Retail traffic

A Reliance Fresh store selling fresh foods and groceries has opened up in a street near mine today. But since there is no parking space on that road, there was utter chaos on that road as I was passing by. A traffic jam that meant even pedestrians couldnt find a way out. Some of the store salesmen looked sheepish as they made an in vain attempt to sort out the chaos, while a clown outside the store, distributed balloons - I wouldnt have minded taking one for Ash if I were returning from office and not going to office.
On the plus side, it means I can do any emergency shopping on my way home. I neednt wait for the shopkeeper at the whole sale provision shop to cast a sympathetic glance at my direction and give me first preference from among the dozen clients. Though I do a good part of my provision buying over the phone, I love browsing for stuff - be it groceries or books.
I am sure the store will get some eager patrons from the apartment complex opposite - but how long it will survive on that busy narrow street, I wonder. Some other businesses on that stretch closed shop and found better pastures with parking space.
Coincidentally, I am working on a story about Reliance sorting out farm produce for its stores and selling the lower grade vegetables back to the market at a lower price.

My first day purchase made late evening on my way home - mangoes, tomatoes and home-made cake!

God's own food

In the absence of a maid to cook us wholesome meals, we are eating out more often. Yesterday was another such day.
Dinner was at Kumarakom, one of those Kerala restaurants that are well-patronised partly because the fare is good but mainly because anything that swears by the name of God's own country sells amongst homesick Malayalis craving for naadan food. In fact, Kumarakom has eclipsed the age-old Malayali hotel in Chennai, Kalpaka, and even Kayal. Their Anna Nagar branch has been in the field for the past two years at least.
A bit crowded, with the tables set too close for comfort, the one redeeming factor was the actual rendition (and I initially thought they were playing the film cassette, sung by Yesudas) of a popular Malayalam film song Kallayi Kadavathu... by one of the waiters in uniform. When I visited their Nungambakkam branch some years back, I heard the restaurant owner himself sing. So I guess the music is part of the menu.
We pacified our growling tummies with the many layered parotas, appam and Kerala Chicken curry, which was too spicy for my liking. Ash however licked the gravy clean off his plate. He is one for hot and spicy stuff - I wonder if I ate too much spicy stuff when I was expecting him. I remember keeping off green chillies because someone said it could burn the feotus's eyes!

Today....

1. A hundred-rupee currency note flew out of my hand as I was extracting it from my purse in an auto in Pudupet's Car Street, where one can find any possible automobile part one asks for. I thought it was as good as lost but the auto driver decided to reverse the vehicle and go back a good 50 metres to look for it. A workshop guy soon came and asked what we were searching for. When we mentioned lost money, he called another fellow who handed a Rs.100 note to me after verifying again. In parting the man shouted out to me to take care of my money!
2. I have a bad cold and a stuffy nose.
3. Ash is sneezing too, so we didnt send him to school today.
4. The partime maid came at 12.15, same like yesterday, so I reached office at 12.45. Since I have already told the boss that I will be late this week, it is kind of okay. The boss himself is facing a maid problem since his wife is working and they have small kids, so he understands my plight.
5. We are expecting a maid import from Tindivanam, courtesy a security officer in V's office. Meanwhile the previous maid has offered to come back - but we dont want 2-month wonders. We need more permanent solutions.

Standing instructions

 

Ashwin's first homework - to draw a standing line, given for the weekend commencing June 23. I feel it is too early for any written activity when he is yet to learn to hold a pencil properly. Of course the backside of the homework had more contribution from the little master - he scribbled the entire page for all it was worth. But we managed to prevent any damage on the other side.
I wonder what the teacher thought about it, since there doesnt seem to be any evaluation.

