i have been away from Kerala for so long that I have forgotten the regional changes in Malayalam language. Sho ! is either Kottayam or Chengannur version, where you sit down somewhere with your chin resting on your palm and sigh deepily and say “sho”, not shoo, where you shoo away the birds, sho is a simple word that says a lot more than a single syllable sound!

It all started when I was in grade 6. I love plants and flowers and with my uncanny ability to kill them. Amma banished me from her garden. Amma used to have Cannas ( she even had double colour cannas), gerberas, wood rose,gladiom kliom kliom etc in her garden. I too wanted a garden, but growing flowering plants proved to be a big challenge, so I resorted to Cactus. I filled empty Nutrigen tins with sand/gravel and grew cactus that I had to beg and collect from  cousins neighbours etc. They actually survived ! ( eventually the tins rusted and I left home). It was during one of those begging trips to collect new cactus that I found the most amazing plant in my cousin’s garden. Fleshy leaves and absolute symmetry, a plant that actually looks like a flower also known as Hens and Chicks..I could almost see my dreams come true, a garden with flowers !.. My cousin being the ever generous one , gave me a microscopic sized baby plant and under my tender loving care, it eventually grew to the normal size. It was my pride and joy and it needed a prominent place. I kept it on top of the gate post. So, everyone who walked up and down the road would see my plant.

Idiot..I called myself that when I found an empty pot one evening after coming back from school. Someone kindly stole my plant.

The next time I saw hens and chicks was in Canada and I had a huge pot of hens and chicks and even  under a foot deep snow, it survived !

Coming to Australia was really an eye opener for me. I am on a mission to collect  ( and kill) succulents. I have so many different varieties in my garden.

Last Saturday, I couldn’t find a car park anywhere near the basket ball court and had to park in a residential area. After the game, as I walked back towards my car, I noticed an unusual variety of succulents growing in front of one of the houses.

If you have never had an out of body experience, read on..

My daughter had already reached the car and was looking at me annoyed, she was not too happy to walk all the way from the court, she was tired and was waiting for me to press the remote and open the car. I was still a bit away from the signal range. The normal Sarah, would just walk quickly towards her car and unlock it. but this particular one, looked left and right, quickly walked back to the house where she saw the succulent and pulled one out and then walked towards her car..

The look on my daughter’s face..it was exactly the same I had, each time my mother stole a plant. Sho !

ps. Not nutrigen, that was Yaya’s favourite drink . It was nutramul, cheaper version of  bournvita

I wanted to raise my children without prejudice and superstitions clouding their mind. I wanted them to write an exam by studying for it, not spend an hour in the morning praying and offering bribes to the unknown for his/her help to pass the exam or get easy questions etc.. all that  my cohorts and I practised, while growing up in India. We have no dramas here during exam time. They study for it, if they didn’t do well, they accept that it was their fault and know not to blame the planets for their misfortune.

When my son was in grade 1, I was at my best friend’s house having dinner, when her oldest son walked in with a gift for his mother. He was in grade 11 then and has been working for a few weeks part time at the mall. With his first pay, he bought a ring for his mother. It had 6 stones, one for each of her 5 children ( their birth stone) and 1 for the baby she carried to the term and gave birth knowing that the baby had severe trisomy 13 and will not survive. 6th stone was a tiny diamond, so it would shine the most. It was such a beautiful ring and my friend and I, we shed many tears..for her to have a son who loved his mother so much and for me, to know such a wonderful family.

Last Christmas. my son gave me a small ring with 4 tiny diamonds in it. He saved his money to buy it for me..He said he didn’t want to buy a ring with their birth stones and a diamond because he felt all three of them and the baby I lost, shines equal in his mother’s eyes..so he opted for diamonds.. ( very very tiny ones..that is all he could afford). He also told me not to lose the ring, for he wants to use the same ring when he finds his girl and want to propose. I told him “but the stones are tiny, won’t you think, the girl would be upset to get such a small diamond ring” and he replied

“mom, if she thinks the ring that means so much to my family is worthless, then she isn’t the one for me”

I grinned happily..

All was well, so  I thought.

2 weeks after I got the ring, I got two speeding tickets. Sure, I am a speed demon. but I was with the kids and we were driving to Melbourne. 99% of the time, I used  cruise control and I do not speed when my kids are in the car. I still don’t know how I got the ticket..that too twice.

Then the tax dept send me a lovely letter telling me that the family tax benefit I thought I was eligible wasn’t so..and I had to pay a substantial amount back !

