When Life Came A Full Circle!

" I thought about you a moment back", she said, her voice heavy with quiet happiness.
And, after a moment's pause, she blurted almost shyly "I was thinking that the books you read are quite qualitative....And, I felt proud of you"

My eyes suddenly blurred. And,my throat choked with emotion.

This was the mother who had introduced me to the pleasures of reading, much before I could even walk a straight line with my baby feet.

A student of literature and a voracious reader, Amma has had a life-long love affair with books.
A passion which she passed on to me.
With reverence and pride.
As a torch bearer would, his precious flame.

As I went through life devouring Austen, Dickens and the rest of their ilk, before progressing to more contemporary writers, Amma's roles as wife and mother ate into the time reserved for her beloved books. And, even as my love for books grew with each passing day, her passion waned into barely aglow embers.

Years passed by, and, I grew into adulthood.
Into a career, and, life in a big city far away from home.
But, I never stopped reading.

Despite the demands on my time, I read voraciously.
In cafeterias.
On the bus.
Over meals.
And, in bed late at night.

Maybe I was driven by a deep-rooted fear.
That if I slacked, I would loose my passion too.
Just as Amma did.

I came home on visits with bags bursting at the seams with books.
Which I would wave tantalisingly at her face as I danced circles around her in our huge kitchen.

But, Amma was made of sterner stuff.
And, never bit the bait.

Until my last visit home.
When I left Kakar's 'Mira and the Mahatma' behind.

A month later, I sent home some books for a cousin, who was to visit.

And now, this call.

As I struggled to recover my composure, my mother went on " Mira and the Mahatma was riveting. I enjoyed it tremendously. Even the Ice Candy Man looks interesting, so I thought I would read it before passing it on to your cousin. In any case, she is not due to visit in the immediate future"

" Sure Amma".
And then, crossing my fingers, I held my breath as I asked her the million dollar question " Shall I send you some more books from my collection?"

For a split second, she hesitated.
" Well, not immediately. But, maybe when you come home next."
" What kind of books will you get me? I am interested in good books...good language...strong storyline..."
Again, a pause
" I leave it to you to decide. Bring me what you think I will enjoy......"

And, then she was back to her impressions about Miraben and the Mahatma.

As she gushed excitedly, a voice from the past rang loud in my ears. Of Amma reading out to the wide eyed, baby me about the good king Richard or Richard Lion Heart as he was known, who went on a crusade leaving his kingdom in the hands of his evil brother John.

Sudhir Kakar may never know.
But, I will always remain in his debt.

For not just writing a book that closed the circle of life between a mother and daughter.
But, also for leveling the playing field between us.
Finally!!

My Friend Vinny

My Friend Vinny and I, go back, a very long way.
Back to the early nineties, when we were a pair of gawky, wanna-be copy-writers, in a rather run-down, small town ad agency.

We were fresh out of college, and, all set to conquer the advertising world.
We were, also, blissfully unaware, of the jungle that awaited our arrival.

Vinny and I should have been, at each other's throats, right from the word go.
After all, both of us were vying for the top dog's position, and, were, each other's only competition. Considering our youth, and, the raging hormones, it would have been quite natural for us, to want to outshine, and, oust, each other.

But, instead of the bloodbath, what ensued, was a warm, fun and genuine friendship, based on caring, trust, and, well, truth be told, stray instances of mutual envy.

Despite the occasional sulks, and, our efforts to bully each other, we shared much.
Confidences, gossip and lunches.
Fears, worries and insecurities.
Laughter, tears, and, even, our resources.

We worked together, for a few short months, before succumbing, to the calls of our souls, for greatness.

I moved away to the city, seeking fame and fortune.
While, Vin, always, the more sensible one, decided to pursue knowledge.

Sadly, those were the days, when snail-mail ruled the roost.
Computers, cell phones and emails were yet to become a way of life.
And, a girl had to work as hard, at staying friends, as she did, to achieve success, in every other aspect of life.

Gradually, the letters between us, dwindled.
And, one fine morning, I woke up to the realisation, that, we, had both, drifted far, far apart.
I am not entirely sure, if, I was dismayed.
For, I was, young, and, quite caught up, with my dream of making it big.

Even though, I did think of Vin, at times, and, wonder, how she was faring, it was with a vague sense of nostalgia, without a compelling need for action.

We, probably, would have continued, with our parallel lives, with no hopes of meeting.
If, it had not been, for the small town network...

I have often maintained, that a small town, is akin to a strait jacket.

Everyone knows everyone else.
Everyone watches everyone else.
And, one, cannot, as much as, swat a fly, without the town crier announcing it, on the 6'o' clock news, the very same day.

But, there are moments, when the small town redeems itself.

Through an old acquaintance, Vinny and I, found ourselves talking, once more.
First, on a social networking site.
And, then on MSN.

After, almost a decade, things had not changed very much.
Vinny was, still, pursuing knowledge.
I was, still, pursuing fame and fortune.
And, we were both, able, to pick up, from where we left off.

