The Mundane Month Of June

Of ALL the months in a year, I guess I’m least inclined towards the month of June! For as far as I can remember, June is the month when -
* Vacations get over and school starts *groan*
* We move to a new classroom (usually a dump after the seniors vacate it), make new friends and start getting used to new teachers.
* It starts raining.
* People normally fall ill.
* There are no occasions to bunk the routine. No festivals, weddings or celebrations.
* There is very little fish

Needless to say, most of my grumbles rise from school perspective. Continuing on the second point – Dad’s transfers ensured we entered a new school every 2-3 years. I was apprehensive about the first day at school even when I joined a new one when in 12th! And we know how that went!!

Earlier, this sinking feeling was mine alone, but lately,I think I harbor the same sentiment for my kids! Right now, the kids aren’t complaining about the new classroom or new teacher or new friends, or the rain or the fish for that matter!!! But they’re my kids! So I expect them to be expert cribbers in a couple of year’s time
They have the liberty to enjoy themselves!! They aren’t the ones who have to cover a zillion books in brown paper and label them . And just when I send those books to school, their teacher sends a note that the books aren’t covered in transparent plastic !!
For Gosh’s sake!! They’re covered!! Isn’t that enough?? The books will only leave the school when the kids move to the next grade, sometime next year. What on earth do they want the plastics for?!!
*grumble grumble*
Anyhow, back to June.
I’ve never liked this month much. More so lately. It is supposed to rain. I like the rain. What I don’t like is the waiting one has to do for it! Every day, the skies are overcast, the day is gloomy and hot and we have no rain. Each time we look up, it seems as though it would rain, but it doesn’t. The only water-fall that occurs, erupts from a million pores in the form of sweat. Most people become walking water-fountains
In my bike’s dicky (who ever coined this term, pray tell me ) I carry a jacket (for short rainy spells) and a raincoat for longer rainy spells. But since the sun still blazes in all its glory, I need to carry a scarf, gloves and glares. In short, my dicky (eeks!! I need to find a new name for it ASAP!!) is stuffed to the brim with rain essentials, so my purse now dangles on the bike handles and the helmet rests on the foot-rest (Oops!! Sorry Bro. I do wear it , I swear, right before entering the office gates and just before exiting them !!! )

The only plus point till now is that there is a constant breeze all around. So even if we have a power cut or the sun is blazing down, there’s a nice cool breeze blowing away to cool those frayed nerves. Now, I like the breeze….but not when it turns into one of those whooshing gusts which whip your clothes off the clotheline to deposit it nicely in the middle of the road (reachable) or at the roof edge of a nearby building (unreachable). “Why not put a clothes-pin, then?”, you wonder to yourself as you read this part. And I would say, “I’d LOVE to, if only the Terrible-Two hadn’t already demolished a few and thrown away the rest ” !! A clothespin is the LAST thing you would find intact in the MomOfRS household.
*Sigh*
I hate this month. I seriously do.

The reason this rant came up is that we had a team lunch yesterday (So??!!)
Well, we went to this reputed Sea-Food restaurant near my office. It usually has some awesome, fresh sea-food. But yesterday was an unlucky day for me, I guess. The fish we ordered didn’t smell very good . Clearly, the specimen was either dead before being picked out from the waters or was definitely waaaaaay past its prime. There’s a reason we are advised against eating fish in the months that don’t have an ‘r’ in them .
I know, I know! July and August don’t have an ‘r’ in them either!
But they have RAIN!!!!
June, I hate you so much!!!
*Sob*
*Sniff* Sorry folks….I haven’t been myself lately. Its all this stress over the uncovered books (two weeks past their submission dates), the production deployment at work (this weekend) and the cookery competition finals (Today)!!
So wish me luck to get through the day!

BTW, the post on the first round is due. Will do it once we get through today. I’ll club the items and recipes of both the rounds in the same post. Along with the pictures. Of course
Till then you all, be Good





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Rude Awakening

Imagine this –

You have a cookery competition at work. You’ve done everything you possibly could have and tentatively wait for the judges to arrive. They finally come to your table, which, incidentally is the LAST one in the row. The judges are already stuffed to the gills and you have this sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that far from delivering a just verdict on your dishes, the judges are barely capable of inserting another morsel of food in their mouths.
The judges stand there, peering at your plates and then give you a glare. It is immensely difficult to fathom what goes on behind those beady eyes and flushed cheeks. One of them tentatively picks up one item and brings it to his mouth. You can see the hesitation, the reluctance, the sheer effort to control the surge of nausea as they have to perform their duty. You know, even before they are capable of taking that bite that things are not working in your favour. Your team-mates look just as glum. You stand there with your head bowed, praying for them to just leave, before any one of them indeed throws up! It’s a scary thought, but you really don’t want any projectiles landing on the fruits of your labour 
Somehow, the seconds seems to drag endlessly. Then you see another chubby arm reaching out for another bite. Then another. And another.
Your head whips up in time to see the most satisfied look on the judges face. If souls could preen, yours did exactly that. Though stuffed, the judges cannot seem to get enough of your dishes. You hand them more. They gulp in delight, like little children lost in Candy land. Your team mates shake hands and thump you in the back. They’ve been green with worry throughout the day. It is clear that the judges LOVED your dishes. You patiently wait for them to finish, letting them take their own sweet time to demolish whatever you’ve made. Its an effort well spent.
The others send envious looks your way. You don’t care. It is obvious whom the judges favour . It is no longer a secret. You stand there patiently, waiting for the verdict, which you already know by now. One of the judges extends his hand for a bite, alas, the plate is empty. You look down at it disappointed and then meet eyes with the judge. You send a smile in apology. The judge isn’t buying it. It is a tad late for you to react, but frankly, that punch that landed on your face just wasn’t expected, was it??
You gasp in shock, fear and pain. Your nose hurts a lot more than you ever expected. Unexpected tears trickle down your eyes. You shake your head to clear the haze. The lights have disappeared. It is dark. You wonder if you’ve lost your sight along with your nose. A curtain ruffles in the breeze. The haze clears.
You are in your bed. You daughter has just delivered a well-aimed kick at your nose. Her foot resides just inches from your face, ready to cause pain if she bothers to turn in her sleep. You crawl out of bed, only to find that you landed on the floor even before you could crawl two steps. The haze is definitely clearer now. You stand up to survey the damage. The nose, thankfully, is intact. No bleeding diagnosed.
You turn to the wardrobe mirror and laugh stupidly. Some crazy dream, that.
You make some space on the bed, shift your son and daughter into a better position and then cuddle down with them.
You can’t sleep.
The competition is still on tomorrow and you dread the judges once more 
And that is how, I spent last night and got up this morning!!

