It works

OK, I admit that I am extremely conscious of my body image.
The key word here is ‘conscious’, not body image.

I am 42, nah not yet, still 41 and I have three kids.. so technically it is not a biggie how biggie I look!
There in lies the problem. The conscious part of me knows that after three kids, if you aren’t willing to do some serious exercise and do some serious calorie counting, your body will look exactly how it should..
I hate to use my children as an excuse for my inability to take care of my body.
And the last time I actually exercised was in 1983. I was in the 7th std, still earning a lot of eggs for English and maths ( few eggs for Hindi too) and my mother made me join the YMCA run badminton training. The coach was a professional badminton player. The idea was to get him to teach me playing badminton  and his superior training coupled  with my genetic lineage ( my grandfather, uncles, aunts, mother, sisters were all very good badminton players) should  help me win few school level games progressing to state level and an extra 10 marks for SSLC.
There is an old English saying, you can lead a horse to the water, but you can’t make it drink.
The coach made me run around the basketball court for 30 minutes ( I stopped whenever he was not looking), make me do all sorts of stretching and exercises that supposed to make me very agile and fly across the court in a most graceful manner, like a ballerina, but with a racquet in my hand..and all that really happened was I run to left, the birdie would land on my right..and it went on. everyone loved to play against me, for me as an opponent guaranteed them a victory !
The only thing I actually wanted to learn was how to scoop the birdie from the floor with my racquet. After playing for three months, I still didn’t learn to do that !
And the only consolation, I was going to YMCA for training..and there were plenty of good looking guys!

Every year my children’s grandmother asks what I want for Christmas and every year I ask for the same
“Washboard abs”
she won’t buy me a gym membership because she knows me too well and buy me Amazon credit instead. ( between the choice of sweating in the gym and laying down in my bed and reading the latest book..she knows what I will pick)

I don’t diet, actually I can’t diet. I love food way too much. The only thing I don’t do is to take second serve. How much ever I like the food, I never take a second serve. I love kettle cooked chips, especially salt and vinegar chips. I also bake cakes and muffins daily and eat them too.

I dream of going for jogging each morning and it is one of those dreams that continues to stay as a dream. I would love to go for swimming, but the local pool isn’t heated ( yes I am a spoiled whatchamacallit)
After hearing me crib about how unfit I am and how much I really want a washboard abs for the umpteenth time, a friend suggested, why don’t you do skipping?

I wouldn’t say it was a Eurekka moment..it was one of those moments that make you consider giving it a go..
Baby used to do the heart foundation run skipping for health program in Canada and so we had a skipping rope at home.
The first day, I managed to skip the rope 3 times before quitting..( and the fact that I was trying to skip wearing my slippers further prolonged my misery)
I wore trainers ( Yaya’s. I never needed to wear trainers until now) the second day and managed to skip the rope 10 times, stopping every few minutes to catch my breath and and to threaten my children with bodily harm for laughing at me.
I can do it continuously for 5 minutes now ( and yesterday I completed 3 weeks).. but my legs and abs are getting toned..I can see the difference. It works.
Knowing me, this regime will last hopefully till the summer is over and will start again next year just before summer..and in between you will hear the usual cribbing and I still want a washboard abs.
Oh,, as for doing the squats, it lasted a week before I  quit !
 

Camphor

Of all the smells in the world, there is one that takes me back to my grandmother’s house instantly.
It is the smell of camphor.

The first instance of me getting acquainted with camphor is a bit hazy. I must have been around 3 years old and was visiting Chengannur with my father during the Christmas holidays. One of the workers went to Sabarimala for pilgrimage I was given a bit of the prasadam. it had malar, slivers dried of coconut, pieces of jaggery and pacha karpooram. I don’t remember if it is prasadam from Sabarimala or some other temple. But I do remember the taste of pacha karpooram..it was so unique and I loved it very much.