My friendship with Vinny, is, not very different from the ones, I have with my other girl-friends.
We share stories - about life, families, happiness, sorrows, fears and worries.
We giggle over the good old days...
Offer honest criticism...
Cheer each other on, when self-doubt strikes...
Try, bullying one other into submission, under the pretext of offering advice..

But, most importantly, we know, we are there for each other, come hell fire or high tide.

I have always deemed our friendship to be special.
For one simple reason.
That, unlike my associations with my other girl-friends, the bond, Vin and I share, was conceived, and, nurtured, in an environment of competition.

I believe, that, two women can achieve closeness, honesty, and, intimacy, in their association, if, and, only if, they are able to perceive one another as kindred souls.
As sisters under the skin, each, drawing on the other's strengths, and, bolstering their weaknesses.
A friendship, so formed,tends to embed itself, into the foundations of our lives, giving us the much needed moral courage, to cope with the curve balls life bowls at us, from time to time.

A competitive environment, in my experience, often, results in women viewing each other as threats.
And, therefore, treating each other with wariness.

Competitiveness.
Be it, at work or in the affairs of the heart.
Within a social structure, or, as an manifestation of one's insecurities.
Hinders honesty, trust and dependence.
And, it stunts the growth of a beautiful relationship.

Well, in most cases, at least.

My friendship with Vinny, has not made, a complete believer of me.
But, it most certainly, has, opened a window of possibilities.

Every time, Vin badgers me, to save my pennies, for a rainy day.
Or, proffers an extremely scholarly, but incredibly complicated, theory about work-place politics.

I cannot help, but smile.
And, bask, in the warmth of the sunlight, filtering through.

Long Live The Sisterhood!

The Best Laid Plans

Sometimes, all it takes, is a near-invisible bit of frayed thread to unravel the best laid plans.

Just imagine.

A seemingly innocent loose end, which, escapes your eagle eye. Or perhaps, seems too insignificant to warrant much attention.

And the consequence?
Your plans in your hands, in an infuriating tangle of knots!

OK people, I exaggerate a wee bit.

BUT, this is what almost happened when I went on my sabbatical last week.

Not wanting to be disturbed in the midst of my hiatus of self-indulgence, I had taken great pains to explain to spouse, friends and colleagues about my soul's crying need for a vacation. The bright neon 'Do Not Disturb' sign was up and flashing for all to see, as I retreated into my shell, congratulating myself on having covered all bases effectively.

My euphoria lasted for all of 24 hours. Till breakfast on day 2 of my holiday.

I was about to dig into my chilly-cilantro egg-white omelet with greedy anticipation and relish, when my single-minded focus was shattered by the insistent ringing of the phone. I would have ignored the call, had it not been from a rather good friend of my aunt's with whom I enjoy the odd gossip session every now and then.
She was not a person to be put off. And so, with a deep sigh of regret, I pushed aside the albuminous object of my gluttony.
Much to my surprise, Auntie was almost hyperventilating.
Waves of panic crackled through the distance, threatening to scramble my grey cells into mush.The last traces of my greed vanished as I pressed the phone against my ear, straining to understand her garbled words.
A few seconds of intense listening, and a burning red ear later, I gathered that the panic attack had been induced, of all things, my mysterious disappearance from cyberspace.

But, the worst was yet to come.

In her panic, auntie had first called home to notify my mother and aunt of my disappearance, before calling me. As I reassured her and eventually hung up, I toyed with the idea of calling home to reassure the ladies in my family. But the lure of the still warm chilly-cilantro omelet proved to be irresistible and in no time, my family had been consigned to the dark recesses of my mind.

In my defense, I would like it to be known that the women in my family are extremely hardy and quite capable of taking good care of themselves. In all the years I have been away from home, I have never known my mother or anyone else worry about me. For you see, they, like me, had infinite faith in my ability to survive. So, it was no small wonder that I shrugged off the call and devoted my attention to the remnants of my breakfast.

But obviously, parents cannot be taken for granted, because one just cannot predict when they will take it upon themselves to break a set pattern!

36 hours later, my mother called....While I was at dinner.

It was just my luck that I was a little too engrossed in some excellent red wine and, also deafened by loud music, and failed to take her call.

What ensued was chaos!

My mother, who probably had visions of me dead, raped or kidnapped, promptly called DSK to investigate. It appeared that she had quite forgotten her emphatic stance, that any aggressor who sought to attack me, would rue the day he set his sights on me.
The husband, who was working late, and, was quite oblivious to my whereabouts, was taken quite by surprise by his hysterical woman at the other end of the line and struggled to reassure her while maintaining a calm facade for the benefit of his colleagues. And all through their shrill exchange, I kept trying to call both!!!.

Eventually, good sense prevailed.
The two decided to end their aimless speculation and, in true Holmsian style, commence investigations. As they rang off, I was able to connect to mom......Only to have Dsk interrupt continuously.

The melee stretched late into night.
My wine had gone sour. My food had congealed. And, I missed dessert!!!
But, even as peace set in, I could not resist asking my mother why it took her a good 36 hours to respond to an alarm raised by a well-meaning though hyper-reactive friend.

