When Yaya’s Samsung Galaxy phone stopped working, I did all that I was supposed to do. I called the Vodafone tech support and followed their instructions and nothing happened. Then I was asked to take the phone to the Vodafone outlet to send for repair. The screen had a tiny crack on it and Vodafone customer service officer very kindly informed me that the warranty is void and even if they send the phone for repair, it will not be repaired. I felt I should take my chances and insisted that they send the phone for repair. A week later, I got a call from the outlet to let me know that they send the phone for repair and some major parts needs to be repaired and since they couldn’t contact me, Vodafone returned the phone back to the outlet. ( There was no way they couldn’t have reached me. It was pretty obvious that the phone never left the outlet)

Brother of one of my colleague  owns a phone repair shop and I send the phone to him. He told me the repair costs would be in excess of 300$.

I am very stingy and didn’t see the need to invest 300$ on something that is only worth 200$ ( current market value).

During all these dramas, my son kept asking me, if he could have a look at the phone and I kept saying No. He is 13 and smartphones are extremely complex. I didn’t trust him enough to handle such complex instruments.

Last weekend, as I was just about to leave for the airport, he asked me ( perfect timing), if he could have a look at Yaya’s old phone.  I couldn’t think of any valid reason why I shouldn’t let him, so I said “yes”

He was waiting for me when I got back home that night.. Yup. you guessed it right. He fixed the phone. All he did was to resort to factory setting. ( He tried to explain how he did it, but after such a long trip, my brain was not working )

If I had given the phone to him the first time he asked me, I wouldn’t have had to use an old Nokia and could have kept in touch with my friends ( whatsapp). Instead, I kept pressing the screen to do the word correct and simple things like putting a full stop was so time consuming that  I ended up not using the phone at all.

How far I have come.

In my childhood, travelling (air) was all about what all we can take from the aircraft. The stainless steel knives and forks were carefully wiped and wrapped in  tissue after each meal, those little sachets of salt and pepper, those tiny packets of jams were all squirrelled  away to be taken home. We even took the blankets from the aircraft. Amma loved serving visitors juice ( aka Rasna) in  Singapore airlines glasses. It showed the visitor that we are no dookily mallus. As I grew older, I collected wine bottles. ( wine was too expensive in Malaysia and I loved cooking pasta sauce in wine. I still do, but now a days I often end up with few opened bottles of  wine left over from each party I host and I don’t like to drink stale wine, so I use them for cooking ). I remember the time I was flying from Mumbai to London and the flight was delayed. We were given food vouchers and I was so excited to eat free food.

My flight to Antarctica was delayed for 4 hours due to engine troubles and the passengers had to disembark and wait. Qantas offered 15$ food voucher. I didn’t even collect mine. I preferred to sit in the Qantas lounge ( the benefits of being a frequent flier !) and read my book. Qantas lounge too served a decent breakfast, I looked at the array of cereals, fresh fruits and pancake and I didn’t feel the excitement I felt the time I was given a food voucher many many years ago. I took a cup of coffee.

They say age does that to you.

A man’s age is something impressive, it sums up his life:  maturity reached slowly and against many obstacles, illnesses cured, griefs and despairs overcome, and unconscious risks taken; maturity formed through so many desires, hopes, regrets, forgotten things, loves.  A man’s age represents a fine cargo of experiences and memories.  ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

I hated Geography as a child but loved history. I can still tell the date/year of most historical events, I probably can tell the capitals of most countries, but not their borders, not even where the International date line is. But there are things I remember from my Geography student days. I can still see myself sitting in my STD X division B classroom  and my geography teacher Molly Kochamma teaching us about the Earth’s magnetic poles and  why magnetic south pole is actually a north seeking pole.  I remember thinking, how wonderful it would be If I visited all these magical places. But Amma was a firm believer that, one should only dream achievable dreams . Then,  I was living in a tiny rented house in Kottayam without a father and there was not much I was allowed to dream. But I read every single book published about Antarctica, ( Amundsen, the first person to fly over the North Pole  ( 1926) and was the first person to reach the South Pole( 1911)  and the legendary Mawson. ( those from Australia would know who he is.  http://www.antarctica.gov.au/about-antarctica/history/people/douglas-mawson) were my heroes.)