Hope you guys had a better start to the day 





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The Day Care

Yesterday, the twins spent their first day at the day-care.

Now, this isn’t a professional day-care center. The woman who runs it is in her fifties (if I’m not wrong ), is single and has a daughter who is pursuing her MBA.

The lady is an ex-school teacher who has been conducting tuitions to support herself and her daughter. We needed someplace where we can leave the kids between 2-6pm, that is, after their school gets over and the in-laws get back from work. Leaving them home was an option but we weren’t comfortable with the idea of leaving the kids alone with the nanny. The girl (the nanny), a slip of a thing, tends to sleep deeply, so deep in fact that many a times we’ve found the kids prancing around the house whereas she is deep asleep inside. As long as there were other adults in the house, it was okay. Now, there is no one . Thats the major reason we thought of keeping the kids someplace where they can be watched over all the time.

I’ve mentioned in some posts before, about my futile efforts in hunting for a day care. There isn’t a single one near my place, not surprising, since it’s a purely residential area. It’s kind of funny, that we found out about this lady just the day before the twin’s school was to start

I met up with  the lady first, then the MIL accompanied me to settle on the payments and then I took the kids to meet her. One thing that did strike me was that the lady and her daughter were kind, but firm in their handling of the twins. When her daughter raised her voice at Lui who was jumping over the sofa, I’ll confess I felt bad. But more than that, I realized that so bratty had my daughter become lately that nothing we said or did made any difference to her. A little stern treatment would do her some good.

And that is exactly what each one of us kept re-assuring the other about yesterday.

 

MIL : I don’t like it….feeling bad….its not good to keep children away…..kya karein?…..lekin zaroori hai.

FIL : I don’t approve. What is the need?? We can call my sister again…let her stay with us….now you realize the importance of my mother?!….

BIL : I wonder how the kids are faring…..

BF  : I don’t like it….am upset…..what if they ill-treat the kids….poor Shobby….he has to suffer because of Lui….she’s a brat…but yeah, she needs some discipline…my babies…I don’t like it.

Me  : *call up daycare*….did the driver bring in the kids on time?…

          *call up nanny*…what?? shobby was crying??…

         *call up BF*….they’ll take some time to adjust..

         *call up daycare*…are the kids having something to eat?…..

         *call up MIL*…Lui seems to be doing just fine…..

         *call up nanny* pick the kids….

         *call up day-care*…hope they didn’t trouble much….

         *call up MIL* …did they reach?…

         *call up BF*…they’ve come home….

BF  : I don’t like it yaar

Me  : Me too

 

And so, we’ve all been going back and forth on our decision to put the kids in day-care !

As of now, they haven’t been scarred or anything. The only thing Lui complained about was that the aunty scolded her. But I know that my daughter can test the patience of a saint, so I don’t blame the aunty right-away. The lady is used to handling little children and I’m sure I’ll see positive results shortly.

On that positive note, I’ll try and get through another day, even as my mind diverts itself involuntarily, wondering how the kids will fare today . I know that this arrangement will be best for them and us. We can go about our work without the constant nagging worry of what the twins would be up to or how the nanny is treating them. Plus, the twins will learn to behave and eat (two things that the daycare lady has promised to instill in the kids). As of now, they are both fussy eaters and tend to boss others around !

It is 3 pm now and I’ve made only two calls (to home) and one chat (with BF). Still resisting the urge to call up the day-care. Shouldn’t sound too uncertain about them, I think. We need to get through this month before finalizing on our decision to continue further.

Hmmpphh!!

I wonder why we are all getting so sentimental about the day care !

Its not as if we are cutting off the proverbial umbilical cord or something! We are just keeping the kids in a different place till their grandparents come home.

Why then, is it so difficult to accept it  ?!!

 

 

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The Bloody Truth….

 

…..is that I’m anemic.

(It feels horrible to confess it up front like that !)

This brilliant deduction came to haunt me ever since I read this post on blood donation by R’s Mom (office firewall doesnt let me attach the link . But you can read the post at : http://readingthroughrsmind.wordpress.com/2012/06/06/of-blood-donations-and-such/ ). Unlike me, she was blessed to perform this noble deed. Try as I might, blood donation is an activity which abhors me (and not the other way round).

Sample this -

There’s a blood donation drive at work I’m all pepped up about it and reach office at 8 AM !! All my friends gather and we collectively go down to the area where the blood donations were taking place. I was the only girl in the group. In fact, like R’s Mom mentioned in her post, even I was surprised to see that there were hardly a couple or more girls compared to the 50-60 guys waiting in queue at that time.

Just as I jauntily walked into the hall, a voice calls me from behind.

“Excuse me miss, you have to do this test”.