All the womenfolks in my family owned a treasure box. Amma’s was leather, Chechy’s was metal and my grandmother’s was wood and mine is this blog!, (Yaya and baby too have their own treasure boxes! Baby is the worst, she needs a new box every year to keep all her treasures)

My grandmother lived alone in her house almost all her life. There weren’t a lot of interesting things in her house apart from her ledger and her thadi petti ( wooden chest). And every day while my grandmother worked in the fields, I went through her wooden chest. There were few chatta &mundu..Inside one of the mundu was her golden bangle and her ring wrapped in a purple jeweller’s paper, safely hidden. Right at the bottom of the box was a brown paper bag with serrated edges. I had not seen much machinery in those days and it always puzzled me as to  how anyone could cut the edge of the paper bag so neatly with scissors. ( just as I wondered years later about all those pringles potato chips being the same size.. how did they manage to grow potatoes the same size?)
As soon as you lift the paper bag, you could smell the camphor. it was so strong. Inside the paper bag was a brand new kasavu neriyathu.
It was our secret. I was told from the time I could remember that it is my job to bathe ammachi when she died and wrap her body in that brand new kasavu neriyathu.
My grandmother worked in the fields all day and she didn’t own a great deal of clothes..and those that she owned were all stained with banana sap etc. Even the one she kept aside to wear to church every sunday was moth eaten and the damage was cleverly hidden between the pleats.

I think she didn’t want to waste the money and buy new clothes..or perhaps she really didn’t have money..or was it that it affected the work in the farm if she took a day off and went shopping?
I don’t know.
But she took good care of the neriyathu in the brown paper bag. She bought camphor tablets from the nadodi  who came once a year to our house. Camphor is known to deter moth infestation.

Was my grandmother a visionary who knew to prepare for her death in advance because all her clothes would be in bad shape when death came calling and she didn’t want to hassle anyone to buy and waste their precious money for her funeral clothes or was she a tragic heroine of the story who worked non stop taking care of the land for her ( ungrateful) son knowing very well that he and his children would never take care of her when the time came?

At least the puzzle of pringles chips being uniform size has an answer..

As for my love for Camphor.. it still continues..Every time I open my pantry, I stop, take a deep breath, smell the camphor..

balanced

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My mother’s sewing kit was an old quality street sweet tin and it held threads, buttons, bits and bobs . She always saved every bit of thread, even the leftover threads from the sewing needle after she did some mending. After few months, there was something that looked like a bird nest made of various colour threads in the sewing kit and it was my job to untangle them and help Amma save every bit of those tiny useless threads! There was no point trying to tell my mother that she was never going to use those threads..
Sometimes my memories are all tangled like the threads in Amma’s sewing kit.

I have been thinking about my grandmother a lot lately..
Yesterday while I was with my accountant trying to finish my tax returns, I remembered my grandmother’s ledger book.
It was hardbound with pinkish/purplish cover, the corners were bluish black colour.
But what I remember the most was the colour of the paper inside. It was a lovely shade of light green. All my notebooks had white paper with an annoying tinge of purple and the paper always absorbed the dampness during monsoon season, where as the paper in Ammachi’s ledger book was crisp and neat.
If I was well behaved, Ammachi always let me have a sheet before I went back home. The process of tearing a paper was done under strict supervision. You were only allowed to take a sheet from the middle of the book, even then it has to be checked that nothing was written on it and only ammachi was allowed to tear it, so as to not to damage the binding.

I was not allowed to touch the book, but would look at it when Ammachi wasn’t around.  I couldn’t read most of what she wrote, only few words. According to my father, my grandmother was using the old Malayalam script,
There were two columns. varavu, chilavu (incoming/outgoing).
She recorded every single transaction..She was the custodian of the land and was taking care of it for my father. She wanted to make sure that everything that she did was recorded.
But what fascinated me always was the 10%  ( tithe)she gave to the church at the end of each month. She didn’t balance the budget, instead she gave the 10% of the varavu (incoming). She and the local pathiri (priest) were always at loggerhead and fought all the time. But the last sunday of each month my grandmother attended the church holding an orange colour envelope that held the 10 % of her income for that month. She often said , “kaisserkkullathu kaisserkkum, yehovakkullathu yehovakkum”
( Jesus said “Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s; and to God the things that are God’s. Matthew 22:21)

As I filed my tax return, I wonder if I would ever be able to live a life like my grandmother lived..not to bend my knees at any time for anyone for any reason at the same time never sacrifice my ideologies and beliefs?