Though I wasn’t allowed to dream much as a child, I learned over the years that you can dream really big. It is true that sometimes your dreams don’t happen, but  I learned that it is better to live with a few disappointments in life than a life lived with no dreams.

Yesterday, I was part of the Qantas first inaugural flight from Brisbane to Antarctica ( 11737 km trip), I crossed the south Magnetic pole, saw my first icebergs ( I laughed thinking about my community medicine answer to iceberg phenomenon question and how I was called Ms Titanic for a very long time), current Antarctic base, Mawson’s hut and a great expanse of ice.

I will be 43 in March and I have crossed both the North and the South Magnetic poles, crossed the arctic circle, swam in  all the 5 great oceans and lived more than a year in Asia, Europe, North America and Australia and visited Antarctica. I now only have South America and Africa to do in my list.

Not bad for a town mouse eh?

Midden is defined as mound or deposit containing shells, animal bones, and other refuse that indicates the site of a human settlement. It is the debris of the past and we all have our own middens, some we carry on our shoulders as a burden  and some we step on and stand proudly for having lived through it. Sometimes, we see the middens of others that stands as a sign of victory and tells you that you too can do the same as they did and succeed.

When I left for US, I had taken my books with me to study, thinking that I could certainly study an hour each day. My exams are in March and I have so much to study, yet each evening instead of studying I watched Fa la la on Disney. ( I found motels based on the availability of a microwave, fridge and Disney channel)

I spend the Christmas eve with my uncle and aunt whom I haven’t seen for 35 years. My aunt was writing her board examination to renew  her medical license and even on Christmas eve, she was studying. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to study. I found one excuse after another why I can’t study.

I met her the next day at another aunt’s house for the Christmas day party. She came to US 9 years ago on family migration. She studied pre degree in Kerala. It was her dream to do a degree. she worked in a factory, while learning English as a second language, did a lab tech course (while still working in the factory), then did a degree and is now employed by an Ivy League uni and is doing her PhD. She was also on the dean’s list.

I can’t study in the evening, for I am exhausted by the time I fed the kids and cleaned the kitchen. I don’t even watch the news on TV anymore. I can only study in the morning, so I set two alarms one at 3.45 AM and one at 4 AM. I struggle each morning trying to get up to study. Sometimes I curse myself for still wanting to study, when I have everything and achieved all that I set out to do. Then I think of her and tell myself, if she could do it, then there is no excuse I can give. So, I get up at 4 am to study, even on Sundays..Her midden is my midden.

I don’t remember how it started, but when I was about 4, I was taught to say “no mention please” every time someone said Thank you to me. Over the years, more items were added to the list of manners. When we visit someone and they offer something to eat, however tasty it is, I was only allowed to take a tiny bit and never a second serve. Often if we were invited for dinner we had to eat dinner at our home, so we won’t pig out at the host’s place. I also had to leave some coffee in the cup ( which was really hard for me to do, for the sugar available in India was really granular and didn’t dissolve completely and  you always found a thick syrupy sugar at the bottom of the cup..my favourite)

I remember the time my sisters and I were travelling on Air India flight and we were put up an Centaur hotel in Delhi when our flight was cancelled. It was such an exciting time. My youngest sister being the most adventurous of us all, decided to use the flatware like all the other posh people who were eating in that restaurant. Unfortunately she chose to eat a fried chicken drum stick with a knife and fork. One minute the fried chicken was in her plate, the next minute, it flew across the table.

I met most of my cousins for the first time on my trip to US and since I was only in Philly for 4 days and didn’t have time to visit everyone, I opted to take everyone out for a meal in a western restaurant. ( I have been travelling for 5 weeks on the road and I was dying for something Indian and my cousins didn’t understand why I would want to go out and eat Indian food, when you can eat it at home ! )

This is what I found the person facing me doing. She ordered a burger. First she tried to use the knife and fork and cut the burger, she obviously didn’t do a good job, so she lifted the whole  burger with her fingers and tried to eat it, since it was already butchered with the knife, fillings started to progressively follow the law of gravity. It was such an unholy mess. She is 19, born and raised in US and can’t even eat a burger properly.

In my sister’s case, she spend most of her growing years in India where using a flatware was not part of our life. But if you are living outside India, especially in first world countries where table etiquette is really important, parents ought to teach children how to use a knife and fork.