Then my 2 year old washing machine conked out..4 days after the warranty expired. Somehow, a single socks manged to get caught in the drain and messed up the whole system. It cost more to repair than to buy a new one.

Then the underground water fiasco for the retaining wall started..

A part of me thinks I am stupid to blame a ring..but the last time I bought a diamond, my son was in the hospital for 3 weeks..and the jeweller did tell me that Diamonds don’t suit everyone.

So here I am. A rational part of me knows, it is nothing but bologna..to blame a piece of coal that was under immense pressure for a few million years for my miseries.. the other part of me..don’t know what to tell my son if he asks why aren’t you wearing the ring I bought?

As usual, views expressed are my own and are expressed with the knowledge that when I point a finger, three fingers point back at me.

A classmate of my son got expelled from the Acceleration program few days ago. He is probably one of the brightest boys I have ever met. He was expelled because he never did his homework and the school has ‘three strikes and you are out’ policy. Actually, because he is exceptionally brilliant, the school gave him more than three strikes as we are already in term 2 and he has never once submitted/completed any of his homework.

The first week, his mother said, he is just new in to the program, it is the first week of high school and he is just getting used to it.

Second week, she said, they had a storm ( we all did) and a tree fell down near their home. Not on their house, few houses down the street.

Third week, he had an eye test with drops on Sunday and he couldn’t do his home work. ( Home work is given on Every Tuesday and is due on Monday the following week)

Each week, there was an excuse..

I think it was Amma who told me this story. A mother approached her son’s class teacher and told her “Teacher, I know my son is a bit naughty, but I would appreciate it very much, if you could cane the child sitting next to him and not my son even if he is the one that needs the punishment., that way my son will get scared and doesn’t need to get caned and feel the pain”

I am heart broken not because the boy wouldn’t achieve greatness, or got kicked out of the program, but because the one person who should teach him responsibility actually failed him.

The one thing I hated the most was to see Yaya cry and somehow even as a newborn baby, Yaya knew just how to get my full attention. She cried non stop in the first year and then at least once a day till she was 5. I never knew why she was crying and it was really tough on me because I didn’t know what to do to help my baby. Eventually, I resorted to bribe and I  promised her that I will bake any cake from any of my recipe books if she didn’t cry for a full day and managed to bake it for her after she turned 5.

The past 10 years have been easy for she only cried if she was in physical pain and at least I knew why she was crying.

Yesterday while having dinner, as usual, I asked each of them how was school and what did they learn? Baby talked about her maths exam, my son talked about how much he hates Geography and how much he loves history. ( Which by the way was exactly how I felt when I was in school) and it was Yaya’s turn.

We were having Channa Bhattura and I was happily eating my food and then it occurred to me that Yaya wasn’t saying anything. I looked at her.

That is when I saw the tears rolling down her cheeks..like the flood gates of tears were opened.

In that split second of me opening my mouth to ask her “what is going on?” I imagined all sorts of horrible things that could have happened to my child and I was sure, I failed to protect my child from whatever that happened.

“What happened Yaya?” I asked

It took her few seconds to answer and for me those few seconds perhaps were the longest I ever had to endure.

“I am not learning anything in school” She replied.

For a second, I didn’t get it. I was expecting something horrible.

“huh?” I asked again.

“Mom, what is the point of learning Pythagoras theorem? How is it going to help me in my future? No one in my class cares about their future. They are pretty happy learning all these crap that gives you no benefit. Why don’t they teach us something useful?”

“like what?” I asked

“How to do my taxes, don’t you think that is more important?”

Before I could answer, we progressed to bigger issues.

“Mom, what if I don’t get admission to university? What if my life is  wasted? What if I never achieve what I want to in my life?”

Last weekend I visited an old folks home to visit a friend’s mother. The place is in a beautiful area and the drive was very pleasant. As we drove in to the car park, the first thing I noticed was the Ambulance, which wasn’t surprising, after all, most residents there would have some sort of medical issues. Then I noticed the well tended garden. There were so many different types of flowers. Such a nice place, I thought.

I stood outside an electronic gate that is as tall as me and waited for my friend to punch in the code. There was a very pleasant elderly man waiting on the other side of the gate and when he saw me, an unfamiliar face, he told me “Don’t worry about the gate, I will handle that”. My friend closed the gate quickly and ignored the old man. That was rude, I thought feeling pretty annoyed with my friend and he must have seen my face and he told me “That is Andrew ( not his real name), he has ran away from this place so many times and is waiting for another chance, that is why he wants to handle the gate”

I felt I was visiting a jail. I noticed a nurse coming and talking to Andrew and holding his hand and walking inside.