I turn back and stare at a pimply-faced youth, barely out of medical college holding out a contraption which roughly looked like the stand on which you put Kachhua Chhap agarbatti.

“Huh?”.  To the point I was, as always.

“Blood test. We need to check your hemoglobin levels”.

“I’ve got a pretty good count”, I defended myself, more so because everyone in the hall and outside it was watching this little exchange with rapt attention. I guess most of them were still dozing on their feet since IT people rarely get out of bed before 10 Am. Still, I felt those looks.

“Please madam. It will take only one second”.

So I reluctantly held out one finger. The pimply-medico jabbed my finger with the agarbatti stand and even without looking at the sad and disappointed look on his face I could make out that the orange-thingy that oozed out of that finger wasn’t worth donating. I kept mum though

The guy dunked that orangey-droplet in a jar full of viscous blue fluid and since the droplet insisted on floating right over the surface of the blue-fluid, I was clinically termed incapable of blood donation.

Oh!! The enormity of that declaration!!! The sheer embarrassment of being rejected when setting out for a noble cause!! It was almost as though I set out to donate clothes to the poor, destitute people living under one of the city’s bridges, only for them to grab the bag and sell it in the chor-market next day. So much for philanthropy. Or social consciousness (This incident did occur….when I used to volunteer for Goonj).

 The guys in my gang guffawed. Some insisted I ask for blood transfusion to liven up those RBCs. Aaarrggh!! Men and their stupid jokes

 I walked back to my cubicle and was the butt of jokes throughout the day. The worst part is that few of the women who never came forward to donate, joined in the chiding

*Women!!*

Anyhow, fast-forward to a couple of more years.  Good friend SK asked a much-married mother of two (me, henceforth called MOT!)  if she was interested in donating blood. There was a blood donation camp in her office which was in the tower next to our current location. As usual, the MOT was fired up and tagged along.

And right at the entrance to the cafeteria (where the camp was being held), she met her old enemy – the agarbatti stand!!

She shivered involuntarily, but then reminded herself that the blood that zipped in her veins belonged to a brave officer(decorated, at that!)  and not to a sissy. So up went the chin and her finger attacked the metal even before the girl at the other end decided to prick her.

Alas….though a tad more red than before, the blood was nonetheless rather thin in consistency. The MOT didn’t bother to look at the jar of blue-fluid which no doubt, carried her blood like a ruby tiara. SK went ahead and donated while MOT sat there, twiddling her thumbs . Half an hour later, they were back at their office, with SK carrying the cutest little plant in an even more cute pot. MOT burned in envy all the way back to her desk. It didn’t help.  Her blood didn’t thicken

Another year later,  I decided to join the crowd donating blood at the client office. I dragged in a few friends with me, compelling them to come forward and do their bit for mankind. This time, at the entrance, a doctor asked me if I had any ailments.

“Not really…I mean, I’m not ill or anything”.

“Are you taking any medications”.

“I’m supposed to…but I don’t”.

The doctor, who had a long day ahead of him, contemplated on rejecting me outright.

“Sorry, you cannot donate”.

“But -”

“Sorry, anyone on medications is not advised to donate”.

“But I’m taking supplements”.

“Which ones?”

“Iron”.

“For low Hemoglobin count?”

“Err yes”.

*frown*

“That disqualifies you, you know”.

*DRAT*

Should have seen that coming

Anyhow, crux of the matter is that I didn’t meet my nemesis (you got it, the KCAS) that day. It was a very forlorn and despondent MomOfRS who walked back to her cube.

“How did it go??” sniggered a couple of colleagues.

I swear I felt like drawing blood.

And NOT for donation!!

 —————

The crux of my lament is that there are not enough women out there who can donate blood. I’m one of the statistics of women who have a low Hb count. Its nothing earth-shattering, but alarming enough in its capacity to deprive me of simple pleasures in life. Like playing with the kids for an hour without huffing and puffing after the first 15 minutes. Or like walking/exercising for more than 10 minutes without collapsing over the exercycle!

Eating iron-rich food is a good starting point to overcome this deficiency. Spinach (palak) and dates are the most commonly suggested goods. But what is lesser known is that the presence and level of Vitamin C decides how much iron is actually absorbed by the body. There is loads of data on the internet about it so I’ll not bother hunting for links. Surprisingly, I’ve been an avid consumer of vitamin C rich food which includes guavas (highest content), sweet limes, oranges , amla and all things sour! Green leafy veggies are my favorite. Yet, for some unknown reason, the blood refuses to rise up to the point 12 mark . Nothing has helped me increase my hemoglobin levels in all these years.  During pregnancy, I took iron supplements twice a day for the entire 8-month duration. I consumed buckets-full of fruits and vegetables. Yet, at the time of delivery, I had reached my highest personal score of 11.6 only  :( .

Has anyone else experienced this problem? Are there any more anemic women out there who’ve found a cure?? Are the women with healthy Hb levels eating anything that I’m not ?!! Any suggestions, home remedies that I could try out??

By the way, there was a blood donation camp in my office recently. I didn’t go

B-U-T!!

I have started on another course of iron supplements. This is just a precautionary step, I’m not expecting it to do wonders. will update you all if I observe any positive changes.