Assistant chefs

V stepped in to grate some coconut off their shells, while Mira cosied up for a helping. (I dunno how to rotate a video, pl. bear with me - I am still learning.) With three guests - dad, mom and a Boy - and a rainy weather since Thursday night, V wanted to lift up my cooking spirits. Of course it has been a big relief having my mom to share my cooking load and dad to entertain the kids, especially Ash, his favorite grandchild till now.
The Boy leaves today evening and my parents will take the 8 a.m. BA flight to Heathrow for a 3-week tour of Britain.

Babysitter mom

I am on extended leave from office in the absence of a child minder for the kids. The partime maid has cried off citing "not well". From tomorrow to Sunday, my parents will be here, so I can go to work leaving the two lil devils in their care. But what do I do from Monday, I still have no clue.
The part-timer comes a bit too late in the day for me to make a decent entry into office. I cant be reaching there at 1 o'clock when I am on the 10.30 a.m. shift. Creches dont work for us since they wind up for the day before 7 p.m. Both of us dont reach home before 8 p.m., so a live-in maid is our best bet and to hell with privacy and clutter. Right now we are enjoying the comfort of not having to share space with inquisitive female servants, but at the cost of some good food and a shoulder to foist the crying babes on.
V has been extremely understanding about the effort I need to make about cooking traditional Kerala meals with an assortment of curries and dishes with a liberal helping of coconut in them, so yesterday when he came home from work, he said we could have dinner out. And off we went, in the drizzle, to Saravana Bhavan, the chain of restaurants belonging to that short and stout Chettiar (as evident from his huge portrait adorning every hotel of his) who is believed to be in jail for killing the husband of a girl he fancied. The food is pretty good for those who fancy veg, especially their sambar - a bit overpriced though. Mira had her fill of puris and Ash of paratas while we parents were left with the masala dosas and hot masala milk with badam powder and pista grated. The kids had vanila ice cream for dessert - it is one thing that both eat without prodding from us.

Talking of prodding, the effort people here take to feed their kids amazes me. I just dont have the patience to run behind them with the feeding bowl in hand while they try and decide whether they want to open their lil mouths or purse them even tighter. V has more patience, and the kids anyway are more willing to accommodate their dad. The last maid did it with aplomb too, feeding Mira while she stared in wonder at the ads on TV, cycled her way through the house or sighted a crow or an aeroplane in the sky. I learnt the TV ad trick too but of late Mira is less distracted by the commercial breaks on TV to open her mouth for baby food.
I wonder if kids in the West are so difficult to feed.

Ashwin's school

... as seen from my kitchen balcony.

Mad about a spoon lost

I am the poorer by a spoon today. Ash threw it down the balcony (and the balcony faces the road, so finders keepers...) after having curd in a disposable cup - thank god it was a disposable one or else that would have been lost too.

This is not the first time I am losing something - with two crazy kids and an endless procession of maids with an I-dont-care attitude, half the knick-knack in this house are on the missing or lost list. A quarter of the things are broken and the remaining waits to be broken/dismantled.
Well, the fact is that I hate losing my cutlery and I am especially sentimental about my spoons. It will take me a day to get over the loss.
I am babysitting today and tomorrow since there is a lull on the work scene this week.

From a typical day

FLASH: Just as I am about to post this, Mira retrieves the missing spoon from the dressing table drawer and I am as happy as the shepherd who found the lost sheep in the biblical parable. (Wasn't there another more apt parable but I cant seem to remember it exactly - about searching for something under the bed??)

Pre-schooler No.2

My Little Princess might soon be going to pre-school. We made this momentous decision yesterday. The fact is she feels upset when Ash goes away every morning - she has been so accustomed to having him around, sometimes fighting, sometimes playing. She puts on her shoes every morning hoping she can go out too. Today I had to placate her with some songs from the Malayalam movie Classmates on Raaga.com while I got some chores done. (Thank you Bino, for introducing us to some free music on the web though the Citibank ad in the beginning is an irritant.) She loves to sway her head to Kattadi thanalum....
We will put her in the playschool that Ash went to until recently. The two Malloo ladies who run the place are nice though the place is a bit cramped for space. I am sure she will enjoy the company and the rhymes sessions. And I think she will be faster than Ash in speaking. The other day she pulled out her ear ring and said, Appa, kamma! And she says kai when she wants her hands washed.
But I am still struggling with the toilet training part. After a nap/early morning, she is ready to use the potty seat but at other times she forgets to warn us, with disastrous consequnces on the floor, bed/chair, and sometimes on ourselves.
I would have liked her to join school after she turned two but in the present circumstances school might be better idea. So from July 1, Mira can add her share to the morning rush.