And her answer?

A wicked giggle, followed by a breezy "Oh, I knew nothing bad could possibly happen. It was auntie who panicked, not me. Why else would I wait for a whole day and then some, before I tried to reach you?"

I guess, all's well that ends well.

Although, the next time round, I will be snipping away at the most innocent of fluff and frayed threads with a vengeance!!!

Credit:
1. Picture on top: Red Yarn In Blue Hands from National Geographic Photography

The Waiter From Spitsville!!!

" Do not use that tone with the waiter, chechy" hissed my cousin, rolling his black ringed eyes at me for extra effect. "Hasn't anyone ever told you that you should never mess with a waiter?"

" But the glass is filthy.." I protested indignantly. After all what could an ignorant young bachelor possibly know about the consequences of drinking from glasses stained with dirt and old soap. Holding the glass aloft, I continued to fume "Just look at it. How can anyone drink from it? Even if I am only going to drink wine from it and wine being alcohol would anyway kill the germs, I am still entitled to a sparkling clean glass"

" Hmmmph, and how would you like to have your butter chicken garnished with spittle?"
I stared at my cousin in sheer disbelief. Spittle in the butter chicken??? He had to be kidding me. That could only happened in a pathetic comedy. Not in real life.
But little cousin obviously meant business, for he held my gaze resolutely...And his wicked flashing eyes conjured for me, images of all possible forms of retribution we could suffer at the diabolic hands of our irate waiter....Just because I dared ask for a clean glass to drink my wine in....Well, with a wee bit of attitude and annoyance.
I would have shrugged aside his dire warnings as a joke, if I had not at that precise moment caught sight of the waiter's implacable face. He had just retrieved the offending glass from under my nose and was heading inside to fetch me a replacement. Every cell of his icy form seemed to scream for revenge. For a moment, I could envision the angry waiter spitting gallons of saliva into my butter chicken and every other dish we had ordered. Even worse was the thought of his colleagues and underlings joining in as a token of their solidarity!!!

" Err, do you think we should cancel the butter chicken and ask for kebabs instead?" I asked my cousin, a tad nervously.
" And what makes you think he can't baste the kebabs in spittle before serving it up to you?"
The obvious sarcasm brought me a step closer to a nervous breakdown. All the more so when it suddenly struck me that cousin, having worked in a restaurant during his educational stint abroad, spoke from a position of knowledge and therefore, power.

" Surely, he can't have that much of spittle in him? I mean, won't his mouth run dry after 2 or 3 kebabs?"
" Chechy, he does not have to dip the kebabs in a bowl of saliva you know...just a gentle lick along the sides would suffice......"
A series of violent shudders rocked my weak spine as my sadistic cousin shook with a paroxysm of uncontrollable laughter.The all too graphic description was obviously too much for my poor sensitive nerves. Clearly, drastic action was the order of the evening.

" I am going to order stuffed paranthas. With no curry or kebabs. Not even raita or pickle." I announced smugly " That will teach the spitting waiter and his cronies a lesson!!!"
Cousin merely smiled slyly.
" Why are you smiling? Now don't tell me that he can spit or lick the paranthas...I mean I can see that..and if I even see a smear of fluid on it, I shall give him hell.."

" Chechy, do you know how we used to pay back obnoxious customers? Well, mixing spit into their gravies was the preferred method of getting even. Or even dirt from the nose. But on occasions when we had time, we used to roll/drag the raw dough on the dirty floor and make it super filthy before popping it into the dum...At times, we would play football with the jelly like mass used for desserts before garnishing it with fruits and what not.."

" You horrible monster" I shrieked with feeling for the poor unsuspecting customers who, though obnoxious, had had to ingest such unhygienic food. In the distance, my nemesis with the wine cup shot a startled glance at me and hurried forward to investigate.
As he set the fresh clean goblet in front of me and poured out the wine, I anxiously scanned his face for tell-tale signs of his crime...Over wet lips....A smear of spittle somewhere..A mouth brimming with saliva....Anything!!!
But my scanning was all in vain. Either it was the perfect crime or one which existed only within the realms of imagination!
My stare must have unnerved him, for he solicitously asked me if everything was all right.
"Err, nothing...everything is perfect..And thank you for changing the glass..." I gushed weakly, offering up a ghost of a smile as a peace offering "mmmm...will the food be long in coming? "
" I will check in the kitchen at once...In the mean time, do enjoy your wine" And with a broad smile, he was gone.
My spirits soared...He hadn't even been near the food!!!
I sipped the wine, thanking my lucky stars that the man, unlike my hot-headed cousin, had recovered and seemed quite un-inclined to drain his salivary glands over our dinner. Never again, I promised myself. As I made a mental note to myself to ensure that I had eaten well before a night out on the town so that I would never again be at the mercy of any waiter from spitsville, my cheeky cousin couldn't resist his final quip for the evening "Chechy, you are damn lucky he seemed to be the quiet sorts...But you really should be careful, you know..I mean you will never know what you might end up with on your plate..And by the time you can even guess, it might be too late..So be careful"
Hmmmph, talk about a tempest in a wine goblet!!!







