My life is full of dramas, but the events of the past two weeks would win the top prize for this year.
So, I went to India for a short trip for three reasons
- I had a work assignment
- My best friend is in India on an assignment and I wanted to see him
- My mother turned 80 and although I have no love for her, I felt it is still my duty to see her as 80th birthday is supposed to be a major milestone in a person’s life.(not sure why)
Everything was going according to plan. Before, I left my friend had told me that he will be sending his driver to pick me up from the airport and when I asked him how will I recognize the driver, he replied that the driver will be standing there naked. So, when I came out of the airport, I looked for the naked driver.. couldn’t find him. I sort of expected my friend to give the driver a sign which would have something like “welcome home, Pain in the Butt” and as I scanned the people standing at the waiting area, I noticed someone holding a coffee cup near his mouth in attempt to hide his face. My friend assumed erroneously that I wouldn’t recognize him and since I have known him for a very long time the chances of me not recognizing him even though he was incognito was pretty slim. So round 1, I won.
Then we went to his house, he made me Chaya, just the way I like it and we talked till his morning alarm started to ring at 6.30 a.m. I had a meeting at 9 and he had to be at work at 8.30 and so we thought we will sleep for 1 hour and will go for brekky at 7.45 a.m. which we did.
The next few days, I finished what I came for and my friend had to go to Beijing for a meeting. Which gave me three days of free time and I thought I would go and see my mother. So, I phoned my mother. I was suffering from a serious case of sleep deprivation when I made the call.
I said Amma this is me and I was showered with a volley of insults. It took me a little while to realize I wasn’t talking to my mother, but my sister younger to me. I assumed it is her, because she is the only one who can rant like a lunatic.
So, the gist of the matter is, I am not allowed to call my mother, because I write about her in this blog. What puzzles me the most is, I never asked my sisters to read this blog. They are nosey and want to know what I am up to and they check my blog everyday and then they get agitated. The simple solution for their problem would be not to read the blog.I have not had any contact with them, nor am I interested in wanting to find out. The ranting lunatic had in fact checked my Linkedin account three weeks ago. It is not rocket science to find out who checked your profile on LinkedIn because LinkedIn will tell you who checked your profile. It is like they just won’t leave me alone.
Years ago, when my maternal grandmother went to stay with her youngest son, he and his family wouldn’t let us see our grandmother. This is a common occurrence in our family and I was sort of expecting it to happen one of these days. You know, the keepers of the aged get the free ride to be bullies and impose control and their version of what is right and wrong. As I have no intention of having anything to do with my mother, I had hoped that with this trip to India, I could wash off my hands and live happily ever after. I knew the keepers of the aged(aka as my sisters) in their quest for justice for their aged mother wouldn’t let me know when she dies. So, I know I wouldn’t be attending the funeral when that day arrives. So, technically this was the last visit I was going to make to visit my mother and since I was told I can’t se her anymore there is nothing much I could do, but to consider that she is no more and go on with my life.
My friend stays in a service apartment in Bangalore and the only things he had in the kitchen were water, tea and sugar. I wanted to cook something for him when he came back from Beijing and it was a struggle. I bought a packet of meat masala powder and cooked motta perattal, and prawn curry and served it with ready made parathas.. I am pretty sure both the dishes tasted exactly the same, again there was nothing much I could do.
I managed to find the Chef who used to work at the old Rice Bowl. He was so happy to see me after 23 years. I had a Tibetan patient and the Chef would send food for me and the patient. He also taught me how to cook Indo-Chinese dishes before I left India.
I trekked some of the hills that Beautiful Eyes and I used to climb. I had hoped to build a roadside memorial for him and I was sure I would be able to find the spot where he had the accident. At that time, the highway was a single lane and not any more. Everything has changed and I couldn’t find the spot. So no roadside memorial.
I bought a Kasavu mundu for my son and three Ikat sarees. (one for Yaya, one for Baby and one for the girl my son will bring home one day) I have always loved handwoven Ikat sarees and I wanted my kids to have one as I am pretty sure a decade from now, there won’t be any more Ikat weavers in India.
As for the sparring my friend and I are known to do and keep a score, except for the first evening where I recognized him, I lost the rest of the games. I didn’t know the capital of Liberia, where Moldova is located etc. I said the hills I trekked were exactly the same as the ones found in Sholay movie..which is grammatically incorrect as they can be similar, not same.
Although I didn’t get to see my mother, I had a really good holiday. I ate a lot, met people who played a huge role in making me who I am and managed to spend time with my best friend.