Attending a Seemantham

Today I was invited to bless a mother-t0-be in the 3rd trimester function of seemantham - in a neighbour's apartment. Only married women - not barren, not widowed - are invited. The girl can now leave for her parents' house for the delivery, to come back only in the 3rd/5th month after delivery of the baby.
After an extremely late night (2 a.m.) at work, I overslept and reached after the ceremony was over. Anyway I was given a gift of glass bangles, jasmine flowers, turmeric and kumkum powder, betel leaves, supari and banana.
Also witnessed, earlier in the day, an all-woman (save for the drummers and others) procession on the road with a lil girl in bridal finery being the star - could be a parade announcing the attainment of puberty.
Interesting practices.

Neo-'con' cook

"My shoulder blades are aching and my neck is stiff," I complained to V, as he dropped me at the bus stop today noon.
"The way you say it, one would think that you had to grind for idli in a grinding stone!" he scoffed.
I grinned. (Men! especially Malloo MCPs and worse if it is a Kottayam "Achayan".)
"True, I cant handle a quarter of the household chores my grandma did in her hey deys. She would use the grinding stone to make idlis for us when I was a kid."
Those were the days (late 70s, I think) before the mixer-grinder. At twilight, granny would grind the rice and urad dal in the grinding stone situated (the stone was too heavy to be moved) near the well - it was easier to wash it off with water drawn from the well. Again, days before water taps at home.
This was apart from her job of milking the cows, doing the bulk of the cooking, taking the cows out to the fields for grazing whenever a male hand was unavailable at home, cleaning the cowsheds (a job I later did with relish, which drew the following comment from granny some years back: "R** would remove the dung and wash the shed, when she was doing her M.A."), cooking puliyarikaadi (the health drink for the cows), feeding the fowls and overseeing their egg output (a separate old masterpiece on this will follow) apart from supervising various other functions inside and outside (such as the paddy fields) our house. Of course, she had help - my mom, maids, man-servants - but inspite of it all, there was a lot of work.

Whereas I had just come home after work at 10 p.m., grinded for the idli batter in a mixie, heated food and milk for the kids, dishwashed manually etc. etc. We were expecting guests first thing in the morning, and I checked - before I hit bed - if the guest room and bathroom were spic and span, and the toiletries in place.
The guests came, four in all, bathed, had a breakfast of idli-sambar and bread-omelette (the incurable perfect hosts that V and his mom are, my dear hubby is never satisfied with number of dishes on the meal table) and Banganapalli mangoes and bananas and tea, and departed for their destination.
End note: My granny is probably in her late 70s or early 80s now, but she still does a good deal of the work at home.

The [h]appy boy

One of the first questions that an Indian child in India is taught in English is, 'What is your name?' And we are no different - we have been asking Ash much-the-same question for some months now.
But whether the question is phrased in Malayalam or in English, his answer is: "Bapicha Appy". (Maybe he thinks he is an incarnation of Bapuji alias Mahatma Gandhi. Coincidentally, in one of my 3rd trimester scans at IRM when I was expecting Ash, Dr. Bavin - who later brought Ash out into the world - had commented that his ears looked like the Mahatma's - big and round.)
V reason that it is Ash's way of saying Appukuttan or Achukuttan as we call him at home.
'Come on, what will you say when the teacher asks what your name is? Say Ashwin Daniel Mathew,' I plead.
'Achi Naniye Matte', he choruses.
I venture next: 'What is your father's name?'
'Appa Appy.'
And I am Amma Appy, and Mira is Vaava Appy.
Appy is his special word for shit but it also serves to connote nudity (even a bit of flesh exposed at the wrong places). I wonder when he will get over the appy phase.