The hallway had lots of paintings and there were bouquets of flowers every where. The staff had big smiles and each of them said Hi to me. I could hear TV from the hallway. I entered the ‘living room’..I think the word is a misnomer..what I saw was three people sitting in front of the TV and sleeping. One was standing next to the sleeping ones, wearing a funny hat and was pretending to dance with an imaginary person. My friend’s mother was sitting at the dining table with a book in front of her and was nodding off.  My friend greeted his mother. she looked at him for a second and went back to the book that she was reading. 5 seconds later she was nodding off. My friend went on talking to his mother. He told her about all that is happening in his life..she just went on sleeping.

I heard one staff asking another if she checked on Alice ( not her real name) as Alice tried to run away again that morning.

I grew up hearing the usual dialogues Mallus are known to say . It starts with pathu masam chumannu, theettam kori, kashu chilavakki padippichu..it all lead to one single word Kadama( responsibility/duty).

The thing is, every mother does that.. taking care of children..I did too..carried my children for the duration of gestation, went through the labour pain, washed their butt, fed them, clothed them and educated them..but I feel it is totally unfair to expect my children to take care of me in my old age.

I also can’t imagine being locked up in a place where the only way I would get to leave is in a wooden box.

I want to be able to die when I can no longer take care of me. I think I will drive off the cliff when that day comes..

Sometimes, the very simple things give the most joy. I completed ( almost) what I set to do and I feel so happy.

This is how it looked before.

This is how it looks now. ( I haven’t added the cap for the blocks, forgot to order that)

The most important thing is, I planted a pomegranate tree in the far corner. Staff at Bunnings ( local hardware/gardening shop) insists that the pomegranate tree will not grow in wet soil. I think they may be right. But I always wanted a pomegranate tree and that was the place I planned to have it. So now it is a waiting game..to see if the tree will survive or not.

I have waited almost 25 years to have my own pomegranate tree. I read about Anarkali when I was 17. I have been fascinated about Anarkali since then and have read every travelogue/book written about her. I believe Anarkali was Akbar’s harem girl and fell in love with Prince Salim who later became emperor Jahangir. Akbar was supposed to have been the one who named her Anarkali because she had lips as red as rubies or like seeds of pomegranate. A harem girl belonging to the emperor having an affair with the emperor’s son would have been unimaginable at that time because the punishment for such a crime was death. Upon hearing the news of the illicit affairs, Akbar ordered Anarkali to be immured alive in a tomb. There are many legends after that. Some say Akbar’s mother feeling sorry for Anarkali got a soldier to smuggle some sort of neurotoxin that helped Anarkali to die quickly rather than the slow and painful death Akbar intended. Others say, she escaped through a tunnel. Was Anarkali a legend? Who knows? But, to this day, there exists a tomb in Lahore..with an inscription

Ta qayamat shukr goyam kard gar khwish ra
Ah! gar man baz beenam rui yar khwish ra
(Ah ! could I behold the face of my beloved once more;
I would give thanks unto my God Unto the day of
resurrection), believed to have been built by Jehangir in memory of Anarkali.Far back in the corner you can see my pomegranate tree.

I am currently in to anything Italy, not really sure what piqued this particular curiosity and few days ago while reading Mark Twain’s The innocents abroad, I remembered Stefano. That is his real name.

I met him a few months after I returned from England. His uncle was staying in the unit next to mine and he was visiting his uncle. Stefano spoke very little English and I spoke very little Italian. While his uncle worked ( very long hours), Stefano stayed home alone. I felt sorry for him and used to take him out for dinner most evenings. The Malaysian idea of going out for dinner is to go to the nearest Hawker center and order Malaysian style fast food.. Nasi Goreng ,Mee goreng etc. It was a culinary journey for Stefano and I really looked forward to spending time with Stefano.

He must have been 15 years old, was as tall as me and that trip to Malaysia was the first time he left home. Though he was only 11 years younger to me, I felt very maternal to him and I really wanted a son like Stefanos..all cute and innocent..