( btw, just for the record, my cousin’s idea of cutting the burger is fine, you just need to make a neat cut and divide the burger in to 4 quarters or you can simply hold the burger in your hand  and eat)

This particular cousin of mine went to US when she was 14 years old ( family migration). She did her degree in US and is employed in a top position in a fortune 500 company. As soon as she graduated,her parents arranged her marriage with a suitable boy from Kerala. She calls her husband “country” and I don’t blame her. Though she grew up in Kerala, having studied in a US uni has changed her out look to life, while her husband still keeps his ‘country’ charms . She says, she can’t even go out for a meal with other couples ( colleagues) because her husband doesn’t even know basic table manners and refuses to learn. He says, Ethanentey reethi, enikku change cheyyanda avasyam illa. ( This is who I am and I don’t see the need to change).

Her daughter is 24 years old, born and raised in US and has never even been kissed by a guy in her life. ( I don’t believe in keeping the virginity as a gift for the husband and kissing guy isn’t a crime against humanity). My cousin watches over her daughter like a hawk, ensuring the purity isn’t tarnished. But what is most surprising is, my cousin is now looking for a suitable boy in Kerala for her own daughter. Her mission in the world as a mother will only be successful when her mallu son in law receives a pure, unadulterated bomma ( doll)

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not saying all the boys in Kerala are jerks. If my cousin herself found it difficult to cope living in US with a guy born and raised in Kerala, why does she think her daughter will have better luck?

Einstein once said ” doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result is insanity”

Last Friday, Yaya phoned me after school to tell me that she is going to her friend’s house and that she can’t talk long for the train is just about to arrive. Later that evening, she called me to say that she is sleeping over at her friend’s house.

Her friend’s mom is my best friend, her friend is going overseas for her gap year next week, so all the kids are spending as much time as they can with her and their house is close to the place where Yaya works every Saturday.  Technically it isn’t much of a big deal sleeping over at her friend’s place and it is convenient too for I don’t have to drop her to work. ( She could take the bus from home, but I feel sorry for her having to walk 1.5 km from the bus stop to her work place and often drop her off at work), Yet I was so mad at her. When she came back from work on Saturday, I told her by telling her that “I don’t run an inn, so you can check in and out any time you want to”

Sounds familiar? That is exactly what my mother used to say to me. And  I made Yaya so upset and she ended up crying.

Later I asked myself ” Would I have said No, if she called me and asked Can I have a sleep over at my friend’s house?” I wouldn’t have said No. And I don’t know why I had to fight with her.

It was the same thing about washing her drinking glass. All my childhood, I heard my mom complain mokkittu thinnu kudichu nadakkan mathram kollam, kudicha glass polum kazhukathilla.. I have a dishwasher and I still complain that my child doesn’t wash her drinking glass.

Often I wondered how children who were physically abused by their parents continue the same abuse to their own children, don’t they know how they themselves felt when their parents used to inflict pain..and now I think, we reflect our parents, at least I do…

I apologize for the blog downtime. I have successfully managed to use up all my bandwidth and had to wait for the first of the month for the server to reset.. Thank you all for writing to me and asking if I was ok. I hope to find a new hosting site and any recommendations are welcome.

Last Tuesday was the first day of new school year. Thursday  ( The only day the shops are opened until 9 pm, the rest of the days, the closing time is 6pm) before the school opened, when I came back in the evening, Yaya was waiting for me with a list of all the things she and her siblings need. She had gone through the last year’s supplies that the three of them brought back from school at the end of the year, crossed out the ones we already have and made a list. We went to Officewroks and bought everything in her list. I had an assignment to do and I let her sort out everyone’s supplies.

The night before school reopened, I thought of how excited I used to be to go back to school and remembered Amma sitting down until midnight wrapping our textbooks and notebooks in brown paper and writing our names on the name label. Then it occurred to me that I haven’t written the name on Baby’s workbooks. Yaya had already packed Baby’s school supplies in her school bag and I took the workbooks out to write the name only to find that my precious oldest child had already named each and every item in Baby’s bag in a beautiful handwriting very similar to my mother’s.

I often complain that Yaya doesn’t even wash the drinking glass or help me vacuum the house or this or that. Yet, she does so much. I overlook the little things..