Till then,  be generous you all. Go and donate whenever you can. I believe its a wonderful experience

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How It Feels To Be Terrified

Terror.
A single word. A multitude of emotions.
Fear.Helplessness.Disbelief. Denial.
A feeling so overpowering, that at times, it robs one of their speech. You want to say something, but the words just don’t come out.
All you can feel is that numb shivering in your bones. The eyes dart about frantically. The heart beats so loud, you can’t hear anything else.
And in all this, you keep chanting, “this can’t really be happening”.
Well, it did happen.
Yesterday, I came a hair’s breadth close to losing my kids. Both of them.
I wonder now, how I’m still sane enough to come to work. How I can get about my regular routine when my entire world would have turned upside down in minutes!! Just recollecting it sends shivers up my spine, though frankly, a little practical sense nudges me into realizing that what happened yesterday was not a catastrophe.
But it could have been!!
And thats a difficult pill to swallow

On Sunday, we attended a wedding at a neighbouring township, which is close to an hour’s drive from our place. After the wedding, we went to meet the BF’s aunt (FIL’s elder sister) who stays in that township.The twins had been here a couple of times before, but the last visit was well 7-8 months back. We were all exhausted, because it had been an insanely hot day!! The twins were sorely irritated by the heat and had made my life hell, clamouring to be taken back home or to be carried . At the aunt’s place, I took the opportunity to sit down and relax for a few minutes.

Little did I know what it could have cost me then!!

The aunt’s house has a back-door that opens into a tiny lane. The lane connects the houses on the entire stretch , meaning, all the houses on both sides of the lane have their back-door opening up to it. At one end of the lane is the tarred road. If you take a right from this road, it leads up to the heavy-traffic main road. The kids were playing by the back-door. I called out to them, warning them not to venture out further. Lui replied that they wouldn’t. I settled back once more but had an ear out for the kids..

It couldn’t have been more than a minute when I realized I couldn’t hear them. I asked the BF to have a look, but he was tired too nd loathe to get up. So I rushed out to the lane. The kids were nowhere to be seen. I first took a right on the lane to check if they had any other house by mistake, since all the houses looked alike.

They weren’t there.

Then I rushed out to the road and looked around. They were nowhere to be seen. This was when I felt the first rush of panic.

I ran back inside and told the family that the twins were nowhere to be found. Everyone scurried out , calling the twins by their names. There was no reply in return. Everyone fanned out on the different lanes. There were so many houses, so many lanes that looked the same. It would have been easy for the kids t o get easily confused and lost.

One man who saw us running here and there informed the MIL that he had seen a  woman dragging a little girl with her. That terrified me. I felt this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and I guess around this time, I lost my voice. I could run around the lanes, looking for my children, but I just couldnt call out to them. The aunt, her daughter and husband were distraught. The in-laws were more so. Everyone looked stricken.

The BF then noticed a tiny little spot close to the heavy-traffic road. He wasn’t sure, but since Shobby was wearing yellow, he ran along anyway, just to make sure.

It was Shobby. And Lui.

They were happily ambling on the road, barefoot, under the hot sun, totally oblivious  to the grief they had caused us. I ran after the BF and grabbed Lui into a crushing hug. And then I felt a surge of anger welling up. I put her down and practically dragged her back to the aunt’s home. Within a few steps, Lui started screaming that her feet were hurting. So angry was I that I yelled back that why didn’t her feet hurt when she walked away in the first place. By this time, everyone had gathered back. One look at us and the twins knew they were in trouble. Both started bawling out loud. I confess I felt like slapping them both, but seeing how scared they were just then, I didn’t have the heart to

We left the place shortly. The twins dozed off to sleep in  the car. But we were far from relaxed.

Each one of us was wondering on the possibilities that could have occurred.

They could have been knocked down by a speeding vehicle.

They could have been abducted.

Lui could have been abducted for a very bad purpose.

Just thinking about it gives me the shivers

Allah has been kind.

But every time I look back, those tense moments remind me of the thin edge of reality we live in. My entire life, as I know it could have been obliterated. In case something had happened to the twins, I wouldn’t have known how to survive.

The BF was equally shaken up. We have a tough time discussing the What-Ifs. Its enough that we bow our heads in gratitude and thank Allah for giving us a new life. I have been given back my babies….without a scratch. No amount of gratitude is enough. Will ever be enough.

Really!!





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Of Livers, Needles and Dilemmas!!!

A Long time back, before I had the twins, there was a time I was shuttling between the doctor’s clinics and pathology labs. For some unknown reason, I had difficulty retaining my pregnancies. Miscarriage after miscarriage had made me immune to pain.
I was advised to get various different blood tests done. I’m surprised at myself now that I actually got blood tests done worth 6-7K!!
So frequent were my visits that all the people at the lab recognised me on sight. Sometimes I would have to give blood from both the arms. The prick of the needle didnt hurt me anymore. There would be other people, men and women, who would either turn away their face, or yelp/gasp with pain.
I sat there silently, like a third party observing the pricking and prodding of MomOfRS.
By the way, all the reports were negative.
I got pregnant naturally and had the twins. There’s a long story about the universe conspiring to give you what you want. I had blogged about it here.
Anyway, the pathology lab was like a second home to me. Even after I became pregnant, I used to visit it atleast twice a month for the sonography. I know, its not required that frequently, but neither my doctor nor we, were willing to take any chances this time. Though under house-arrest (by the BF) most of the time, the only trips I made out were either to the labs or to the doctor.
Once the kids were out, I never ventured that side again .
Until yesterday. When I had to take my itty-bitty little son to have blood tests done, ranging from malaria to TB to goodness knows what all the doctor had prescribed.
He was suitably excited to be at a new place, plush sofa sets and a laaaarge TV, a waiter serving him water and offering a candy. Obviously, he was thrilled. That is, till he was strapped up for a blood sample retrieval. Thats when he recollected that a couple of weeks back, he had a similar blood sample taken (at a different lab) and that the needle hurts.
My son burst out crying even before the needle was inserted and it took three people, me, holding him in my lap, one attendant to hold his hand still and the third to insert the needle. Shobby bawled his heart out. But even in his bawling, he couldn’t help throwing curses at the attendants. So funny were his words that they had difficulty in keeping their hands steady as they laughed.
“Arre, kitna khoon le rahe. Abhi bas na!!”
“Inn dono ko police ke paas bhejenge”
“Mere Abu ko bulao. Woh aapki piti-piti karenge”.
“Kitnaaa sataa rahe hai sab mujhe. Kitnaaaa?!!!”
“Aap dono ko jungle mein chhodoon kya??”
Even I was smiling, because my son was visibly furious at being pricked and was throwing all the expletives he knew !
But it hurt deep down.
Because I couldn’t prevent causing him pain in the first place.
Shobby has developed a swelling on his liver which may or may not be serious. His hemoglobin is low and his weight has been dropping steadily for the past one month. Thats why the multitude of blood-tests.