By then I had so many false signs of pregnancy.. I was already taking folic acid suppliment. I ensured that I ate healthy food..even going to hawkers I felt wouldn’t use too much MSG. I wanted to ensure a healthy start for my baby..and each month my world ended when I got my periods. But that particular month my periods was already late by few days. I didn’t want to rush and do the pregnancy test, but I was sure I was pregnant. I walked carefully, so I won’t trip and fall down like the last time and caressed my belly gently..imagining the little baby growing inside..my baby. I didn’t want to go to my normal doctor because I felt he was bringing me bad luck and I decided to go to a new doctor. New doctor for new beginning.. On day 7 after I missed my periods, I made an appointment with the new doctor and as I walked in to the clinic, for some cruel twist of fate, I knew I was getting my periods. I couldn’t go back to work because I was planning to go back and tell my friends after seeing the doctor that I am finally pregnant. I called in sick and went back to my apartment. As I entered my unit, I could hear the music from Stefano’s unit. When I was growing up, amma used to hit me more because I wouldn’t cry. But at that moment, I howled. The pain I felt was so big, it came out like screams. A part of me knew someone might hear me. But I couldn’t stop. Soon I heard someone ringing the calling bell. I saw from the kitchen window that it was Stefano. I couldn’t be rude to him and so I washed my face and opened the door. He obviously heard me crying. He asked me something in Italian and I assume it was ” are you alright?” How was I going to explain to a 15 year old kid what I was going though. I shook my head and then after a few seconds he asked me “coffee?”

I almost laughed at the irony. For weeks before that day, I didn’t drink coffee or tea because I knew the baby that was growing inside my body was in the developing stage and I didn’t want to eat/drink anything unsafe. No one has done a study  if coffee/tea was safe during pregnancy. (anyone with sense would tell you that I was totally nuts.. but I really wanted a baby and was willing to go to the end of the world to get one).

Stefanos made me a glass of strong espresso..and we listened to Italian Music..

He went back home a week later. I never kept in touch..

But this was the song he was listening that day.

I also noticed that Lucio Dalla passed away a year ago..

Sometimes a public holiday feels like a working day..Before I went to bed, I informed my brain that it is ANZAC day and there really is no need to wake me up early.. The message didn’t go through. I got up at 5 !! I did a load of laundry, cooked breakfast, read the paper and then did a bit of gardening.. Then I remembered my blog..

so here I am.

until tomorrow Adios

Is that in life the more of what you put in, the more of it you get back. If I worked hard, I got the full marks. ( The more you act out, the more you get back too !) I also learned over the years that some battles simply aren’t worth fighting.

Yesterday I went for the Parent teacher interview for both my older children. I always make it a point to see my children’s teachers and attend the parent teacher interview, even though I really don’t need to meet with the teachers because  my children’s academic progress is excellent and I have no concerns. But for me the interview is important because I feel  it is a very good way to interact with the teachers and also hopefully show them that I really care about my children’s education. ( Yeah, I know it is very superficial and a shallow, but a very dear teacher friend once told me, teachers always note the parents who made an effort to meet with them and talk about their children !)

I get 10 minutes with each teacher and they show me a sample of my children’s work and tell me how well they are doing. My first appointment was my son’s maths teacher. I wish I could describe the smile that was on her face when she saw me. She then took out my son’s exam paper and told me ” The world almost ended few days ago” I knew about it from my son. He got 39.5/40 for maths. He lost half a mark because he didn’t write one step in the calculation. His answer was right, so the teacher deducted half a mark and my son felt very upset that he didn’t get the full marks. It didn’t matter that he still got the highest marks in his class and this was a grade 10 exam. The teacher and I, we both had a good laugh. I adore his teacher because like me, she too believes in doing something properly. My son needs to understand that getting the correct answer alone isn’t sufficient..he need to show how he got there. He calculates in his head and finds it very hard to write all the steps and he doesn’t understand why it is so important to show the steps. Now hopefully, he will be careful.

His science teacher said that my son is very chatty in the class and so she started making him do grade 9 science and so far it seems to work. The rest of the teachers were happy with his work,

Then it was time to see Yaya’s teacher. I really wanted to meet her Spanish teacher. I have heard over the past two and a half years that this particular teacher doesn’t know anything and is pure evil. ( To be fair on Yaya, it wasn’t just her opinion alone, the rest of the class thinks so too)

The teacher told me that Yaya talks in the class and when she asked Yaya to stop talking, my daughter turned the chair to one side and continued to talk. I now know why Yaya got a B in Spanish.