Tinsel boss

Yesterday night, Iqbal told me that film tickets for Rajnikanth's blockbuster Shivaji had been sold out to the tune of Rs.8 crores.

Wow! wasnt it just released today, I asked him. I had seen 18A doubledeckers sheathed in posters of the movie (apart from Chic Shampoo ads, MTC's novel way of earning some revenue) of late.

'Yes, madam. An IT firm's employees have bought all the tickets at Abirami theatre for the next two weeks,' he told me.

If you are wondering who Iqbal is, he is the friendly driver from the Travels firm that arranges cab services for the late-shift people at our company.
I like being chauffered by Iqbal. And he likes chauffering folks from my department every night to their homes. One of the less rash drivers from the Travels, he is enthusiastic, easy-going and smart.

I generally dont venture into a conversation owing to my limitations in speaking and understanding Tamil. And the youngster respects our need for some rest after a day's hard work.

But yesterday, he couldnt contain his excitement. After all, Rajnikanth in his 60s (a superhero chasing the heroine around trees at that age!) is still the one-man industry of Kodambakkam. The bus conductor-turned-superstar is next only to MGR in iconic worship among film-crazy Tamils. In a State ruled by ex-movie stars and script writers, where actresses are the reigning deities in temples built in their honour, this is nothing out-of-the-ordinary.

As for me, I just cant stand Rajnikanth - minus his makeup, he is a horror to look at. Thankfully, he is not likely to make a foray into politics - a senior correspondent covering TN politics tells us that he is an idiot and hence, wouldnt want to make a fool of himself by entering the political arena.

p.s. Ash comes home from school with a candy everyday - must be an inducement to the kids to keep coming to school.

Worry, worry

Today, I dropped Ash at school. I came back worried too.
Apart from Ash there were two other boys and they didnt look exactly normal to me. One was the big burly boy V spoke about yesterday - he was not crying today but just vacantly looking into space. The other boy seemed a bit odd too from his facial expression, and wasnt looking at anyone in particular.
Ash, for a change, quietly sat on a lil chair.
The second boy stiffly walked up to him after a while, and the 'miss' said: Say hello to Ashwin.
And he bellowed: Hullo!
He was made to go back to his seat.
The Anglo-Indian head teacher, who looked like an average elderly Tamilian woman on the streets in a shiny green sari, said: Wow! Isnt Ashwin hyperactive? He doesnt stay still for a moment. Anyway we take special care as he is the smallest of the lot.
The dark, burly boy, who I later learnt was 6 years old, ended his reverie and decided to accost Ash. The assistant teacher commanded him to go back to his seat, and he went off.
What's wrong with him, I asked.
'He is a bit hyperactive.'
He didnt look hyperactive to me.
Another boy was carried in by his father. He didnt seem to be able put his feet on the ground properly.
Well, altogether it seemed like a gathering of children with special needs. V said he did see a sweet normal lil girl yesterday. So I guess there are a few normal kids too.
We are now wondering whether to pull him out of the school - Ash is the kind who will go poke the burly boy on his tummy and invite trouble upon himself. I called up the Principal of Faith and she said they havent yet closed admissions for LKG.
The fee paid at BB will go down the drain though.

Baby picketer

Picketing is a popular form of protest in India, especially my home state of Kerala. Demonstrations are probably ingrained in the blood of every Malayali, even a toddler as young as Mira. Here is my cutie pie picketing in the kitchen for not getting her way about something. (I forget, because it is getting a bit too frequent of late.)