Shut up

Few weeks ago, kids and I went to our local farmer’s market. Before we left, my youngest declared the day to be ” I am a jolly good rancher and I lost all my wonderful marbles”.. It is a very silly game..The idea is, you have to say ” I am a jolly good rancher and I lost all my wonderful marbles” to any question anyone ( 4 of us) ask.
So if Yaya asks ” mom where is my phone?”
I have to reply “I am a jolly good rancher and I lost all my wonderful marbles”
You lose when you forgot your dialogue and actually said the proper answer. Silly sentences change often.like  “I am crazy”, “panties” etc.. ( mom what is that in your hand ? and I am holding my iphone and replied ” panties”.. You should have seen the look on the faces of strangers!!)

Anyway, we went to our local pet supplies shop. The owner is a very good friend and I was talking to him while my kids were looking at the fish.
My youngest came and asked
“Mom, can we buy an axolotl ( Mexican walking fish)?”
And I replied ” I am a jolly good rancher and I lost all my wonderful marbles”
She was ticked off..
“mom, the game is over..Can we please get an axolotl?” She tried again.
and received the reply..”I am a ,,,”
“shut up mom” She said, clearly annoyed with me
My friend  who was listening to the whole conversation said to her ” baby, if I said shut up to my mom, She would have whooped my butt”

That got me thinking.. Is there something wrong with saying “shut up” to a parent?

I was the guilty party here.. I annoyed my child.. Is she supposed to walk away without reacting because I am her mother and I must be respected at all times?

Years ago, on my first day as a Master’s student in England, when the professor walked in to the class, I stood up, just as I did all those years growing up in India.  The entire class of students plus the professor were staring at me trying to figure out why in the world I was standing up in the middle of the class like a bean pole.
It was shocking to know that in England,  you don’t show respect to your teachers by standing up. Even more shocking was when the same professor invited the whole class for a drink at the local pub.. In India, I used to run with my life if anyone from my medical college entered anywhere near the pub I was in.. for if anyone saw me, I would have faced disciplinary actions.

While the Indian professors demanded respect by making you stand up when they entered the class and then continued this charade of respect by going to the pub to see if any of the students are drinking and then persecute them by deliberately failing them in the internal exams/viva, the British professors did what they were supposed to do. They taught.

My mother would have skinned me alive if I told her to shut up.

So, back to my child. why should I punish my child for saying “shut up” Is it because saying shut up is considered disrespectful? Why should she respect me when I was really annoying her?
Respect is surely earned..
I didn’t punish my child..for I don’t think saying shut up to me when I was clearly wrong was a crime.

How can you afford?

A friend recently asked me about my Christmas vacation plans and then said ” I don’t know how you can afford to live like you do”

The answer is very simple. I don’t live for anyone.

I live in a small house..My house is not an architectural wonder..It is a very simple house, but it fulfilled all my criterion.
Location !Close to schools and public transport.
Small house, lots of land ( land value increases over the years)
Less than 10 years old ( older the house, the more you spend on fixing it )
Enough rooms for my children
Single story house and Disabled friendly.. ( I don’t foresee myself living in Australia for the rest of my life, but in the event I do, I wanted to be able to live in my own house independently..two story houses are a pain as you grow older and it costs a lot more money to convert a house in the later stage to make it wheel chair friendly)
Most importantly, I didn’t want to send the Bank CEO on a vacation using my money !

Simple maths can tell you that if you take a loan of $250.000 at 7.25 % over 30 years, at the end of 30 years, you would have paid  $600,000 to the bank..and that is why the banks can pay their CEO’s millions of dollars as bonus.
I don’t see the need to impress others by living in a very expensive house.. My ego doesn’t need a boost..I don’t care if I am judged by the size of my house..
I can afford my holidays because  instead of giving all my money to the bank, I chose to live in a small house and  spend my money on our holidays.