He is known in my family for his ‘business mind’. His dream was to go to US and he did so by marrying a nurse, even though he only studied till the 12th. He couldn’t speak a word of English when he went to US, but retired with pension !

He raised his sons exactly how he was raised and when it came to their marriage, he insisted the bride should be from Kerala and his sons listened to their father’s advice. ( American born mallu penkuttikal kku bhayankara hungaaa 🙂 was the selling point)

His second dream  retire and live in Kerala. He sold the house in US and went back to Kerala, built his dream mansion ( in an onam kera moola, close to where the rest of his relatives live). The tiles were imported from Italy and when the workmen didn’t install the tiles in a straight line, he got them to remove it and reinstall ( apparently he also didn’t pay them wages for the extra work, for it was their fault, if they had done it properly in the first time, then it didn’t need to be redone). Everything in the house was perfect.

And then he waited and waited and waited.

Waited for what you must ask? Well, you see, when he went back to India, he wanted his sons to go with him. After all, their wives are from Kerala and they will want to go back home even if their husbands really don’t want to go back, plus which mallu girl will not want to live a palace?. He, who didn’t take care of his own parents expect that his sons will ( actually must, not will) take care of him.

He was sure he was holding the proverbial carrot in his hand, while he and his wife live alone in a massive castle in an onam kera moola, hoping their sons will come back, their daughter’s in law have managed to get the sponsorship for their parents and sibling ands they are all living happily in US.

I was invited for a meal at ‘the house’ that is owned by a cousin of mine. The first thing I noticed as I parked the car in the driveway was the huge Chandelier that is strategically placed, so it can be seen from outside through the glass window on the second floor. Main door had beautiful wood carving. As you enter the house, on the right side you find the formal lounge with leather couches and a  solid wood coffee table. There was also a solid wood display cabinet with beautifully arranged Swarovski animal collections. On the left side was the study with a collection of encyclopaedias adorning the shelves. There were few awards from the mallu associations framed and hung on the walls, along with a photo of Jesus and Parumala Thirnumeni. After the formal lounge is the formal dining room with massive 8 seater solid wood dining table and chairs. There was a giant buffet & hutch by the side of the of the dining table that held a 5 pieces set of Royal Albert Old country roses, A 5 piece set of Noritake ( Unknown pattern) and a 5 piece set of Aynsley ( cottage garden), all of which are displayed exactly how it is displayed at Macys . The second shelf held a collection of lead crystal glasses of all shapes and sizes. As it was Christmas time, there were many pieces of Lennox Christmas decorations scattered all around the house.

I was lead to the kitchen to get my drink. There was a giant punch bowl with cups  on the kitchen island. I was handed a disposable plastic cup, the original cups that came along with the punch bowl is for display only.. It looks like this is a standard practice in most Mallu houses eastern part of US. Every house that I visited, be it rich or poor had a collection of expensive china ( Royal Albert’s Old country roses is the most fashionable) and crystal glasses in the buffet  & hutch, but disposable cups and plates are the only thing they all use. Apparently, some great soul has worked out that it is cheaper to use disposable plates and cups than spend money for water/dish soap and gas to heat the water. (Dishwasher is also only for display and often functions as a repository for plastic shopping bags and other useful items.) No one really cares about the environmental impact. Dirty paper plates can’t be recycled, I read somewhere that almost of half of the solid waste discarded each week in US is paper products and most if it can’t be recycled because of grease contamination, yet for breakfast, lunch and dinner, mallu households only use paper plates and cups. ( paisa labhikkande??)

Oh, we were talking about ‘the house’. It was the dream of the owner of ‘the house’ to own a large house. She works 80 hours/week. ( apparently, she has maxed out on the overtime, I don’t know how the over time works in US or that how anyone can work 80 hours a week legally). She leaves home at 5.30 in the morning and comes back at 8 pm. She also suffers from severe arthritis and most of the days she is in severe pain, but they owe a huge sum of money to the bank, so she has no choice but to work. She is terrified that one of these days, she will be medically unfit to work and the house will be foreclosed.

It brings me to the question, is it worth to sacrifice your health and mental wellbeing , so you could live in a mansion, own expensive furniture, dinner sets, crystal glasses etc that is never used and work your ass off, so you could pay for all these.. is that what the American dream is all about?