Chechy = Sister
Dum = Indian Oven

Of Figures And Shapes

" Babes, how goes life?"
" Well, I guess.... I have lost some weight on my shoulders & face....."
* Perking up my ears for words of encouragement & praise*
" Hah, so you basically look like a old fashioned round bottomed flask?.....wide on the base??"
I am speechless....My friend does have a rather embarassing way of describing things.
Fortunately, she isn't above taking shots at herself either...
" You should see me now!!!..I have lost weight on my arms and legs. The torso, belly and the butt are still intact...I look and feel like..."
Hope springs eternal in the human breast..."A little potato with stick arms & legs??...."
" Nope....A giant albino spider"
:) :)

Confession for the readers' benefit: We didn't really use the word torso...the word was a wee bit coarser!!

Rosemary For December

December is my month for remembrances....

It is the month I lost two beloved pets and an aunt who touched my soul in a very special way...

I do not remember the exact dates I lost them. Not that it matters much. The pain of loss was felt long after the day had ended, and still makes my heart throb gently every winter.

It might surprise some that I speak of a dog, cat and a beloved aunt in the same breath. Strange as it may sound, I probably have done so because all three of them had a lot in common....They were fiercely independent, adorably eccentric, loving to a fault and unafraid to follow their hearts.

Jack, the demented, love-hungry Alsatian who was my closest companion through my college years, came to us as a very large 2 yr old courtesy our friend Venu. At first sight, he put the fear of God into us as he staggered about drunkenly in his room, snarling and glaring most malevolently at his cowering owners. We almost turned our backs on him and scuttled for our lives, not daring to bring home a dog which could so very easily go for our jugular if his milk wasn't served at the right temperature.
And we were so wrong. For, beneath the thick fur of the mean killer machine resided the heart of an overgrown puppy.And a puppy he remained to the end of his days..accepting our love as his just due and demanding it peevishly when it was not forthcoming.
When Jack got mad, it was my clothes which bore the brunt of his rage. If not my clothes, then my pillows or my books or my glasses...Anything that remotely smelt of me was fair game. He delighted in brazenly running away from home, just for the sheer pleasure of watching the whole family huff and puff after him in hot pursuit,all over the neighbourhood pleading with him to stop. It wasn't that he was destructive or thirsting for freedom. Jack just loved to be the center of attention and had no compunctions about how he got there.
But we did have a lot of fun.With our innumerable games of catch which had us running around the long mahogany dinner table until we flopped dizzily down into a giggling, yelping heap..Exam nights spent under the starry skies with Jack being schooled by me in the laws of demand, supply and diminishing marginal returns or the Indian Mutiny of 1857....
When I left Trivandrum, it was Jack I missed the most and often went back to see. A few months before he died, I was home re-cooperating from a virulent attack of jaundice. Jack was my friend, playmate and my nursemaid - all rolled into one and we spent a wonderful 2 months together before he left us.

For sometime, the void Jack left in our hearts seemed to engulf our lives. No more pets, my broken hearted mother and I vowed to each other. And while she has not had another pet, fate had other plans for me.
Little Kat stormed into my life, through my bedroom window, one cold dark night. She didn't ask if she could stay and it didn't occur to me to ask her to leave. For you see, we belonged...right from the very first miaow.

Her world comprised of the two of us and none other, be it feline or mortal....No boy friends, no mothers, no friends...In short, no one. If I had visitors, Kat was quick to establish pecking order, which had her and me lording over everyone else. On one occasion, no sooner had I finished a breakfast of eggs on toast, Kat decided to flex her muscle by sampling the rest of the eggs which incidentally, my mother had reserved for herself. My mother was not amused in the least. At another time, she marched off for a war of words with my landlord who dared ask us for increased rent while renewing our lease. Needless to say, my landlord was, since then, careful to not ask for money in Kat's hearing. The cat seemed to know no fear at all. Why, even the dogs next door did not dare approach me for a ear scratch in the presence of my little feline.

Not only was kitty possessive of my affections but she was extremely solicitous as well. If I was ill in bed or were to sleep in on a Sunday, I could be very sure of a worried Kat materialising on our bed with a freshly slaughtered and disemboweled rat for my sustenance.

And she was the most independent cat I have ever known. As much as she loved me, she needed her space and would vanish for hours together to bask herself in some sunny spot. She vanished one November morning for a very long spell. To this day, I haven't the faintest idea as to where she went or even if she was cat-napped, ludicrous as the idea may seem. She came back home a good 30 days later...all skin and bones...with bruised & broken foot pads...And the look of death in her eyes. I guess she came home only to say good bye.