16

You would have turned 16 yesterday..
Sweet 16..
I wondered how you would have looked and I  imagined Yaya as a 16 year old..Taller version of Yaya..
When they told me I was pregnant, I remember thinking if you would have your father’s hazel eyes ! I imagined  pudgy arms and thighs..tiny fingers..hazel eyes..

The boots Pharmacy was next to Uni library and each evening as I walked back home, I would stop by the fish chips shop next to boots, buy the mushy peas, douse it with Henderson’s relish and eat it quickly and then enter the boots Pharmacy to look at all the baby stuff they had for sale.Little cups, tiny nail cutters..baby brush..there were so many things I wanted to buy for you..I had already started saving up money, so I could buy you all the things when you arrived!
I had also spoken to your great grandmother and asked her to stitch baby dresses for you out of voile.. I didn’t trust my mother to make your dresses..knowing her, she would have cut corners, bought the cheapest/damaged fabric that was on sale, wouldn’t have used silk threads to sew..but I knew I could trust my grandmother to make your dresses properly..You were my baby and you deserved the best.

When I lost you, I started to take the long and winding walk back home…because I couldn’t bring myself to walk in front of boots pharmacy again.. It felt I was betraying you somehow..and I was angry with everyone.. even the guy at the fish shop who always served me a large portion of the mushy peas. Could he have added some chemicals to the mushy peas? Did my cravings for mushy peas harmed you? Or was it the Henderson’s relish? Did my my phone call to my grandmother jinxed everything? Was I wrong trying to prepare everything in advance?

You know what is even more hard? Because you never got a chance to be born..some how me carrying you all those months doesn’t exist.. I am only a mother of three kids. I am not supposed to grieve for the one I lost because somehow having three  kids should compensate losing you.
I am your mother.. just as I am your sibling’s mother. One doesn’t stop being a mother when one doesn’t get to hold her baby ever..
There is nothing tangible to remember you.. but you will always be my baby..you will always live in my memories.

Possible?

I couldn’t wait for my older sister to go to the University. By then I had waited close to 10 years to have my own room. I resented each time she came home for holidays, because I then had to vacate the room and give it to her ( and she changed everything in the room)and again had to wait  for her to leave to get the room and make it mine.

I haven’t seen my youngest sister for more than 10 years. She does come to Brisbane often for work..but we don’t see each other..
Not seeing a sibling isn’t something I am proud of..but the journey to this point was entirely controlled by my mother. She turned each of us against the other..
Now that we are older and supposedly wiser, it should have been easier to work together and keep our past behind..but it isn’t. The damage my mother inflicted on the 4 of us are too much and the best way to keep peace is to pretend that the other person doesn’t exist.

I grew up in my sister’s shadow. Every little achievement my sister had was really  worth in my mother’s eyes and every little achievement of mine was compared to my sister’s and if it was better than my sister’s, then my mother looked for reasons why I did better, so as not to hurt my sister’s feelings..( I got more marks than my sister for 10th and my mother said it was because the evaluation system was more lenient during my time..otherwise how could it be possible that during my sister’s time the first rank was near the 450 marks and during my time it was near the 550 marks! Therefor my sister scored better marks than me)
It was the same for my younger sisters..None of us were ever as good as my oldest sister..

Living in a horror house of mental and emotional abuse, each of us did whatever it took to survive..and the anger, hatred and resentment still continues..

I used to envy my classmates when they talk about their siblings..I couldn’t relate to mine the same way..
When I had my kids, I was determined to raise them well..and I was always weary of turning out to be like my mother..because at the end.. I know what damage my mother caused.. still continue to cause.

When Yaya left for Spain, my son gave her 100$ and told her to buy something for herself..
Baby made a card and gave her sister 20$
Yaya’s flight was at 3AM and both my son and baby insisted that they want to come to the airport with me to see Yaya off even though they had school the next day.

 It is possible to raise children without making them hate their siblings..

Guess What?