One of my Anatomy Professor was an idiot.  I know I shouldn’t call my professors idiots and I should respect them. But he acted as if he knew everything when he knew nothing. He was wasting my time and obviously I wasn’t interested in listening to his lectures and he caught me reading a novel in his class. Things went downhill from then on. Everyday he came in to the class, called out my name and asked me to get out. It was a humiliating experience. It culminated with him giving me 74 marks for my anatomy practicals. You need 75 to pass. The only reason I passed Anatomy was because Bangalore University will not fail you if you passed theory and failed the practicals by one mark. My anatomy score is the lowest marks I ever received in my life and I can never undo it. I learned too late that sometimes some battles aren’t worth fighting.

I know why Yaya is talking in the class. The teacher has failed to relate to the students and capture their attention. But unfortunately, it is Yaya who is going to pay for this. I wish Yaya would understand how important it is to at least pretend that she is listening to the teacher..

First, I need to explain why the gift is unusual, for that we need to meet kushu ammachi ( fart ammachi).

Kushu Ammachi has been a legend in our family circle and I knew more about her even before meeting her in person. She was my aunt’s mother in law. There was no love lost between the two and every time my aunt came for a visit, we waited to hear the latest exploits of Kushu Ammachi.

Ammachi was a very strong willed woman with very strong opinions. She decided everything and my aunt was very resentful of her mother in law wielding such power. But ammachi was also ‘free of faults’ in the eyes of others. She was a respected figure, she helped the new immigrants to find their way, she loaned money to those who need etc. Everyone loved her.

Ammachi also loved good food and according to my aunt, she ate so much (valichu vari vizhungum) that at night while she was sleeping, she farted non stop and we the family from the other side ( in laws) named her Kushu Ammachi. We waited for my aunt to come for a visit to update us with the new adventures of Kushu Ammachi and we heard over the years how Ammachi never took the plastic cover that was on the car seat when she bought the car, how she kept a plastic sheet on top of the carpet to protect the carpet and then slipped on it, how she wrapped the kitchen hood with saran wrap to protect the hood from grease !

Her entire house was furnished with Singapore Airlines items. All the forks, spoons, glasses, wine glass etc were stolen from the flights ! Even the blankets were from Singapore airlines. Kushu Ammachi had a full set of Royal Albert dinner set, but never used it. If you were an esteemed guest ( like, Achan from the church) in her list, then you got the corelle dinner plates, the rest got Melamine plates. According to my aunt, Kushu Ammachi never wasted anything..she even saved the thread from day old kumbil appam/parippu vada. ( I never got this part.. apparently in the olden times where there were no fridge, after a day or two kumbil appam developed some sort of mycellium growth and you found out if the item was old by breaking it in to half and see if there were mycellium threads of growth. I tried keeping parippuvada outside for days..all it did was to get hard and dry, but no mycellium growth. I don’t know how to make kumbil appam and we don’t get chakka here..so this particular legend is totally hearsay !)

I met Kushu Ammachi in 1994. Her car was an old junk and it still had the original plastic cover on the seats..where ever the plastic was ripped, it was stuck back with duct tape. Her house was a living plastic museum. Everything was wrapped in a layer of plastic to protect it. And I thought what a loser she is.. What is the point of having things if you don’t want to use them?

I had friends over last weekend and as usual the same rules applied. I will only serve alcohol if my friends agreed that if they drank more than the standard serving, then they have to stay the night at my place or take a cab back home or have a designated driver who isn’t drinking. One friend ended up spending the night at my place.

The drama started in the morning about 8 AM. Both Yaya and my son were meeting their friends at 9 and both wanted to take a shower. They were arguing as to who takes the longest time to take a shower and they were practically having the yelling match. If you have had a lot of drinks the night before, you can imagine how my head felt hearing all these yelling..my friend too was in the same boat.

On Monday,my friend very sheepishly gave me a gift telling me ” you need this”

Without further ado, I will let you in the secret. It was a bottle of CLR. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calcium_Lime_Rust). Those from Vancouver would know the annoying CLR tough ad that comes on during late night programs.

My house has 4 bedrooms and 2 bath. In Canada, we lived in a two bedroom basement suite with one bathroom and when we came here, kids and I continued to use the common shower.. I never used the shower in the master bedroom because I didn’t want to clean the glass doors. (If you have OCD, then you know how much time it requires to clean the soap scum from the glass doors..I am never happy till it is totally clean)

And I thought Kushu Ammachi was a loser..Ah the speck in my eyes..