My friends come over for tea often..
And those who want something other than tea, there is always beer , chilled to perfection..
Usually I am given advance notice before my friends come over..and in the event it was a spontaneous decision, I cook something while we drink and talk.. It has always been a fun, stress free time and I enjoy having friends over.. ( even when my friends have dropped in without any advance notice, they would bring something to eat like chips and dips or cake etc and my friends are used to my quirkiness….)

Day before I had surprise visitors..”Indian kind”, ..My relatives. It really shouldn’t have been a big surprise and I should have expected them, now that it is school holidays..But I didn’t.

When I saw them at the door, I had to run to my room and wear a skirt over my shorts..and then open the door.. ( oh the trouble one goes through!)

So they came inside..and I like a traditional Indian hostess asked what would they like to drink. They said “coffee”
I opened my kitchen cupboard and found that the last time I bought coffee was when my mother was here..

I couldn’t bring myself to tell my relatives that ” Sorry, there is no coffee” for you see the Indian hospitality doesn’t work that way. There is so much of expectations..and one can’t fail when it comes to offering something as simple as a cup of coffee..
There was bit of hard stuff at the bottom of the bottle that in its previous life was instant coffee..and I scraped the coffee progressively with a spoon, knife,ice pick and a chop stick.., while looking over my shoulder every few seconds and hoping my visitors wouldn’t leave the living room and find me doing the unthinkable..( I did consider adding hot water in to the bottle, but wasn’t sure of how much water to add..I couldn’t afford to make a mistake)
And Indian hospitality also involves serving something to nibble..I found a packet of murukku..yup, a packet..Before I could scream Eureka, I saw that it is an almost empty packet..with few ‘tiny’ bits of murukku in it, but the packet was safely secured with one of those secure clips. Whoever  ( ie one of my monsters) ate the murukku didn’t want to be bothered with throwing the empty packet in the bin, so they left a few bits in it and closed the cover securely..
There were 2 cans of Pringles..but how to serve Pringles in a bowl?
I could have cooked something..like onion bhaji.. again Indian hospitality doesn’t let you cook anything while the visitors are already in your house..for they would feel burdened that you have to cook something for them.. ( it is never a burden to drop in unannounced)

So I served coffee.. ( keeping my fingers crossed that, old coffee won’t kill/maim them).. and as I carried the coffee in to the living room, I found my relatives snickering..
For you see this is what they found in my living room

I did have a TV table and that became a fish tank stand..and I hate the standard type of furniture..I wanted something unique and  have been thinking of  making a TV stand myself and never got around to it. My plan is to buy a plank of camphor wood, do some (wood)planing and make a unique tv table.. so while I get around to it, the tv sits on a foot stool..
I am sure, by now the news of the ‘unique’ tv stand reached Kerala..and what a terrible hostess I am !

Sorry no update !!

I was thinking of a better word to describe the kind of fathers that make me feel murderous..
The first one is my mom’s cousin..
My father was home when  my cousin and his family visited us. His son was in his 20′s. A final year engineering student..As usual my father served alcohol and he asked my cousin’s son, “would you like a small?” And he nodded his head and said “yes” and his father said ” of course not, he should only drink when he earns his own money and can buy his own supply of alcohol”.. You should have seen the son’s face..to be humilated like that !

When I was 16 years old, I visited a cousinmy father came home on holidays and my cousins

Every parent wants the same when it comes to their children..make them succesful..so they will have a better and brighter future..

And so they start teaching their children as soon as the child is able to hold a pencil with the intention of giving the child a head start in school.
So the child goes to kindergarten, already knows to count 1 to 1000, write all the alphabets, may  even be able to read the newspaper each morning. ( kidding, but you get my drift!)

In a class of 20 students, may be all of the kids were taught at home and all could do all of the above..In that case the teacher has a great year of not doing anything. Because she has set curriculum to teach and if the kids knew everything, she doesn’t have to do anything.

But that doesn’t happen. So in a class of 20, few would know to count 1 to 10 or all the alphabets and the teacher would spend her time teaching those who don’t know and the ones who know everything gets left out.. they turn to be disruptive and gets in to trouble and complacency sets in along with over confidence..And then they enter grade 1..and everything changes, the kids who didn’t learn anything before joining the kindergarten and the ones who knew everything are now in a level playing field.. and a parent teaching them all the alphabets, all the numbers make no difference..

My point is there is no need to hurry the learning experiences.. let children be children..let them draw on the walls and jump up and down on the bed..and the teachers would do what they are paid to do and teach your child.
And
Is there a benefit in teaching your 3 year old all the alphabets, spelling etc?

Finnish pupils start formal education at seven and then enjoy 11-week summer holidays – and they end up with the highest educational standards in Europe.( BBC

My cousin died last year..He was 42.
Of course people die..nothing new in that..but read on.. and you might feel what I felt..