In stark contrast to the dramatic entries Jack and Kat made into my life, my aunt emerged from the shadows only when I stood on the threshold of adulthood.
My aunt Rugmini was one of the gutsiest people I have come across...And so unafraid to meet life head-on. As single mother and an immensely successful media executive, I assume life could not have always been easy for her. And I will never know.
I will never know if she ever cried when the going got tough or worried about survival or ever knew fear in any form. I think of her as a free spirit...A person who followed her heart and accepted the consequences without a murmur. For me, as was the case with most of the youngsters in the family, 'ammayi' was a delightful lady with a wicked sense of humour and ever ready to dispense advice on fashion, career and life in general. But above all, she never judged. I do not know a single cousin of mine whose life has not been touched one way or the other by this wonderful lady. If I were to think of a single woman who has had a profound influence on my professional life, it would have to be her.

We lost her last December....To Cancer. An instance of a lump in the breast ignored for too long. After 4 years of protracted battle with the killer disease, she was ready to leave us all - having tended to all her worldly affairs...having said her good byes...And having made peace with the true love of her life.

Jack, Kat and my Aunt must be the only three people, in my life so far, with whom I have no unfinished business...The only three associations in my life with which I am at peace. And I will carry them in my heart, right to my grave.

Maybe, this is why I will always associate Rosemary with December...After all, Rosemary's for Remembrance.

The Lost Anniversary & A Goodbye Left Unsaid

It has been one year since we moved in. Artfully hidden somewhere in the next two weeks, is the day Ging walked into our lives and mewed us into submission. Sadly, none of us can remember the actual date, because a case of mistaken identity left us oblivious to her entry into the moggie household.

End November 2007, Dsk, Orange and I moved into our present house. For those not in the know, Orange was our indolent tabby who had come into our lives just 6 months before. He was the exact replica of Ging..Only fatter, less demanding and capable of infinite love. Although he lacked the independence of most other cats I knew, he was my special cuddle bunny who allowed me to smother him with affection, never letting go of any opportunity to snuggle into my arms.

Shifting a cat to a new home can be a daunting prospect as most cat moms know. Even so, I wasn't worried. Moving Orange, I assumed, would not be a serious problem. After all, he was such a low maintenance kitty. As long as I was in sight and on hand for some tender loving, I believed that Orange wouldn't protest overmuch. And he didn't...Not when I put him into the unfamiliar carrier for the first time in his life....Nor when he and I rode the broken, bumpy roads to our new home. It was only confinement that he took exception to.

A month after we moved in, Orange broke a little window on the landing and set out to discover the new world around him. For two weeks, I fretted and worried. And when a thinner and noisier cat reappeared on the doorstep, I was far too happy and relieved to suspect that life had switched cats on us. By the time I realised that the kitty which seemed drunk on freedom was in fact a whole different feline, Ging was in charge.

I saw Orange just once after.
He popped in to say hello and much to Ging's horror, stayed on for one last cuddle in my arms...Before strolling away jauntily, into another pair of warm, loving arms. Or so I hope.
It was a farewell of sorts...I see that now...
And he left in his stead, a little feline monster with an aversion to intimacy except when faced with the possibility of loss.

I would like to think that Orange knew the world was filled with hearts to love him and made way for a temperamental little diva called Ging, whom only a true lover of animals could accept into their hearts....Perhaps he sensed that she and I were, in a sense, kindred souls who needed and belonged with each other....
Because as I sit on my weather beaten couch with Ging gently snoring beside me, her paw just about touching my thigh, I realise that the excruciating pain of losing Orange has waned....And the wistful longing which used to grip me in the past has now given way to fond memories that warm my soul.

I suppose the time has come for me to say, with all my heart, God Speed Onj...Welcome Home Ging....And yes, Happy Anniversary House!!!.

The Resurrection Of Ms. Piggy

" Do you know what my little one is up to these days? " Although Pradeep's voice was deceptively innocent, I thought I heard a trace of repressed laughter and suspected that my karmic sibling was about to deal a blow to my self-esteem.I was right. "She keeps stalking my father trying to tell him the story of the three little pigs. The only problem is that she can't get past the first line and keeps repeating - There were three little pigs: Rekha Piggy, Shaki Piggy and ETA piggy- over and over again "
This was indeed a blow. I had become an oinking porker, courtesy my little niece ETA, and I had only myself to blame.

