The Iyer clan

It was a rainy evening. Dhwani and I were fooling around while my mum was fixing dinner in the kitchen. She is all of one and a half but talks like a paati (granny) already.

So she has this erasable slate with a magnetic pencil which is her current favorite amongst her toys. She would scribble violently and incessantly for hours believing that she is writing something really meaningful. And once bored, the slate would go flying from one end of the room to the other end or it would get beaten up or stamped upon or tortured in the third degree in some other mechanism. Its quite commendable that the slate has roughed it out thus far.

So I was drawing some images and letting her guess what they were and when I was running out of ideas, I hit upon the idea of writing her name and asking her to guess. This one was easy. My maid would write her name everyday and this one was a piece of cake. And said aloud "DHWANI IYER" with an air of pride.

I deleted her name and put mine and asked her what it was. And it did not take her a moment to proclaim it again as 'DHWANI IYER'. So I corrected her saying this is "A~ IYER" which she reluctantly accepted.

Now I thought I'll pain her some more and put her appa's name there and ask her what that was. Now she gave it a thought for a few moments and looked around and triumphantly announced "UMA PAATI* IYER".

*PAATI = Granny. (my mum in this case)

Brand new day

"Say Sunday, kutti**."

"un-day"

"Monday"

"munday"

"Tuesday"

"tuech-day"

"Wednesday"

"wedded-day"

"Thursday"

"her-day"

"Friday"

"fie-day"

"Saturday"

"saded-day"

And what's after Saturday, kutti?

*A triumphant reply after small pause*
"BUD-DAY" (birthday in adult language)

Just when one started to believe that 24 hours are not enough... :-)

**kutti - loosely translated to little one

La-D-da

Dearest D,

I know, I haven’t really written much about you in these spaces. And this is no special occasion either. You are 15-running-on-16 months old. And I always believed I would never do justice to describe something I feel very strongly about. But some day I would love you to look at this and realize what a little darling terrorist you are turning out to be. Terrible twos are christened with a reason, I guess. In your case, I can easily move it to a year earlier.

I remember the day that you were born when I saw you in half-conscious delirium after a 16 hour marathon labor. And what I remember distinctly is, barely a few minutes old and you were all eyes-wide-open and looking around curiously trying to figure where your cramped, dark, familiar confines in mommy’s tummy had vanished. I had never seen a freshly born baby even attempt to open the eyes for more than a second or two. And you, after the initial bout of cries and checkups, were ready to take on the world "Ok! I am finally out and packed into a parcel with funny noisy things hovering over me, poking me, touching me. Now what next?".

And that attitude is still so evident in you and I see it everyday. You manage to make yourself at home wherever you go, whether it is in the cozy confines of your crib or a rickety bus ride to Guruvayoor or in extreme heat or extreme cold. All that needs to cheer you up is the option to go odi-odi (odi - run in tamil) and favorite bottle of milk. Sometimes I am put to shame with the amount of stuff you put up with and just take it in your stride. Of course you are also a touch-me-not of the highest order. You have a rather complex assessment process on whether the person is worth being friends with or not. And it is strange that you seem to bond with people I bond with and are indifferent to people I don’t care too much about and I have no hand in trying to influencing you in any way.

Its nice to see you developing as your own person. Especially, knowing what you want and when you want. Even if it is about wanting mummy to sing London Bridge or Yankee Doodle while putting you to sleep or whether you want paa (milk) or kanji (porridge), whether you want to do tachi (sleep) or odi-odi. I have a lot to learn on that front from you.

I like the way you conduct yourself with people close to your age. Most kids actually hide themselves from you out of shyness while you go out of your way trying to be friendly and shake hands or coo papu papu (baby baby) into their ears. But that never stops you from not wanting to try to get their attention which is typically by pulling their turned-away face towards you almost telling them. "Hey you! Look at me. I am speaking to you".

I also love the way you give me a cold shoulder when I come back late from work or when I give attention to other kids your age. I have never seen you cry or throw a tantrum. But I have seen you silently watch me, trying to ignore my presence by not wanting to acknowledge when I call out for you. You are so little but know perfectly how to protest silently and make a statement, which your mummy lacks completely.

You do me so proud when I see you correlate the objects you are taught in books or otherwise with what you see in real, when you just shrug and carry on with something else when someone takes away a toy you were playing with, when you run to check yourself out in the mirror when you wear something new, when you just take things in your stride whether it is about not getting your food on time or getting too much food at a time, or not getting to go for your favorite walks or having your thatha-paati or appa or mummy leave you and go away while you sleep. And you do me proud for being the most precious thing my life.

Love,
Mummy
(Which you adamantly insist on calling me even when you know you are expected to call me amma. And I love you for that. :-))

Alive and itching to kick

God! I missed this space! I really, really know I did.

I missed writing! I missed the friends I had made along the journey. And I know I have probably lost them the same way.

Today I was going through some of my old posts. Some absolutely cringe-worthy, some that made me want the earth to open up and devour me instantly, some nice and lighthearted and some loads of crap. But nonetheless, they all warmed the cockles of my heart. Every post had a story, a background, a frame of mind, a mood behind all the fonts, templates, labels and headings - a trigger that made me want to rant/write/joke about it. Some of which I could remember distinctly and most, given my "gifted" memory, I couldn't. But this discovery was something I thoroughly enjoyed as I read through.

I don't want to go overboard and make vowing speeches about how I'll post something everyday and so on. But yes, I am hoping that this is a start. A resurrection of sorts to the most neglected part of my life.

But since we techies always want quantitative data to support our allegations, I'll hope to get to at least one post a week.

Amen!

Mirage

He drifts away and says I am walking away
I look at him, my eyes imploring desperately
trying to see if the glint, that warm smile,
that was so abundantly evident is there
in some minuscule fraction and I see it.
I see the happiness in his heart,
the music in his laughter,
the child-like innocence that once made me go weak
and that unmistakable glint
only that now its all for her.
At least he is truthful, he says.
Yes! Truth is to be celebrated, reveled, revered even.
and reality to be left ignored and forgotten.
And he says I am walking away.
But I am just standing on top of the cliff.
Looking into the depths of the ocean.
I see the waves hitting against the rocks.
Expectant, joyful, and finally morose and still.
Like my mind searching for an entry into the closed heart,
my eyes searching for light in infinite darkness.
And he waves from the horizon from his boat drifting,
that I am walking away.

The end

The roads thin down, the horizons are a blur
connections are lost and words are a slur
vision is misty and images are a cloud
hands are chained and the heart cries aloud
tides rise, mountains melt into river of tears
darkness envelopes the soul where the end is near

"Baby's" day out

Enroute to a dinner/pub party I could not refuse:

RT: Damn! I miss these unplanned outings after the baby. Been sooooo long. And at the end of it, my daughter is going to give me a cold shoulder when I get back late tonight. *Sigh* *Sigh*
Grown-up baby@work: You mean, she's going to do su-su on your shoulder? How do you know? :-O