The doctor says that the swelling could also be because of the anti-biotics we’ve been giving him over the last one month. I believe that his core problem is low immunity, as he is easily prone to infections. The doctor also asked us if anyone in my family has a chronic problem of cold-cough. I shook my head in ‘No’, before I realized that there was indeed one person in my house who was mostly ill. The nanny.
The girl has a chronic problem and she’s been taking treatment for it too. But the fact remains that atleast 2 days in a week, she is definitely ill. If she takes a leave to visit her aunt, the next day she would be down with a terrible fever. If she goes out with her friends, she falls ill in the night. Its sad to say this, but the only time she is actually fit is when she comes for work regularly. She gets to eat home-made food and gets to sleep 3 hrs in the afternoon. Though I’ve asked her to take the kids to the park every evening, she takes them only once a week, because she’s not feeling well enough and cannot get up in the evening. There are times when the FIL/MIL come back in the evening and wake her up.
The doctor has advised me to replace her soon. My son has low immunity and until that improves , we need to keep him away from any source of infections.
The problem is, the nanny’s an orphan. We feel responsible for her and her health. But I also cannot compromise on my son’s health. That girl just cannot run around to different homes for work. What we pay her lets her live comfortably off without worries. If I get rid of her, I know for sure that her health will deteriorate. Even at 22, she doesn’t have the maturity to understand that unless she earns her living, she cannot go on. Unfortunately for her, her friends are all from a better background, ready to splurge at the movies or eating out. Since they have nothing better to do, they plan night-outs at her place, staying awake till early morning. She then wakes up at noon and then calls to inform that she isnt feeling well and cannot come. By then, either the MIL or I have taken a leave off work to stay back with the kids!! Every week, the friends expect her to join them for shopping expeditions. Mostly, she refuses, but then when she does relent, she ends up spending more than she earns .
We have spent thousands on her, though frankly, I’m now really doubtful as to what she has been doing with all the money . Removing her seems to be the only way to check if Shobby gets better. But I need to settle her someplace else. Unfortunately, she hasn’t got a very good work record for people to accept her immediately. Too many neighbours around who have visited our place, know of her sleeping habits
I’m really stuck in a hard place here. On one hand is my baby and on the other, a girl who lost her mother shortly after she started working for us. Not only me, but the others at home feel responsible for her too
Then there’s the option of day-care. I know hundreds of women put their kids in day-care and some of them are really good. Its just that my kids aren’t used to staying away from the house for more than 3-4 hours. They are used to the comforts of their home. Soemwhere deep inside, I’m feeling a tad upset that with no other option left, I’ll have to leave my kids in daycare
It doesn’t help my cause that the BF is strictly against day-care!
I’m sure there is a solution out there somewhere…its just that my mind is too jumbled with thoughts to come up with a workaround.
I’m not doing too good at work either, as I’m preoccupied with Shobby’s health issues all the time.

Hopefully, this too shall pass
I know its a phase. When bad times abound, the good times are just around the corner
So, keeping my fingers crossed for tomorrow (when I’ll get the reports).
Send your thoughts and prayer Shobby’s way. Please





