Maa Saraswati's Blessings

Today was Saraswati Puja. A puja for the children, by the children. A day where the cheerful 'basonti rong' (the only equivalent that I can think of is 'smiley yellow') is worn without fail (hehe, there's just something so wrong about the words 'fail' and 'Saraswati Puja' on the same day!). A reminder that winter is fading and spring is buddingly close.

Childhood memories of generations of Bengali boys and girls, whether in Bengal, Bangalore or the Bahamas, are absolutely incomplete without recollections of this lovely puja. The red-bordered yellow saris; the fruits, especially the 'kul'; putting school books and pens near the feet of the Goddess and watching those piles of books get higher with every passing year; for the musically inclined or at least those learning some form of song/dance/music, the appropriate books/instruments and ghungroos would also find place near Her feet; the yummy kichidi and other veggie delights; the evening addas and sessions of singing and other cultural programs. Yes, there are many happy reminiscences attached to this Holy Day.

And today, was Saraswati Puja. It also happened to be the day the school list came out. Which list? The one where the names of the students who have been granted admission in 'the BIG School' is put out. The Nephew got in and the SIL and BIL-ly Boy couldn't be more ecstatic. They'd been working towards it ever since the boy was born! I kid you not! Not to mention the endless appeals and entreaties to the heavens above. But good for the Nephew, he did it. He'd been prepping for it for the past two years. And good for his parents. It's a thrilling feeling to get something that you've been praying for incessantly.

And my EO got in too.

Sigh. What a dilemma. I thought we were absolutely clear that even if the EO got in, he would continue where he was. The MIM even declared it after the EO's concert, because he was so-happy-and-proud-he-could-burst-into-song-tears-and-like-a-balloon. He felt his son was in the best of hands, in the right environment and that he was being nurtured the way a child of five should be.

But apparently, last night he began having doubts, and so when the call came at 6.45 from the school from his brother, saying that both the boys had got in, he nearly whooped in excitement. Then he got all sombre and said, "What should we do?"

Sigh. I was so afraid that this was going to happen. That his resolve would crumble. That he'd start to sway. That the pull of the alma mater would reel him in. That he'd succumb to peer pressure, patriarchal dictate and public opinion.

Well, to cut a long story short, we've decided to put him into the Big School. And I am so scared. So shit scared that each time I start thinking about it, I start trembling.

It's a good school, no doubt, one that needs no introduction, but it's one of those stuffy, old schools that haven't moved with the times.
There's a lot of heritage and tradition attached, but there is no touch of modernity. They don't mix the old with the new, they prefer to stick to the attitudes of yore; be it in their approach to education, be it in their approach to discipline.
The school makes you a part of history, you live the history, but in the school he's in right now, he would have been creating history, making history.
The school grooms fine young men, but they don't nurture the little boys that walk in wide-eyed, scared, innocent and vulnerable.

And it is this last bit that has me crapping watermelons, bricks and cement mixers.

My beautiful boy, with eyes that see beyond the ordinary; with a spirit that is as fresh as mountain water; with a heart that is a white dove; with a sensitivity that makes my soul weep...what will happen to him? Will they see the beauty of his spirit, the charm of his innocence, and feel the all-encompassing love of his sensitive soul and nurture it? Allow it to thrive?

The way his present school does?

I'm so afraid.

And yet, I'm allowing myself to be a part of this decision to change schools and put him in. To harden him and prepare him for the world. To teach him to fight his own battles. To learn that tears are meant for the privacy of your pillow. To be trained to survive.

And consequently, I will have to learn many things as well. I will have to learn to let go. I will have to learn to not wipe his tears anymore. I will have to learn to stand by and watch him fight his own battles. And the most important lesson of all, is that I will have to learn to harden my heart as I watch the school harden him.

I just hope it doesn't break him.

I'm so afraid.

And yet, this news comes on Saraswati Puja. A day where we celebrate the Goddess of learning and music. A day where education, be it of the bookish kind or the artistic kind, is elevated to a divine principle. A day where students pray for wisdom and learning. A day where they seek Her blessings in fervent hope that they can shine in school or their chosen field of passion...music, song, dance or art. A day where we can't thank Her enough for bestowing upon us the very fact that we were fortunate enough to receive a good education that has brought us to where we are today.