I absolutely hate shopping and  try not to go to the malls as much as possible. But kids have school holidays and I decided to take them to the movies..and one thing lead to another and we found ourselves in Kmart..and guess what? They already have Christmas decorations out for sale..and I grumbled as usual ” why do they even bother taking the decorations off the shelves after Christmas? they should just continue to sell them! We haven’t even celebrated Halloween for Pete’s sake”

And as I grumbled and mumbled, my youngest made a beeline for the Christmas chocolate section. She started to  read all the labels and said ” Thorntons, I have never heard of Thorntons”
“Did you say Thorntons?” I asked her
“Yup” She replied, took the box from the counter and showed me..
Bloody hell, I thought.. I haven’t had a Thornton’s Chocolate for 15 years!!

My father used to say, “a chocolate is a chocolate if it is a Thornton”..
And I always remembered the name..
And then I went to UK to study..

Each morning, I walked past the Thornton outlet on my way to Uni..I am not a fan of Chocolate..but the way they displayed the chocolates were simply awesome..They were also very expensive. I was an International student from a third world country paying premium tuition fees. So though the chocolates looked lovely and nice, the chocolates stayed in the shop shelves..But I loved looking at them as I walked to my class every morning.
Right after the shop, I had to take a right turn to get in to the by lane that would take me to my class..
And in the evening, I used the same lane to go back home..
And that is when I saw her..
The first time I saw her, I was actually scared.
She wore knee high boots, very tight red colour mini skirt, a leopard print top and a tiny leather jacket. She had the 80’s style hairdo ( head full of curls) and as soon as she saw me she said
” hon, you want me to to do you?”
I practically ran all the way back to my apt.

I grew up in conservative India. Of course there were prostitutes..but the ones in Kottayam used to come out only at night and even then they hid their faces under the umbrella,
The local prostitute near my medical college used to come to the STD clinic regularly for treatment..but she too never propositioned to me. Actually, if the senior registrar never told me about her history, I would have never even known that she was a prostitute..Except for her fascination for colourful pink sarees and pink lipstick, she was just like all the other female patients!

So, though I was 23 and well educated and not really a prude..I really didn’t know how to deal with a brazen  prostitute who thought I could be her customer!

I think she knew I was “one of those” women and loved to shock me..
Each evening, I left the University hoping she won’t be there and if she was, I looked down and walked as fast as I could. And without fail, I would hear her throaty Yorkshire drawl ” hon, how about tonite?” “for you 10 quids” etc etc..
Clearly she enjoyed harassing me..

Some days she wasn’t there when I left the Uni and I began to worry about her and it was such a relief to see her again the next day.
And the days started to get short and got more and more cold and I could see her struggling to keep herself warm.. She would  walk up and down the lane,rubbing her palms and patting her cheeks every now and then..
It was snowing heavy one day and as I trudged over the heavy snow but still warm in my parka..She was leaning against the lamp post.. still in her mini skirt and tiny leather jacket..She didn’t even have a hat or mittens.. and I realized, it was just a chance of birth.. that I was warm and she wasn’t..and it occurred to me..that whatever happened to me in my life, there is so much I have to be thankful for..

As for the Thorntons.. I told my youngest ” a chocolate is a chocolate if it is Thorntons”

 

My daughter’s friend !

Yaya is in Spain and this is what she wrote to me in her first email home.

“Mom, there are sooooo many hot guys here, im in heaven”

I wondered how it would have been, had I said the same to my mother.
The truth is, I could never say anything like that to my mother.. It wasn’t done. it couldn’t be done.
My mother was on a mission to save me.. from what I don’t know. She was so restrictive..so strict..(and I did everything to break free from the chains she tied on my ankles..)
My mother was never my friend.. She was enemy number one.. ( now those of you tempted to post a link or comment about mothers feeding their child and washing their butt, therefore can’t be called enemy, please don’t. I know what I went through !).
My mother  is the last person I would turn to.. if I need help.

I am Yaya’s mother.. I take my role seriously. But my role as a mother didn’t do a crash landing because my child told me that there are sooooo many hot guys here..
It didn’t mean that my child is a ‘flirt, fast etc etc’..or that I didn’t raise her well.. all it meant is that, Spanish guys are good looking and she is having fun.. and that she could talk to me without having to worry about how to censor the news..or what will my mother think..

I am Yaya’s mother.. I am also her friend..It isn’t always easy..But I try..