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The Heat’s Got To Me

It’s a bl**dy awful day , that’s what!
It’s the second week of Feb and the sun’s burning right through the roof! I have no idea what to do with the bundles of blankets lying around the house, hopeful of being used one day. I’m sure that the day I will put them away, the sun would go behind a cloud and we’ll have a cold wave sweeping across the city. The kids would shiver under their bed sheets and the BF would gruffly enquire as to why his wife was insanely eager to put away those blankets when we were ‘technically’ still in the winter season.
Anyhow, what I wanted to say was that today I had to visit the regional passport office to submit the updated birth certificate of my son. The BF warned that there is a mad rush at the passport office and it is always wise to reach there early. So I woke up earlier than usual, did my regular chores , got the twins ready for school and handed them over to their father (to wait for the school van) and reached the passport office at sharp 09:40. To my utter horror, the place was crowded with around 200 people already in queues and more coming in by the minute. The worst part? The office wasn’t open yet….the regular timing was 10:30 AM. *GROAN*. So I stood there in the heat and the dust (yes, loads of it, because the parking area right outside the passport office was nothing more than the flattened left-over remnants of the existing hill-side. There were boulders, stones and dust galore. As luck would have it, the queues stretched right out to the parking area. So every time a vehicle came in or drove out, we were all covered with a thick layer of dust. And oh, did I mention that I was wearing white today? Well, it aint white no more  . When I finally did get to enter the building, we were made to wait in a queue. After about 25 minutes, I went in and submitted the letter that I had received. The lady official asked me what the problem was and I told her that my son’s application was rejected due to discrepancy in my name and I’ve got new documents for submission. She brusquely snatched the letter, ignored the documents and asked me to wait outside the cabin.
The ‘outside’ was crawling with people, with barely an inch to spare. After a long wait, I finally got a chair to sit. So I pulled out the latest Agatha Christie from my bag and started reading. Must have read more than 50 pages before it finally clicked that I’d been sitting for a rather long time with no updates on what I was supposed to do next. So I quickly asked one of the peons and he said that the names will be called out shortly. So I went back to my book (Thank God I had the sense to get it along!) . After another 20 or so pages, my turn finally came. I stepped in gingerly and went up to the lady official. She was definitely in a foul mood! At one point I almost lost my temper and told her that my son’s twin sister got her passport around 3 months back! And both the forms were submitted together. When exactly did the official realize that my name on the application form was ‘wrong’ compared to the one on the birth certificate, I have no clue. But after submitting documents again and again, the BF went the whole hog and had my name officially changed to carry his surname (Now this is one thing I NEVER wanted to do, but I never had a hint that these people would make such an hue and cry over it. For the sake of my son’s passport, I had to take this drastic measure  ) . I was armed with these new documents when I went in. After a lot of haggling and explaining from my side and a lot of grumbling and snootiness from her side, she finally grabbed the Xerox copies and told me I could leave. So drained was I from the experience that I forgot to ask her if the application was accepted or rejected. Later on, when I spoke to the BF about it, I realized that the lady was insinuating a little about palm-greasing and being rather ignorant about the tastes of government officials, I was rather slow to get the drift 
Anyhow, the form is submitted, I’m back in office and the ticker runs while we wait patiently for the passport.
I was supposed to get my driving license by yesterday. It still hasn’t come. Now I’m worried 
The campaigning for the civic polls is getting on my nerves. The bike rallys, the auto rallys, the followers bearing banners and flags, the children hollering slogans…..it so ticks me off! I have half a mind to cross out all these revolting parties from my options…but then, I wouldn’t have anyone left to vote for  . Thankfully, it should get over in a day or two. Also, it helps that we aren’t in the South or UP, where poll campaigning is a blatantly aggressive exercise with little or no regard to general public comfort. Pune, I love these little mercies you bestow on us 
Happy Valentine’s, to Ye who Believe.
For the rest, glad to be a part of a club that’s in love forever 

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Very Lovely Chubby Cheeks

Not lovely, but I do have Chubby Cheeks. At least when I grin. Or smile!

Anyhow, this incident happened this Monday – I walked into the VLCC centre closest to my place, I had an appointment for 11 AM, but I was a tad early and walked in by 10:40 AM. The only person around to greet me was the cleaning maid. I waited for a while and then asked for something to read. The maid reluctantly handed me the previous day’s paper. She looked grumpy, so I didn’t pester her for the current copy. I read the paper from start to end. Then started on the crossword. then did a few Mensa puzzles (successfully, if I might add ) and then finally proceeded to do Sudoku. By now, it was 11:20 AM, yet there was barely any activity inside the parlour/fitness-centre.

I doodled for some time, when finally a lady walked up to me and gave me a form to fill (since it was my first time there). I filled up eagerly and went to hand it over to her. The lady watches me approach her and as she accepts my form, coughs discreetly and says, ” *Ahem* Would you be interested in our special figure-correction package?”.

What?!

I mean, I know I’m kinda healthy…but figure correction? I mean, do you actually massage yourself to cut away the flab in order to get a better silhouette or what?!

She took in my flabbergasted expression and took it for a yes. I’m still not sure if she realized I was offended big time . Anyhow, so this other woman with gorgeous long hair leads me inside and makes me stand on this machine which my feet placed over some metals pads and hands holding on to some bars while the machine does a complete body scan. The device had a tiny display and suffice to say, the readings were not pretty. I now realize why the figure-correcting lady thought I needed to chop up the fat!

In a short summary, this is what the dratted machine had to say -

1) Height : 155 cms

2) Weight 69.1 kgs

(normal range 43.9 – 59.4)

3) Muscle mass 19.4 kgs

(normal range 19.5 -23.8)

4) Body Fat Mass 32.6 kgs

(normal range 10.3 – 16.5)

There!! See that?! My body fat turns out to be twice that of the max amount of the normal range. I , for one, am NOT normal

The report also had detailed sectional reports on where the fat deposit is more and where it is normal. Apparently, each leg weighs 5 kgs more than required, the tummy region is *hold your breath* 15 kgs over the normal and shoulders are each 2.5 kgs over.

While I was recovering from the shock, the dear counselor went on a long spiel about how VLCC could come to the rescue and with a minimal amount of 25K, guarantee loss of 5 kgs and a couple of inches.

I almost told the lady that I’d rather starve myself to death. Lose weight and save money in one go. All that two-birds and one stone theory churned in my mind. But I stayed mum. “We’ll see”, was all that I could croak. I mean, frankly speaking, my fatness is not their fault. So what if they offer the services for ‘reasonable’ amounts which appear gargantuan to me ?! It would have been much better if I’d seen the gargantuan-ness of my fat before I stepped through their door, hadn’t it?!

Anyhow, I asked them to wrap up with what I’d come there for (A facial,manicure,hair-wash, conditioning,haircut, blow-dry,threading and skin and hair analysis). Again, for the record, these are not activities I normally indulge in. Good friend from work, SK had found a package deal online which gave us these services from VLCC for 600/- when the actual cost of the same was 4000/-.Obviously, we grabbed at it with both hands.