Maybe She's trying to tell me something? Maybe this is all part of Her divine plan? Maybe this is Her will?

Maybe, I should trust Her a little bit more.

And so I am. Maa Saraswati, I am putting all my faith in You. I know You won't let me down.

But in the spirit of truth, I will always think that the school he is in right now, is the better one.

Maybe, Your blessings will eventually prove me wrong.

I hope.

I pray.

A Giant Leap...Backwards!

What the hell has been happenng while we were away? We didn't get newspapers in our room and we didn't have time to watch the news and this is what I come back to? Aishwarya Rai getting the Padma Shri? And women being dragged by their hair by cavemen? WTF?!?!!!

There's much I need to write about the holiday, of course, but in all good consciousness I couldn't start writing about my pleasure trip when the affairs of the country are in such a mess and I have an opportunity to lend my voice and do something.

So here's a link regarding the atrocities that were carried out in Mangalore. Take a stand, raise your voice, sign the petition...PLEASE!!!
http://www.rediff.com/getahead/2009/jan/27petition.htm

I'm Baaaack!!

Yes, back from the Andamans and many shades different from my former self! Have loads to share, but I must catch up on all that I missed in the blogworld first...and yes, my breath too!

Just wanted to say 'Hi!' to you all and tell you that I missed you. Even though I was having a whale of a time (yes, this human whale was in the water!), a corner of my consciousness was always thinking about you all. You've become such a part of my life, such an addiction, that I was wondering so much what gems I had missed out on!

It's good to be back and I can't wait to start sharing...

Of Bandhs and Bon Voyages

Sitting at home twiddling my fingers on a bandh day. I should have gotten used to the whole 'bandh' scenario in Kolkata by now, but today, I am especially angry.

They just had to call it today? Not any other day? I mean come on, you guys can really go all out in trying to claim another day-off for yourselves. What, four days not enough f0r you? I mean, you've already got a long weekend in the State. Tomorrow, Friday is Netaji's birth anniversary (a holiday in good ol' WB), then there's the weekend, followed by Republic Day on Monday. Four days people! And it's not enough for you? You have to dishonestly grab another one to make a five day trip to heavens knows where and cripple the infrastructure and cause losses worth millions just so that some of you can spend an extra day in Digha, Puri, Darjeeling or wherever!

Arrey! If you have to do it, do it honestly. Put in a leave application, inform your children's schools and then jazz off. Don't keep doing this to everyone!
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Sorry about this rant, but when you go the straight and narrow and watch people walk the crooked path, it is a disheartening and disgusting feeling.

But let me just draw in a couple of deep breaths, because speaking of 'jazzing off', the four of us are off to the Andamans tomorrow! I am so buzzed because this is the first holiday just the four of us! No relatives, no help -- just me and my boys (yes, that includes the MIM!) I have to confess that the MIM is very apprehensive about the 'no help and no ayah' policy that I was adamant about, but he's agreed. I hope and pray that everything's alright and super-smashing and that we have the bestest holiday ever! I hope I don't have to hear the end of not taking someone along. I hope 'm the one who gets to say, "See, I told you so!!"

So pray for me people. And someone please tell me to just stop worrying and relax already! Shouldn't I be thinking about sand, surf and sarong now?

See you guys when I get back!

There's a Kind of Hush...

Barack H. Obama has just been sworn in as the 44th president of the United States of America.

And what a speech he gave. Granted, I had a bit of a problem with one or two things he said, but to my own self I say this right now, "Poof! Piddle-paddle and droplets of dew in the tropical rain forests of the world!"

On the whole, I am feeling a weird and euphoric sense of hope swelling within me, threatening to burst. I wonder where this mighty sense of hope springs from?

From the fact that he is the first man of colour to be sworn into one of the most coveted posts of the world?
From the fact that I am now old enough and wise enough (hopefully) to understand the significance of his this historic change?
From the fact that in the desolate sea the world is swimming in, I need to believe and fervently hold onto the fact that now that we have hit rock-bottom, the only way we can go, is up?
From the fact that while we make a mockery of our democracy, abusing the powers that we as a people have been entrusted with, there are countries in this world that cherish the ideals of that very same principle?