My cousin’s father was a very typical mallu..He passed his SSLC ( 10th std) with a great deal of prayer and a bit of cheating and a lot of pulling strings. He got admission for pre degree because my family is well connected.. It took a couple of tries before he passed his pre-degree.. While he was doing and redoing his pre degree he was also very active in other less intersting ( for the family) activities. Eventually he entered the family business..I am not sure if he ever passed his pre-degree. But family had money and there were never any shortage of  girls in the marriage market when it came to guys with family money, irrelevalnt of educational qualifications..
I mentioned my cousin was a typical mallu..what I meant was, he was an egotistical, arrogant, alcoholic man who loved bashing up his wife! Over the years, she  conceived few times..Some were born..some lost after a kick in the belly or after being thrown across the room.
My cousin was the oldest..The father who couldn’t even pass the pre degree in the first attempt suddenly became a man on a mission to make his son a succesful student..

I have a fiery temper..at the same time I am pretty rational. ( how the two go hand in hand is a mystery!)
This post is about the ‘outstnading parents’ that make me feel murderous..( and yes, I am still rational)

The first group is the “pure breed”..
The first one I met was in Malaysia, they were the parents of one of Yaya’s classmate and were on a mission to create a pure breed culturally appropriate child.
They believed that KFC and McD were the evil forces that were created to corrupt  children and the kids must be taught not to fall for the ‘temptation’ of eating in those horrible places that serve horribly unhealthy food.
I believe each to his own, if they didn’t want to take their child to KFC or McD, that was their choice. But for me, a mother of three kids, McD gave me an hour of peace and tranquility.. When the kids were crabby and it was a rainy evening, we went to McD. I took my book with me and read while my kids played safely in the enclosed play area.. and the best part of my evening was I had three happy kids and no mess to clean!
But then the said anti KFC parents started using their kids in their propaganda and the said kid asked Yaya.”You go to McD? My parents say they serve  very unhealthy food. They love us so much, so my mom cook all our food at home because it is healthy”
Yaya was 6 years old then. She was heartbroken.. that her mother didn’t love her and that is why she took her to McD. I tried to explain to her that I love her very much ..but my struggle didn’t end there..
I had to pack snack and lunch for Yaya.. and I usually send nuggets as snack and cooked something healthy for lunch..
“You can’t eat nugget” said the annoying kid. “nuggets are processed meat, they are unhealthy”
and Yaya stopped eating nuggets.
It wasn’t possible for me to get carrots and celery sliced to bite sized pieces and make a perfectly healthy snack for yaya. I had to care for siblings too..
I felt murderous…

Years ago, while living in UK, I used to take care of two kids after school. My job involved picking them up from school, making something for them to eat and then wait for their parents to come. So one such day, as I waited for them to come out of the school, I saw this little girl holding a cupcake in her hand and running to her mother saying “mummy, look, I made a cupcake” and the mother snatched the cupcake from the child’s hand and said ” we are vegetarians, we will give this cupcake to daddy”.
You should have seen the child’s face.. and I felt murderous..

As for Yaya.. I waited for another rainy day..fixed her a nice salad..and told her to eat the healthy salad before we go to McD, so she won’t be hungry while her siblings eat their unhealthy burger..She got the message pretty quickly..

I am a vegetarian.. and I learned from the cupcake mother that..my values are my own..and I have no right to force it on my children..

Ps: I feel anything in moderation is fine. It wasn’t that we went to McD every day..Going to a fast food outlet was our rainy day treat..
Now, none of my kids eat at KFC or McD. and I love the vege burger at Hungry jacks and their spicy sauce..So I still go there once in a while and my kids give me that look that says ” I can’t believe you eat that crap” while they eat subway..Each to his own !!!

Last weekend kids and I went to Towoomba for the festival of flowers. I knew the Jacobite church had organized a trip to the festival along the same time I was there.
I spend a lot of time and energy trying to make sure that I was nowhere near the mallu crowd.

Why?

When I was growing up the few names I was called were “flirt, chatta kkari (? derogatory name for anglo indian), fast, ahankari ( arrogant)..
I didn’t do anything major to be called all those names. My crimes were rather simple..
I didn’t fit in to the traditional mallu girl mould and therefor I was different and needed a name.

Salwar Khameez arrived in Kerala when I was in the 8th std. Mine was stitched in a little shop in Kanjikuzhy. I remember taking the fabric ( we had plenty at home..Most of my family lived outside India and always bought fabric as a gift whenever they visited us) and walking to the tailoring shop. I knew what I wanted  and I explained to the lady tailor. ( digressing a bit..I never went to a male tailor in Kerala..I hated the way they tried to feel me up on the pretext of getting the exact measurement). The tailor nodded her head as though she understood exactly what I wanted, She even drew a diagram on a piece of paper and clipped it to the fabric.
I waited eagerly for the day my salwar was supposed to be ready ( following the standard protocol by adding 2 weeks to the supposed delivery date and visiting every other day and asking for it).
I remember holding the newly stitched salwar in my hand. I couldn’t try it at the shop, so I practically ran all the way back home.
I tried my salwar on..
What I asked for was open neck front and back..
What I got was a chatta..albeit a bit long.
Even the tailor took it up on her to make sure that I was dressed according to the mallu customs and traditions..
I never understood why I must follow a set guidelines to be considered ’normal’
I was never normal.. and the taunts, the name calling never ceased..and the most surprising thing was, it was the (mallu)women who always cast the biggest rocks..