It all started one Sunday evening, a few weeks ago, when Dsk and I had gone over to Pradeep's place for drinks and dinner. A few cranberry Breezers later, I succumbed to his elder daughter's pleas for a bedtime story and a historical one at that. So when the clock struck 10, we snuggled together on her bed and I tried to narrate the story of Elizabeth I without divulging much about the lurid details . I had barely progressed to Anne Boleyn's pregnancy when our little cuddle bunny ETA clambered on board and wedged herself firmly between her elder sister and me. Quite naturally, the circumstances surrounding the birth of Queen E was far too complex for ETA's baby mind and before long, she was clamouring for a simpler tale. It wasn't an easy switch to make and the only one which sprang to my mind at such short notice was that of the Three Little Pigs. You know, the Three Little Pigs who went to the woods to build houses of hay, sticks and bricks and was pursued by the big bad wolf who gobbled up two porkers after blowing down their houses, but eventually was outwitted by the third who was shacked up in the brick house. This was how I had heard it as a child and when my mother read it out to me, it did not occur to me to do anything more than listen with rapt attention. But ETA being ETA was not the one to accept my tales quietly.
" Once upon a time, there were three little piggys"
" piigyysss? who?"
" Well, the 3 pigs were Rekha Piggy, Shaki Piggy and ETA Piggy" I am rewarded by a gurgle of laughter. ETA, obviously, approves of my choice of names. " The 3 piggies went to the forest"
" Why?"
" They did not have houses to live in and wanted to build houses for themselves." In the darkness, I could make out faint creases of the frown that wrinkled her little forehead. But before she could ask me what happened to the parent piggies or the house she lived in, I hurried on " They sang and danced in the forest. And suddenly came across a pile of hay. Rekha piggy who was a lazy piggy decided to make a house of hay and live in it."
Now I am normally not so self effacing but something told me that if Rekha Piggy did not lead the way in the story, her two little charges in real live would be sleepily squabbling late into the night. Besides, the call of the Breezers was rather strong and I was dying to get back to my drink. " Shaki piggy and ETA piggy went further into the forest until they found a pile of sticks. Shaki thought a stick house would be strong and decided to make one to live in. But little ETA piggy who was much much smarter decided to find something stronger to make her house. So she bravely went on by herself till she found a pile of bricks and built herself a brick house. One day, a big bad wolf came..."
" Wolf? what?"
" Wolf...errr...."
" She does not know what a wolf is...tell her lion or dog" That was Vishaka a.k.a Shaki piggy who had come to my rescue
" OK, one day, a big bad dog came to the hay house and wanted to eat Rekha piggy. He asked her to come out but Rekha piggy thought her house was strong and said no to him. She made rude piggy faces which made the dog very very angry. And so he huffed and puffed and blew down her house....and gobbled her up" Beside me, I could sense movement. ETA was on her haunches, patting me all over to check for missing fingers, hands or feet. " ETA, I am OK...nothing's happened to me....this is only a story" Not satisfied, ETA settled herself into my arms ostensibly to chase away any doggy that might appear to swallow me whole. "The bad dog then went to Shaki piggy's house and asked her to come out. But Shaki piggy was smart. She asked the bad dog to count to ten and then ran out of the back door all the way to ETA piggy's house. So, the angry dog huffed and puffed and blew down the stick house, but found no one to eat."
I figured one dead piggy provided sufficient violence for a modern day fairy tale. And besides, I did not fancy being sued by my niece many years later for psychological trauma caused by me consigning her to a fictitious dog's rumbling belly!!
" Rekha, you also come to my house"
" Errrr"
I wasn't so sure about introducing resurrection into the story but Shaki piggy once again interjected
' You better go to her house. Otherwise she will argue with us all night and we will never finish. I want to hear about Elizabeth I after this. "
" When the hay house was blown down, Rekha piggy ran to Shaki piggy's house. And..."
" Rekha, you come my house"
" All right, so Rekha piggy ran straight to ETA piggy's house..."
The look of pure joy that lit up ETA's face would have put a Christmas tree to shame. I almost hated myself for reintroducing the dog and bursting her bubble, but ETA the self proclaimed piggy warrior was raring to go.
" And for some time, the three piggies lived happily in the brick house. One day, when they were drinking tea, the big bad dog came to the brick house....He growled at the piggies and asked them to come out so that he could eat them....Rekha and Shaki were scared....."
" I WILL TAKE THE STICK AND BEAT THE DOG...BAD DOG...BAAAD DOG"
In my arms, the ferocious little warrior princess flailed her limbs to drive home the message. As I was at the receiving end, I had no choice but to concur, hoping all the while that I would not be taken to task by some over zealous animal activist.
" Yes ETA, you beat the dog and he ran away...never to come back again...And the 3 piggies lived happily in their house"
" And papa and mama"
" Yes, with papa and mama"
And I thought that was the end of the tale.
So you can imagine my surprise when Pradeep enlightened me about my little PR agent, who was enthusiastically spreading the word that I was a pig!!! This must have been how Victor Frankenstein felt when he beheld his Creature.
As my sibling dissolved in helpless laughter, I made a mental note to try Cinderella the next time....And No prizes for guessing who the protagonist is going to be.
Rekharella...rolls well off the tongue, doesn't it?

Meet Quasimodo

I have always wondered what Quasimodo looked like...No, not Hugo's hunchback...But the Durrell pigeon!

Although the hunchback of Notre Dame was a character that wrung my heart,the Quasimodo that caught my fancy at a tender age, was the pet pigeon young Gerald (Durrell) adopted from the Rose Beetle Man in " My Family and Other Animals". Those in the know, would probably remember the repulsive, waltzing Quasimodo who thought it was human until it laid an egg one fine morning and rediscovered the joys of being a pigeon.