Talking of hands, the attendant who took charge of my manicure wasn’t impressed with my hands. “Too rough”, “Too much cuticle”, “too much tan”. A lot of head-shaking and marketing spiel later (well, they ALL tried to sell me VLCC products. I can give them marks for trying ) work began on making my hands look presentable. Post the session, I rued the fact that it never clicked me to get a before and after snap . *Sigh* I always miss such moments I tell you . The fingers did look better, but a tad sore, since my cuticles were more or less ripped off my nails. Alas, the effect stayed but just a day. I scraped my nails with the knife while chopping veggies the next day. Made me realize that pampering the hands works for only those people who don’t have to rough it out in the kitchen. If you are the regular food provider , chances are, you’ll always have trimmed nails and at least a couple of remnant oil burn marks on your hands/wrists

I digress again. Apologies.

The main attraction of the session was the hair wash (pleasant), the conditioning (yummm) and the blow-dry/ setting which was an awesome job because my normally fly-away zig-zag hair looked like those of our North-Eastern counterparts. Silky, straight and oh so shiny!!  I mean, I could actually leave my hair open without a thousand clips or bands in place . SK had the same package and we were both flaunting our hair in office the next day, much to the amusement and envy of our colleagues ! Unfortunately, SK washed her hair today and its back to normal. I haven’t washed mine yet…I don’t want my hair to get back to their normal messy state

I came back home that evening and showed the print-out of my body analysis report to the BF

BF :  (feigning shock) Goodness?!! Whatever gave them the idea that you are *gasp* fat?!!

Me : Ha ha. Not funny mister.

BF :  No really. I mean, I swear their machine must be faulty. Go back and ask them for a refund.

Me : You wish!!

BF : No. No. YOU wish

At which point I aimed a good kick towards the punster, which was easily sidestepped because frankly, I can raise my leg just about a foot off the ground

The BF continued snorting with laughter as he exited the room, probably because he didn’t want to be beaten to a pulp. The leg couldn’t be raised high, I agree, but it carries weight, all 5.1 kgs more than the normal range !!

To round up the tale, my fitness level is at an all time low of 56 when it is supposed to be a minimum of 74. To correct the anomalies, I have made a slight change in my diet. Breakfast is Muesli and a cup of tea. Lunch is a fruit and large jar of Herbalife shake. Dinner is one chapati, a little sabzi and a little rice. I have stopped taking sugar in tea and eating sweets. The trip to the gym is pending. Hoping to correct that as soon as possible.

I don’t mind losing the chubby cheeks, I guess…..if it means being healthier and fitter to run around with the twins





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The Deceptors

There’s this funny little saying about boys being boys and girls being girls (whatever that means )

And that funny saying seems to apply to the twins as well! People who know me personally would know that I lament a million times a day that my son should have been the girl and my daughter should have been a boy. All because, these two behave diametrically opposite to what they are ‘supposed to’, you know, like Shobs should be noisy and boisterous and Lui should be shy and coy.

Alas. By virtue of being born to the BF and me (a mad mixture at that) , the twins have inherited some weird traits which go totally against their gender. So my son likes to play in the kitchen with utensils, while my daughter clambers over cupboard shelves to see how  high she can go. My son wails piteously if I so much as yell at him while my daughter yells back louder at me if I try the same stunt with her. My son loves the pretty colours and texture of frocks, my daughter prefers her trousers, my son loves to get his finger nails painted, my daughter prefers digging her fingers into dirt. Clearly, something was wrong somewhere and I used to be on an overdrive of anxiety, worrying if my son will turn into a sissy and my daughter into a brat.

Alas once again. My twins lived up to the reputation of failing their mother. Again and again and again

So here I was , at their school last Saturday, for the parent-teacher meeting (children strictly excluded). We had a long drawn session on what the school expects of the children and of the parents. There was the same old cautioning on sending junk food in their lunch boxes, which I took offence to, because the principal mentioned that such asides are mostly done by working moms!! I mean, how do they even come to such a conclusion?? In my opinion, I think I’ve seen enough working mothers struggling to make sure their ickle apples-of-eyes get the best nutrition possible! I’ve seen working mothers get up half an hour earlier, just so that they can give their children a healthy lunch box. This includes me too. I give the twins a minimum of 4 items in their boxes, unsure of what they would eventually eat. It takes time and effort to set those 4 different items for two separate boxes. I know I put in effort for my children. But to see my efforts being so callously discarded just because I’m a working mother, made me seethe to no end. Anyhow, I’m going off on a tangent here Back to the topic.

After the lecture by the Principal, I made my way to the nursery teacher who handles my kids. She greeted me warmly . We got talking and our conversation went something like this :-

Me : I hope my kids are not troubling anyone at school.

Teach : No , not at all. They are very well-behaved.

Me : *gasp*  WHA- ?

Teach : Yeah. They are no trouble at all. In fact , of the three most well-disciplined children in the class, two are your’s .

Me : *gulp* Huh?! Aahh…! Errmm….. Actually, I’m  the mother of Lui and Shobs (just to clarify in case the Teach got the wrong mother)

Teach : (placid smile in place, as though talking to a mentally challenged person) I know. I’m talking about Lui and Shobs. They are very well-disciplined and well-behaved

And that folks, was the first blow of the day! Who would have thunk that the twin-brats would leave their momma gasping like a fish out of water !! Speechless, that’s what I was. But – This wasn’t the only blow. More was to come.

Me : Err…thank you for the compliments. But you see, I’m more worried about Shobs. You see, he’s very reserved, barely talks to others. When I ask him at home, who are his friends, or who he has lunch with, he always takes only your name. I’m not sure how he’s getting along with the rest of the class. I’m not worried about Lui. She’s very social.

Teach : I think you got it wrong. Lui is the one who’s reserved and Shobs plays with everyone.

Me : *gasping once again* WHA- ?

Teach : Yeah . Shobby mixes well with other children. Its Lui we are worried about, because she barely interacts with other kids. She only needs her brother besides her all the time. We try to keep the two separate, make them sit at different tables at lunch, but Lui pulls her chair next to her brother and insists on sitting only next to him and no one else! We think she’s very shy.