Spousy blogs

I had started blogging last year in the hope that I could bitch about my husband, especially on days he drove me mad (he has a lousy temper at times, you know). My brother had told me that one of the most popular blogs in the UK was by a woman who bitched about her spouse.
However, with my husband coming across my blog and reading it at times - nowadays he is too lazy to read it and asks me to give him a verbal summary of it - I dared not do it.
A friend of mine had also evinced interest in blogging about her husband, but so far she hasnt made the plunge. Well, we all have working marriages and dont want blogs to topple the applecart.
Off to school
Ash started school today at Blooming Buds. Only four have enrolled so far for the three KG sections! There is a teacher, a supervisor, a receptionist, and 2 ayahs to take care of the kids' needs. That is excluding the speech therapist-Director.
V came back a bit worried. For one, the teacher wielded a long cane (from when have montessori teachers started corporal punishment?) Two, there was a big, violent-looking boy who seemed like a 'special' child. The teacher assured that he was ok though he was crying for something.
Ash has been put in the LKG section for now - if he does not show the seriousness of an LKG students towards studies (seems there are writing books to be bought), he will be shifted to the pre-school section. I thought LKG just had oral sessions.
We will see how things go. Ash came back happy - there is plenty of stuff to play there. The tiffin box was empty too, so we assume he ate his dosa-chutney. He however raided the fridge, had a few slices of bread and went off to sleep.

The new schedule

The babysitting is in 3 shifts from yesterday.
I am up at 6 a.m. (earlier it was 7/8 am since the maid did all the cooking and I just ate and commented on her culinary results).
I pick the milk packets which the milkman leave an hour earlier, water the potted plants (a warm-up exercise) in the balcony (most of my pre-vacation plant collection has withered unable to weather the 45 degree Celsius katthri heat) and begin cutting vegetables. I dont mind the actual cooking, it is the vegetable chopping that gets on my nerves.
By 8 a.m., the idli is steamed and the sambar is seasoned, with a dash of ghee for that special taste. Steamed rice and a veg thoren complete the lunch menu - well, not complete... a Syrian Christian's meal is generally not complete without fish or beef or poultry (at least an egg omelette). Just that I dont have to worry about making them for a week at least as the maid has prepared and stocked them in the freezer for us.
Vin gets his tea before he departs for his morning walk. He is back by the time the kids wake up. He takes care of the kids, and in between me, till he leaves for office at 9.30 am. I run the show till about 1 pm, when my partime maid takes over. (By then, the chairs are upside down, the cushions are gracing the floor, and the house is littered in the worst possible way.) She stays till 7 pm, when V comes home. I reach home at 9 pm or later this week. I have opted for the noon shift, again, this week owing to the maid problem.


We hope to find a live-in maid by end of next week. Dad has given an ad in the Malayala Manorama and we are hoping it will yield results. IF it does, my parents will bring the person next week when they come here, on their way to London.
We are trying to sleep early - from 12 midnight and later to before 11. Hope to send Ash to school tomorrrow. Wednesday is the best day for initiation into the world of studies.

Swinging mischief

Ash on the mosquito net pole, a new favorite of his.

Mother Witch

Been cursing and ranting at the kids so much, on my first day alone with them.
The maid bid an emotional farewell yesterday. I got a peck on both cheeks, and as for the kids she kept hugging and kissing them on the way to the station. She was in tears when we dropped her and came off.
She has minimised my cooking troubles at least for a week - she made beef ularthiyathu, fish curry, fish pickle and fish cutlets ready for frying.
And judging from her mood, she might come back after a month. She is terribly fond of Mira. As for my baby girl, she has been missing her Ammamma and has been asking for her.

