made my son tell his Papa how much he means to him.He wrote down his thoughts and this is how it came ..


THIS IS YOUR DAY PAPA, FATHERS DAY
I WISH TO TELL, YOU MEAN THE WORLD TO ME
OUR MOCK FIGHTS AND ELEPHANT RIDES
YOU TAUGHT ME TENNIS, TOOK ME TO MOVIES
YOU TAUGHT ME TO BE ON MY OWN
PRESS MY CLOTHES, POLISH MY SHOES
AND ALSO TIE MY SHOELACE
LATELY, WHEN I BROKE MY GLASSES BEING THE GOAL KEEPER,
YOU GAVE ME TIPS TO GUARD MY PEEPS AND SAVE A GOAL
EVERYDAY I LEARN FROM YOU
SOMEDAY I WANT TO BE LIKE YOU
YOU ARE MY HERO
HAPPY FATHERS DAY
It brought tears to his Papas eyes and mine too when I saw the pair of them ..father and son in a tight embrace.
My son recited it in his school assembly and his rendition was so poignant that he made each and every one of the children remember their fathers for a moment.Later a kid from std Iv was found weeping thinking of his father whom he never got to know.
It is never late to let anyone whom you love know how much you love them and how much they mean to you.Or when you lose them that thought is going to wring your heart for ever.
So go ahead do it right now…

Raindrops are falling.....

Rain ..at last.I stood at the balconywith my eyes closed and let the spray caress my face.(I would have preferred standing outside but discretion got the better of me ..the thought of the strange spectacle I would make with my arms outstretched and eyes closed…)
There isn’t anything I love much as the first shower of monsoon.It is one of the moments that invokes all the senses..a moment of heightened ecstasy.The musky scent of the damp earth,the taste of the raindrops that trickle down to the corner of your mouth,the pealing laughter of the raindrops on the rough ground and the touch of the rain on your skin….
Rain makes me sing all the those lovely songs that I can remember.
It had been always like that.The three of us-me and my sisters we used to place ourselves near the window and used to sing loudly ,the rain playing the background score.I feel nostalgic.
I took my boys along with me to feel the rain and I believe they must have enjoyed it too in their own way as much as I did.
Who wouldn’t?Which living soul can resist the magic of rain when she is in her gentle glory and not her ravaging vengeant self.
I say guys enjoy the monsoon,every drop of it.

Something about a Smile

A smile ,born from the lips of a child ,a feathery touch that would melt your heart,a toothless grin that lets your spirit soar,a pealing laughter, like light shower ona barren land.
A smile, gracing the lips of a lovely woman,entincing,that evinces beauty,conveys assurance,signals romance.
A smile that proclaims triumph.
A smile that flashes fulfillment.
A smile that blooms on seeing someone you love.
A smile that you fake for someone you don’t really care about.
A smile or a laughter that assays a joke.
A smile, lecherous, pronouncing indecent thoughts
A smile, sheepish, when your secret is unraveled.
A smile,lopsided,from someone teasing you.
A smile secretive,on recollecting some private joke.
A smile ,awkward ,after an embarrassing moment.
A smile, meaningful,that says I know something about you.

A smile can be all this and much more than that.

Back to Where I belong

My life has entered yet another phase.After a sabbatical of two years ,I will be resuming my role as a teacher from the first of April.
I donned the mantle of a teacher on account of my dad.I had a very strong inclination towards literature but my dad wanted me to pursue science.I had to opt from Physics and Chemistry and I chose the latter.I didn’t have any particular like or dislike for the subject till I reached the final year of my graduation

Pro:.K.C Mani ,I would speak of him as the best teacher that I ever had.I wouldn’t realize how the other wise annoying one hour lecture would zoom away while he used to be on the elevated platform.Earlier my library visits were only for reading novels and then I found myself devouring references on Chemical Equilibrium and Le Chateliers Principle.Chemistry is supposed to be a volatile subject but whatever I learned under his guidance is still imprinted in my brain in bold alphabets . Still my life was without a definite goal.