And so in Towoomba.. all the mallu women would have been wearing proper decent salwars or pants with long sleeved blouses and perhaps the few courageous ones would have worn jeans ( I doubt it though, for wearing a jeans in front of the pathiri (priest)will not be looked up on favourably)
Kids and I had gone for surfing that morning and I was wearing my ( itsy bitsy tiny weeny )shorts and a singlet..
To an Aussie.. I probably looked normal..
To an Indian.. entey ammo..

ps: As I finished typing this post, I asked myself, Do I really care what anyone thinks of me? Certainly not..then why did I hide from the mallu crowd? I haven’t got a clue..

I know this is a public blog and when I take a swing at someone, I am doing so with the knowledge that when I point my finger at someone, three fingers point back to me.

But this need to be written..

As I mentioned in the post title, I know what your daughter is doing..

You came to Australia because you met all the criteria for an immigrant visa, so you are well educated, well read and the Australian govt considers you to be a valuable asset to the society and granted you a PR.
You made the decision to migrate because you wanted a better life for you and for your children.
You made the choice to raise your children in Australia..
Your children attend Aussie school and you want them to remember always that they are Indians and must act like Indians, for the Indian culture goes back many centuries!..
You want your daughter to be a traditional Indian girl..And you have been living under the impression that you are doing a fantastic job raising a traditional Indian daughter that too while living in Australia.. who wears decent ( ie proper grandma jeans and  not skinny jeans, certainly no shorts and absolutely no short skirts!) outfits, is  quiet and a studious child.
Now don’t get me wrong..There is nothing wrong in being an Indian..

But these are the things you don’t know about  your 14 year old daughter.
She is sexually very active.
She leaves home wearing decent pants..and the reason she prefers to come to school very early is not because she wants to do group studies, it is to change her clothes from jeans to really really small skirt that just meets the school guidelines.
And few weeks ago, you gave her permission to attend the drama practice at her friends house..all day..Your daughter wasn’t part of the drama team and her friends were covering up for her, because she wanted to spend a whole day with her boyfriend and all her friends know what a nasty mean mother you are and would do anything for their friend.. even lie..

You know what is reall disturbing?? All your daughter’s friends talk about you to their parents..and when they meet you at school and when you start extolling the virtues of your daughter..they are snickering behind your back.. because everyone knows that  you are living in denial and that you are the only one in your daughter’s life who doesn’t know a thing about her…and the worst is, you are making a liar out of your daughter..( it takes a lof out of your child to lead the double life she is leading now and you are forcing her to do it.)

As a mother, you have the responsibility and the duty to help shape your daughter’s life in a positive manner..You have the privilege to be that person who can shape her world..You are supposed to be her friend instead she considers you to be her worst enemy..

Was it worth it?
 

Ever since my kids were little, I follow a simple rule ” don’t punish them for something that I myself would have done”
Basically it started when Yaya was about 2..she was having her breakfast and I told her to be careful with the bowl..
The bowl was a Uriarte talavera..it cost 180$/bowl. I am sure any sane person would ask which mother would serve cereal in such an expensive bowl to a toddler..

My maternal grandmother owned a complete set of Shelley China..She never used them..for she was keeping them for the ‘special occasion’..Over the years, pieces of the china disappeared..But the family never ever used it..not once.There was never a special occasion in the family worthy of using the Shelly..
By the time Yaya was born, I had a collection of China..and I used them everyday because I didn’t want to keep them for the ‘special occasion’

And Yaya dropped the bowl..It wasn’t so much as the cost of the bowl that broke my heart.. but the fear in my child’s face.. She was terrified..I felt, why should my child be terrified of breaking a bowl when I myself have broken a few pieces of the same set?
Why would I scold her when I gave her the bowl?

I learned a valuable lesson.. and so it continued…( and I bought corningware!)

When Yaya was having her birthday party, she wanted to use the dart board. She hung the board very close to the outdoor lamps and the dart hit the lamp shade and a broke a tiny piece. She came inside to tell me “mom, I am sorry, I broke the lamp shade”
Now, who in the world would hang a dart board close to a lamp shade?
I didn’t scold her..but did tell her ” Yaya, you need to remember money doesn’t grow on trees!! and no one in their right mind would hang a dart board close to a lamp shade !”

Last weekend I was getting all my summer gear out of hibernation..and thought I would clean and wax my surf board..The sun was getting in my eye and I pulled the chair closer to the wall..I was happy with the end results..My board looked beautiful. I got up holding the board..and I heard a loud crack..and there on the floor was the shattered remnants of my outdoor lamp shade. Yaya only broke a tiny piece.. I did the rest..( who in their right mind would sit right underneath a lamp shade and wax the surf board??)
And the speck in my eye..it is getting bigger by the day..