Shared misery

I am a not-so-infrequent patron of share autos plying from Tirumangalam to Shanti and Pondy Bazaar. Tirumangalam is the starting point for many share autos bound for T.Nagar, DMS and LIC. The so-called five-seater (3 in the back seat and 2 in the front seat, excluding the driver) invariably accommodates some 13-14 passengers in peak hours - mind you, that is excluding the couple of passengers who sit on the vehicle's floor or stand with bowed heads (the contraption has a low roof). That is, 4 squeezed in the back seat, 3 on the front seat (the one near the dismantled or non-existent door perched a bit precariously) and 2 each on the dummy speaker boxes (you are treated to some free FM music and chitchat whether you like it or not), and 2 on the toolbox beside the driver.
I have so far not had the gumption or desperation to sit on the floor, but I cant blame the ones who are in a hurry to get home. The backseat is usually occupied by women, and the driver generally ensures that women dont have to sit next to men - and male passengers in conservative Chennai would rather stand and travel than invite the wrath of a woman by sitting beside her (That reminds me about a friend's experience in a Chennai bus in the early 90s. She had got bold enough to sit next to an elderdly man; he immediately fished out a tiffin box and kept it in between to pervent any bodily contact.)
As against a 3-seater auto that charges me at least Rs.70 to my destination, a share auto charges only Rs.10 (the maximum fare is Rs.15, I think). The State transport charges a measly Rs.3.50, but then getting into them is generally a feat best avoided at peak hours.
The MTC is getting wiser too. It has recently introduced deluxe buses in many routes with flat rates of Rs. 5,7,9 and 13. And they too come jam-packed. I wish the government takes more such intelligent actions and give the autos a run for their money.

Species maid

For those of you following my maid fortunes (and misfortunes), here is an update.

Maid Leelamma, who came as a stop-gap arrangement in late February, is leaving tomorrow. The Pudukottai princess who was to succeed her post-vacation has decided not to come.
The frantic search thereafter in Kerala threw up two choices - the first now says her son doesnt want her to go as he cant be hassled about cooking his own meals at home; the second will check with her sons and let us know soon. The latter, from the woodcutter community in Kerala, seems keen but dad has warned that I keep a tab on my valuables.
I dont want to go through agencies again. The agency that threw up Moonface says maid salaries for Madras assignments is a minimum of Rs.4000. Phew! When MBAs struggle to find a job that earns them Rs.2000 a month, and many so-called MBAs work as door-to-door salesmen (whom my mom call management trainees), here comes privileged women who get a decent salary, all expenses covered, and free board. Mind you, most of them still come without a spare set of clothes - u refurbish their wardrobe, provide footwear, towels, toothpaste and what not. To top it, you have to keep them humored and put up with their tantrums.
In spite of it, your kids whom you entrust in their care do not get proper attention or affection; you are lucky if they dont ill-treat your babbling toddler or give them food while you are away.
The maid, who is leaving, has been very good with the kids though a bit careless about her medicines and stuff. She was quite the mother-figure at home for us, cooking us fantastic meals at fantastic speed.
My part-time maid has been roped in for babysitting the kids next week. The onus of cooking will however fall on me. God help me (and my family who have to eat the results of my culinary labour)!