Me : What?? My Lui??  SHY??

Teach : Yes. We are trying to make her mix with other children. There is an improvement from before. We will keep you updated.

And with that, the teacher sashayed off to meet the other parents.

I stood there for eons I think, trying my best to digest the stuff just thrown at me. When I walked out, the BF was worried, looking at my face. I looked stunned, yet I had a stupid smile on my face. He asked me what happened. I told him. Then there were two of us with dumb looks on our faces!

The entire way back home, we tried our best to map what the teacher said with how the kids behave at home. Sadly, the two images just didn’t gel! We couldn’t fathom how exactly the character change took place between home and school! I mean, here was my shy boy at home, who turned out to be the boisterous friendly sort at school. And my noisy, meddling daughter at home, was a recluse of sorts at school! Will wonders ever cease?!

Considering what the teacher said, I think there is nothing we can do. My daughter is never reserved or shy at home, so I don’t know how exactly to work on this said weakness of her’s. Similarly, I don’t know how to make Shobs boisterous at home. At home, Lui rules. She dictates everything that Shobs should do. But at school, it’s a different picture. He’s the leader, she’s the follower!

Tell me folks, do your kids too deceive you like this? Is there anyone out there who is not stumped by their child’s behavior? Let me know….so that I may be able to decide if we are a normal family after all





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I AM FAT

No, no. Don’t say anything on the contrary. It wouldn’t matter anyway !!

All these years I’ve been rather lax about myself. Frankly, I haven’t put in an iota of effort to make myself look presentable. So if my hair are wayward, I just use a clutch clip and tie my hair in a bun. I don’t take the effort to use a brush and tame the tresses. I wear mismatched shoes with my suits and barely bother with accessories. I haven’t had a facial in ages and believe it or not, have never had a manicure done. Appearance for me, was superficial. It didn’t matter how I looked. I was happy with my state, so was the BF. As for the twins, well, they haven’t ever really called me ‘beyootiphul’, but their sentiments are somewhere close to that word

I piled on around 20kgs when I was carrying the twins. I lost about 10 of it. The remaining 10 are still hanging on, as strong and cohesive as the hair on my head or the teeth in my mouth. Err…on second thoughts, not really, given that the hair are falling off faster than you can say, Shikakai!! and the teeth are already showing signs of mutiny.

Anyhow, fact of the matter is that the fat clings on to me like a second skin,ummm..actually under the real skin, that is. In the last couple of years, I’ve almost got used to the excess weight I lug around. So what if I have to tell the tailor to add a couple of inches to my new clothes, so what if my feet don’t fit into my wedding sandals, so what if my bangles seem too tight for my wrists (I don’t really like bangles that much!)?! I was happy because I was still the most prettiest looking wife in my hubby’s eyes. Or so I thought

Until last Sunday, when the BF sat me down for a heart-to-heart.

He confessed that till date he continued to ignore my expanding girth because he could see how hectic my life was. With a job, family needs and two kids to look after, he could understand my lack of time to exercise.

But not anymore!!

Since we have a nanny to care for the kids during the day, a cook who comes twice a day, another maid to tend to washing and mopping, there was no reason why I couldn’t spend at least 5 minuets a day doing at least some exercise. This is just the crux of all that he said, albeit put forward in a very discreet manner. The BF was not so discreet. No siree…..he was full of accusations and bad forebodings. He accused me of not thinking about the twins and their future. He spoke of people he knew who suffered a cardiac arrest at the age of 25!! He begged me to stay alive and healthy long enough to get our kids settled. He confessed he could never bring them up alone. He also said that he was sure his words fell on deaf ears and he would never see any effort from my side!

Suffice to say, I was a sobbing heap of humanity by the time he was done. I could see myself the way the world sees me. Well-fed, overgrown and sticking out from all the wrong angles . I realized that I’ve been taking the lift to my second floor house and also doing the same at work. I realized that I’ve had a major craving for all things oily, sweet and starchy. I’ve been binging recently and the results are showing. Reality came crashing down and with it, a strong desire to prove the BF wrong.

I think the arrow that stuck me the hardest was the one about the kids, of them needing me and me not being around to fulfill their needs. Hoo boy!! If he had taken a club and socked me on the head, it would have hurt less 

Anyhow, I pledged that from henceforth, I should aim to lose at least 0.5 kgs per month (don’t you dare laugh at my target!!). To achieve my aim, I have started getting up half an hour earlier and spending 15 minutes working out (if you can call it that!). 10 minutes on the exercycle , 5 minutes of squats. This is for starters ….planning on increasing the time as the week progresses. There has been a slight change in meal plans too. I’m having loads of water and fibre and cutting down the carbs after sunset. I can’t really go off dinner, but I’ll be having either rice OR chapatis, instead of both. The portions are reduced too.

Frankly, my enthusiasm for weight loss is fading fast (as it usually does). Just when I should be thinking of these :-

I end up dreaming of this -

Sinful, I know

*Images sourced from Google images

The going’s tough, but I guess I’m tough enough to get going. The only problem is, like all my earlier fads, I guess this one will go out of the window pretty soon. I know the BF will be around to remind me time and again, but how soon will it be before I turn a deaf ear to him, how soon before his words don’t hurt me anymore to make a difference ?!!

See? Thats the pessimist in me talking!! Thats why I see no way out for my weight issues

Anyhow, to all my blog friends, if you could kindly take an interest and ask about my weight now and again, say maybe , once a month, I’ll be shamed enough into working out and giving you the updated figures . I’m the kinds who needs loads of motivation to do something

So what say folks?? Will you guys help me through??





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