The story of Quasimodo fascinated me as a young child...So much so that one of the greatest regrets of my adolescent years was the lack of an ugly, fat, pouffy chested pigeon that waddled after me, cooing frantically to be carried along. In vain did my mother did point out that our three killer mutts - Scott, Sasha and Liza- would have gleefully gobbled him up and probably burped their satisfaction in the face of my indignation...But nothing, absolutely nothing, would deter my juvenile fantasies. Little did I realise that this was to become a dream come true, albeit many years later.

Late last evening, I staggered back into my pad after yet another rough day at work. I had been at the printing press all day, to watch the first prints of our Annual Report come gliding out...But instead, the machine broke down and, despite hours of tinkering by the red-faced, sweaty service engineer, it showed no signs of coming back to life.

I was disheartened, stressed and exhausted...And all I needed was a hot shower, some scalding soup in a giant mug and my bed. As I ran the water to the right temperature, I was startled by a loud crash right next to me followed by an eerie "kuurrrrrrrr". Half expecting the wicked snake beastie of my dreams, I wheeled in fear and anger, only to discover that the metal service window in the bathroom had opened out. Rather surprising since I had always assumed it to be jammed tight. As I stood on tip toes and tried to shove it shut, I was accosted by yet another eerie "kurrrrr"...Only this time, I could discern an enquiry in it as well...As if to say " oh hello, there you are...I have been looking for you". Intrigued, I clambered on to the WC to check who my rude caller was and was rather surprised to meet eyes with a pair of unblinking, luminous brown ringed eyes set in an iridescent face.

Quasimodo!!!

Once more a gentle "kurrr", only this time it sounded a lot more loving and as if he was indeed very pleased to see me. I try shooing him away so that I can get back to my scalding hot bath but Quasimodo was a pigeon with a mission and was not leaving in a hurry...How incredibly inconvenient. This is why one needs to be very very careful when wishing for things - Especially when the object so desired is a character in a book!!! You never know when such fervent wishes can assume life and can come back to bite you on your backside!!!

It wasn't that Quasimodo was ugly. On the contrary, I found him to be quite the average pigeon except for that manic look of grim determination in his bloodshot eyes which for some reason made me very nervous!!! I wondered if he would fly at me and peck my pert nose off my face if I shooed him with greater enthusiasm. But even so, I could not for the life of me imagine showering under the watchful eyes of a crooning pigeon with manic eyes. To be honest, Quasimodo's rather long drawn out "kuuuuuurrrrrr's brought to my mind a picture of old Gollum, of LOTR fame, on the rock by the water side looking for his "preciousssss". And so, I shut the window in the face of violent protests and much agitated wing flapping from Quasimodo's side.

Now, did I mention that Quasimodo was a bird on a mission??? Well, when QM realised that the window into the bathroom was off limits, especially when I was engaged in my ablutions, he decided to seek alternate routes into my room and my heart. Just as I was mopping up the last of my soup with a hunk of freshly baked bread, I was once again startled out of my skin by the sight of the manic red brown eyes peering at me through the windows that overlooked my bed. This time, the pigeon was not to be fobbed off. He pranced about on the ledge cooing in a rich contralto and when that failed to melt my flint heart, he pouffed his feathers in sheer indignation and cooed harsh abuse at me. I remained impervious to his demands for long, as I huddled under my covers and buried my nose in Shashi Taroor's 5$ Smile. I even tried faking sleep but Quasimodo was implacable and went on with his part coaxing-part scolding routine on the ledge, just a few feet away.

When it seemed that Quasimodo was here to stay, I had no choice but to open the window and initiate dialogue.

" ok, listen, I know I wanted a fat, ugly pigeon following me around like Mary's little lamb but that was over 20 years ago....For chrisakes, I was just a dumb kid in school who was carried away by Gerald Durrell & James Herriot ... "

" kurrrrrrrr" * his loving look caresses me*

" No, no...what do I do with you??? I don't even live in Bangalore....And you cannot come back to Chennai with me...Besides, you've arrived too late to be considered for adoption....there are no vacancies for the part of the ugly, noisy bird in my life now!!!"

" kurrrrrrr"

It would seem that nothing I said was getting through to Quasimodo!!!

" All right, I will leave the window open and you can stay just one night...ok?..Just one night!!!....You will not come inside the room or mess it in any way...ok?"

Surprise of surprises, it seemed that Quasimodo didn't want to come inside as yet, for the offer was all that was needed to put an end to his cacophony on the window. He perched atop the window, which granted him a vantage view of my supine form under the covers and cooed himself to sleep.

In the morning, Quasimodo was still atop the window... cooing to me from the moment he sensed movement under my covers .

Despite my stern resolve, my heart is touched by this feisty little pigeon who so obviously wears his heart on his wing!!! I crush some crumbs on to the window sill for him as I munch on my toast, a gesture which Quasimodo acknowledges with a little nod before joining me at breakfast all through which, he listens gravely to me about my day ahead.

Despite all my growls and protests, I have a sneaky feeling that Quasimodo is not to be turned away..Like it or not, this is one little dream come true which I will need to live with...everytime I am in Bangalore....