It was Prof :John Kuruvilla who revealed the wonderful world of Forensic Science.He was my class teacher and taught us Organic Chemistry.I marvelled his capability to recollect the numerous name reactions which I still find untenable.I pursued Analytical Chemistry for my Post Graduation ,aspiring to be a Forensic Analyst.But my dad didn’t consider it as the right career choice for a girl and in the end I had to bury my dreams and go in for a Bachelor of Education degree.

It was like an arranged marriage .It took two years for me to fall in love with teaching. I cherish many proud moments in my seven years as a teacher.Each time I succeed in passing on a difficult and confusing concept it gives an unexplainable joy.I would compare it to what a mother feels when she perceives the face of her new born after the travails of birth she had gone through.

I love being a teacher. I believe a teacher can make or break the future of a child.There is this particular moment from the movie ‘ Mr Holland’s Opus ‘ which would be the dream of every teacher.On the day of retirement,standing before all those students whom you have influenced and guided to become a somebody in their lives.
And that is my dream too.

The Three Men In My Life

I live with three men. Before you raise your eyebrows let me tell you my relationship with them. I am married to one and the rest two are the fruits of my womb, my handsome children.
Well, living with them is a rollercoaster ride. Do I love it? It is quite an adventure that I didn’t bargain for .Mostly delightful but there are times when I have thrown up my arms in desperation and have threatened to run away from home.
I don’t have words which would sketch them perfectly, but a hybrid of three musketeers and three meddlers would be apt for the time being.
They are mirror images of each other and I blame it on my recessive genes .Looks, likes dislikes, tastes and even certain gestures, all declares the Veliparamban lineage.
The one advantage of living with these men is that I get pampered occasionally and that includes foot massages, bone crushing bear hugs,and kisses which would sometimes leave on my face traces of saliva that I wipe off with their own T-shirts.It is quite flattering actually and I admit that it is one of those moments when my heart skips so many beats and I thank Almighty for the three blessings that he has showered on me.

Sometimes they go into a lazy mode and make me feel like a servant-cum –slave..That is when I isuue my threats of running away .But they cry in unison ,”No !!!!!!! we will find you out and stand below your window and cry and howl till you agree to come back..”
They know how to make me smile, afterall I cannot feign anger when I see three pairs of besseching eyes in which I can still behold all those mischiefs that is in stock for me.

The bottom line is benefits of having these men in my life overrules all drawbacks that might co-exist.
I love adventures..

To Dad On HIs Birthday

My Dad turned 67 yesterday.I called him in the morning to wish him and as I heard him laughing over the phone it brought certain memories .

My Dad , a retired police officer,never wore his feelings on his sleeve.He was always the extremely strict tyrant at home.The moment we hear his Police Jeep screeching on the graveled courtyard,we used to run to our study rooms dutifully studying .He expected silence at home .I hated him then and longed to breakfree .
I never used to talk to him or he to me until unless it us absolutely necessary and I haven’t figured out why or when this strange and uncomfortable distance creeped between us.
The last memory of our closeness is when I was in my third standard .
He sowed in me the love for books.He brought me books ever since I started reading.He didn’t care even if I were having my exams ,he would still buy me books for relaxed reading after studies.And I remember him teasing me by holding the book high and me jumping up and swinging on his arms in a desperate attempt to snatch it .Thereafter I remember him only as the strict Dad.
I started seeing him in a new light after my marriage.He was against my choice and he tried to convince me logically first and then force me out of it .That was the first time when I looked him in his eyes with defiance .He gave in and that was a moment of reform both for me and for him since by that approval little did he know that he is bringing in someone who doesn’t hesitate to express emotions in public.

It took a little while for the ice to thaw and the son –in –law became no less than his first born and smile made appearance on his face often .My husband succeeded in invading those deepest arenas of his heart which he dared not allow entry to anyone even my mom.I saw a new dad ,a reborn dad.The smiles became laughter when he set his eyes upon his grand son with his very same birthmark .Now that smiles are there to stay and we talk often and discuss matters and I am with this conviction which I never had before …My dad loves me ..he loved me always even though he never disclosed it .
He is still little reserved but he doesn’t hesitate to show his care or to laugh and play with his grandchildren and I am so proud and happy to be his daughter.
I love you Dad.