The Anchal Master of Chandanapally

I have the fondest memories of my late paternal granpa whom I called Appachen and my dad called Achachen. My granny tells me that he was hot-tempered and a strict disciplinarian, but ever since I could remember I knew him as a soft and gentle person who revelled in the company of his grandchildren. Every night he'd call us for a prayer session that included litanies and hymns. His favorite song was Ashvasame enikkere thingidunnuand when he reached the final stanza - which was about becoming one with God leaving the world and all its cares - he raised his voice even further. I guess he knew his end was near.
Granpa died in 1978 after battling an assortment of ailments including high BP and diabetes. He even had to give up his favorite habit - smoking beedis. At night we kids sat on the dining table to get a share of the wheat dosa he had for dinner.
Granpa's favorite perch was near the drawing room window from where he could survey all who went past. He'd call out to people he liked to chat to and they always came and kept him company for a while. He'd then call me to his side and ask the visitor: 'Do you know who she is? She's my grand daughter and she stood first in 1st standard.'
(Fortunately for him, he did not live to see me fall in rank in my later years at school.) He would plead with my father when he whacked and pinched me for not learning my school lessons, especially during exam time. "Please dont beat her", he'd say and dad would retort: "She's my kid, I"ll do as I please." But it always gave a leeway for my mom and granny to come to my rescue and Dad would leave in a huff. And I happily went to the dining table and spread my book open, keeping an ear open for the gossip emanating from the kitchen.
Granpa had retired as a postmaster in the Indian Postal Service. Not surprisingly, he was known as the Anchal Master in my village, as the postal service was known as the Anchal Service in olden days. Granma tells me that each post office had an Anchal runner (post man) who ran carrying his mailbag and shouted out to let people know he was on his way. Granpa had served in many post offices in Pathanamthitta district including Ranni and Vadasserikara (where my father was born) but retired from Kaipattoor PO, in the neighbouring village.

Granpa was 30 when he married my granny, who was a sweet 16-going-on-17 then. It was an occasion that gave my granny a chance to wear her first chatta and mundu, and travel to the church in a bullock cart. She followed him with their brood to all the places he was transferred to, while in government service.
Being the only salaried person among his siblings, Granpa did not get anything much by way of family inheritance and so, bought a beautiful rugged piece of land in which he planted dozens and dozens of fruit-bearing trees and rubber - one of the first cultivators of rubber in my village. Mangoes and jackfruits of assorted tastes, avocado, nutmeg, drumsticks, cashew, sapota and coconut palms vied for space with teak and other timber-yielding trees.
Sadly, much of granpa's early crops have made way for rubber trees, which doesnt let shorter plants and trees thrive in its vicinity.

Last month, when I was in my village, I took my children for a rendezvous with their great granpa in the church cemetery. For me, my granpa's grave remains as special and holy as the shrine of Parumala thirumeni is to some Syrian Christians.

Mindless excursion

Treated my day off with a Malayalam movie at Roopam with V and Ash - VINODAYATRA starring Dileep and Meera Jasmine in the lead. We had been planning since last week to watch it but a late shift at work meant I couldnt slip out for the 6.30 pm show.
Director Sathyan Anthikad has lost his penchant for classic comedies set in rural backgrounds. So this was just another run-of-the-mill kind of Malayalam movie but with some good songs and in an idyllic location. I think it was set in Munnar (going by the acknowledgements at the beginning) though the places referred to are Challissery and the Mangalam dam in Palakkad district. Mukesh, who plays an upright engineer in the Irrigation dept., makes a pathetic attempt at comedy. I think Srinivasan would have suited the role better. The Tamil actress who plays his wife is ravishing. Heroine Meera appears only half way through the movie as an engineering dropout who has her family's burden on her young shoulders.
The story is essentially that of Dileep's transformation from an irresponsible, happy-go-lucky youth to a mature guy during his sojourn at his brother-in-law Mukesh's place. Dileep continues to entertain but Innocent's effort at comedy has lost its sheen. The young vagabond who comes to help in his workshop speaks like today's kids - talking mouthfuls that dont make them look like children, rather kids talking like adults.

Vinodayatra means excursion - in this film, it also connotes protagonist's Vinod's yatra (journey) not just literally but figuratively too.
Ash sat through the first half but got fidgety in the second half mainly because he was hungry. He consumed 2 packets of Lays, a paperbag of popcorns and orange juice but I guess it was not filling like the idli or omelette that maid makes for him in the evenings. With him bawling for candy, we could not concentrate on the climax of the movie with gay abandon. He was however humming one of the duet songs on our way home.