And guess what? In the cold light of morning, it doesn't seem to be a terrible proposition at all....

ETA's World

" rekhaaaaaaaaa....come....come...come....push..."

My eyes almost pop out of their sockets as I am thrown off guard by the imperious commands hurled at me in that oh-so-casual tone...So much so, that it actually takes me a whole moment to digest the unceremonious demands!!

There are very few in this world who would venture to requisition my services with such high decibel arrogance. Those that do are, either very brave or plain stupid. But unfortunately for me, neither word exists in ETA's world.

ETA, the youngest born of my karmic sibling Pradeep, has a simple philosophy for life - " BE HAPPY"....A lot like Mumble, the super cute pengiun chick in Happy Feet. But for ETA to be happy, ETA must get what ETA wants. And in this moment in time, all ETA wanted was to play on the swings.

Since we were at a social engagement which kept her parents busy with their many responsibilities, the crafty ETA had no qualms whatsoever about recruiting any hapless passerby into service.

" rekhaaaaaaaaa........push...push....come....come...."

Cornered, I had no choice but to lumber over and help her on the swings.

" Fast...Fast....Fast...."

" No ETA...not Fast...You will fall off"

" No Fall....am holding tightly...see.....Fast...Fast...Fast"

" No, no....what if your hands slip and you fall off?"

A look of surprise crosses her face for a fleeting moment as she wonders how the chains which she has clasped in a vice grip in her teeny tiny hands could possibly slip out of her stranglehold. But ETA being ETA, was not the one to waste time or brain power on trifles. She must have concluded that I obviously was a moron who had to be suffered because apart from flashing a quick " what a dumb ass" look at me, ETA did not deign to reply.

" Fast...Fast....Fast...."

Now, she was beginning to remind me of a cheer leader at one of the famous Kerala boat races!!! But her enthusiasm is infectious and I am carried away by her rhythmic chants. Hastily muttering a prayer to the powers that be, I gently accelerate the tempo of ETA's swinging.

But is the cherub happy? Oh no, she is not!!!

" Fast...Faaast....Faaaaaaast...."

I am now almost convinced that the murky depths of ETA's gene pool contain a rogue chromosome or two that traces its roots to the backwaters of Kerala!!! A true blue mallu myself, I am all too aware of the tenacity and resourcefulnes of anyone remotely connected with my homeland and I decide that it would be well in my best interests to fall in line with ETA's wishes.

*sigh* I must be aging faster than I thought I was!!!

Soon ETA is air-cruising at a speed that meets with her approval.
" ETA, aren't you afraid?"
Once again, that "dumb ass" look...Seriously, is there nothing I can do right??
Thankfully, the feel of the wind tousling her hair softens ETA a wee bit and she begins to murmur her happiness to the world
" ETA happy.....Not SCARED!!!....ETA happy"

Okieeee, point noted...No Fear in ETA's World!!!

But this put-down does not register fully as I have finally tasted the success I was hoping for, after having failed to impress ETA with my 'Concerned Aunt' act earlier on.

'Safer to quit while you are ahead' suggest the voices in my head and like a fool, I try talking ETA into retiring indoors for lunch. However, ETA treats my query with such acidic scorn that I hasten to continue pushing her and this time, without much sound byte. But the peace was not to last.

Obviously ETA's happiness was impeding mine and besides being hungry, I could swear that my biceps were beginning to bulge!!!

" ETA, shall we go find mama?"

*cold silence*

But, spurred on by a rumbling stomach, the Alpha Moggie was not to be deterred......Come on folks, I am not the alpha for nothing, am I? I decide to engage her in conversation and steer her indoors, in a moment of distraction.

" ETA, do you know who DSK is?"

" my friend"

" your friend? why?"

" he gimme teddy bear......"

" ETA HAPPY!!!"

" do you speak to your friend?"

"yes"

"when?"

She directs a long suffering expression at me. Boy, I am so glad she is just 3 and cannot divorce me or sue her parents for making me a part of the family!!! But thankfully, ETA decides to take the higher road

" Saturday"

My jaw drops a few inches, as I stare at her in utter disbelief...... willing her to admit to her blatant untruth. But, ETA is oblivious to my glares, and continues to enjoy her ride..

" ETA, do you know who I am?"

" yes"

" who am I?"

" rekkkkhhhhaaaaaaaa" *accompanied by a diabolic MUHAHAHAHA kind of laugh*

Now, I am the one distracted from my mission.........

" rekha......just rekha?? no auntie?"

"NO"

I am rather nonplussed by this little niece of mine, who remains as cool as a cucumber as she announces her intention of calling me by name and not with the much desired Auntie epithet attached to it!!!

" ETA, how can you call me rekha?"

" rekhaaaaa....rekhaaaaaaaaaa....rekhaaaaaaaaaa"

The little imp grins wickedly at my discomfiture. As I mull over this new development, ETA waves what she considers an olive branch at me

" Satheesh auntie????"
*rolling my eyes in sheer exasperation*

For once, the Alpha is out-matched!!!