Mall to stroll

Another Sunday went like a supersonic flight. A late day at work on Saturday gave an excuse to absent myself from church. So none of us went to church and V instead sat and trimmed the kids' hair.
Thereafter, we took Ash alone to the Abhirami Mega mall in Purusaiwalkam, which someone had told us, had some interesting play areas for kids. Mira was left behind as she was running a slight temperature after her DPT-polio immunisations the previous day. Anyway she wouldnt have enjoyed Abirami Kids World as much as Ash did. For one Rs.70 child ticket and two Rs-40 adult tickets, we were let into the so-called Kidsworld at 12.15 for a 45-min play session involving joy rides on a dragon train going round in circles through a man-made cave, video games, swings, slides, merry-go-rounds and a mini theatre showing a spooky 3-D movie. Only, it was difficult to drag Ash out of the place at 1 pm. when our session was over. There is a more exciting Snow world too for kids alone, but Ash is too young to be let in there without parental supervision.
Unfortunately, we could not take pics as they forbade photography at the mall, except if you pay extra. I almost took a shot of the huge statue of an Egyptian goddess, Isis, before a security guy told me not to. We had chicken noodles and chilli chicken at the Planet Yumm restaurant there.
Altogther, a mediocre, noisy mall with a patronage you wouldnt care to be seen with.

Loyola beckons
After a post-lunch siesta, we decided to go Loyola college for an evening stroll. The Tower Park is too crowded for my liking, I prefer the beautiful, quiet and sprawling college campus for an evening out.
The campus church has been renovated and painted afresh - I preferred the earlier grey exterior, which gave it a more Gothic look. It looks too spic and span now, with a paved courtyard extending upto the grotto of the Virgin Mary.
The maid and Mira sat on the benches near the main building, while we walked up to the LIBA block past the stables and cowsheds. (That's the father-son duo walking towards LIBA.)

We walked back in the twilight, promising as always: next time we will come early and spend more time here.

Alien traffic

Helmets are in, so are car seat belts. Since yesterday, Chennai has a new set of aliens on the roads - two-wheeler riders sporting helmets on their heads. In the weeks preceding the deadline, many a man on the street had a new helmet case in tow as if a helmet festival was on.
I am a victim too. I had to fasten the seat-belt when V dropped me to work today. Until now, seat belts were ornamental pieces for Chennaites. We made some use of it -when Ash had to travel in the front seat with V (well, me and Mira have been shunted to the back seats these days). Car seats for children are not mandatory here, but some shops stock child seats these days - I had searched in vain when Ash was an infant.
I always found it strange when my brother secured the seat belt when he drove in Kerala, the haven of reckless drivers. Traffic rules are followed more in the breach there and you will be a laughing stock if you act the good citizen. But for my bro, seat-belt is second nature owing to years spent as a law-abiding expatriate.
We are learning too - to follow rules.

Hearts of (mari)gold

BREAKING NEWS (as most Indian TV channels says these days, even for very silly news): The maid has condescended to stay for another week. That means I have one week's time to find a new babysitter.
So on my way to work I went to Central station to cancel her ticket for 3rd and book another for 10th. The ladies counter was practically free, being lunch time and I got my job done in record time by Railway standards.
I was pretty late for work, so I got into a 11G, which is almost always crowded. I managed to get a seat near a flowerseller, who was busy knotting marigolds into long garlands. They call it saamanthi here (we call them jamanti in Kerala) and are mainly meant adorning figurines and pictures of Hindu gods and goddesses. Jasmines, which sell for Rs.5 a muzham (that is the length from the elbow to the wrist, which is how they measure it), are more popular among the ladies for decorating their long tresses.
The fragrance was too tempting and I couldnt resist asking her to spare me one flower. "Summa kodukkakudathe," she said. (Some superstition that it shouldnt be given for free)
"Okay, give me for Re. 1."
She gave me five, so I gave her Rs. 5.
"I dont have change"
"Doesnt matter. You keep the change."
She presented me another three into my already full hands.
My stop was already nearing, so I thanked her and got off with my bounty.
One of those days you start you work day with a smile.


Flower Photo Courtesy of Flowers VG