Whatever be the reason, I do know that I am very hopeful. And I pray that these hopes are not buried in the graveyard of broken dreams and false promises.

Someone Stop the Man, Already!

Sanjay Dutt wants to be a minister? He wants people to vote for him?

The same Sanjay Dutt who abandoned his first wife as she battled and lost her life to cancer? The same Sanjay Dutt who left his daughter behind to watch her mother succumb to the dreaded disease? The same Sanjay Dutt who couldn't practise or even believe in the concept of monogamy...from a jail cell??!!?? The same Sanjay Dutt who was convicted of a crime AGAINST the nation? The same Sanjay Dutt who's turned his back now on two very loving sisters who were in it through thick and thin with him?

That Sanjay Dutt? A minister?

Hell no!! HEEELLLLL NOOOOOO!!

I am sputtering and stuttering with outrage. Read the coherent and well-written thoughts of this Goofy Mumma's post to drop your jaw at the sheer ludicrousness of it all.

The more these things happen, the more I feel that democracy is a joke in our country.

Shame.

SHAME!

Ayah: To Have or Not To?

Sue's post today, struck a chord. I started to leave a comment, but it was turning into a mini-post, so instead, I chose to blog about it. Hence, this post of mine...

Sue's 'no ayah' sentiment is something that I not only understand, but 'lived' by for a very, very long time. Being a bideshi-and-then-probaashi-bangalee until I moved to Cal, the concept of ayahs was, to me, a very Brit thing. A colonial hangover. My mother raised two kids alone in New York and then Bangalore. My aunts were doing it all over India. So when I got preggie and delivered my EO, I knew I was going to do it on my own. Having my baby run to somebody else for comforting and words of love; having my baby hugging and kissing someone else; having my baby transfer his affections to a woman other than me, his mother; letting someone else be the first to witness any of his 'firsts' and other milestones...ugh! Unthinkable! Soul-crushingly, mind-f***ingly unthinkable and cringe-inducing. No way!! Not for me!! Thank you, but no thanks!!

Well, the family that I had married into had very different ideas, including the MIM. For them, ayahs were a part and parcel of the domestic scene. Families with little kids could not function without them. It was unthinkable. But I was was anal about handing over my baby to anybody else, and yes, that included my in-laws and my parents. I was stuck to him like well dried and solidified Feviquik. The problem was that the MIM did not share my viewpoint at all. And it certainly didn't help matters that the SIL , a Calcuttan through-and-through, was visiting from Bombay with a four-month old and that she had hired an ayah for the entire time that she was here. So, I finally bowed down to pressure and hired someone; her ayah's sister in fact. But, obsessive-possessive natures are impossible to change, so even though I had someone, she wasn't allowed to touch my precious baby. And I mean literally! I let her help me out by drawing the bath water, washing the baby's clothes and keeping the room Dettol-clean, hospital spic-and-span. But I would feed the EO, bathe him, change him, put him to sleep...hell, I didn't even let her clean his potty! I never left him alone for even one second and I was, obviously, very tired and extremely sleep-deprived. But I was happy. Happy beyond measure! Because I was doing everything for him myself! I never went out anywhere at night, wanting to cuddle up next to my miracle at all times.

But things were not easy. People thought I was mad, crazy, unreasonable. The taunts I had to hear and endure broke my spirit. I cried myself to sleep many nights. Even my 'friends', the Calcutta-based ones, were so un-understanding and unsympathetic. They felt bad for the MIM who had to deal and live with such a stubborn idiot of a woman. I never felt more alone in my life!

Then I went to stay with my parents in Bangalore for three months -- maidless. Aah! The freedom and joy of it all! After I returned to Calcutta, I put my foot down -- no more ayah! I was adamant and stood my ground and nobody could make me change my mind. My son would have me and only me. And boy did he!

I am sorry to say that the MIM and I had a very tough time over this issue and it affected our marriage deeply. I stopped partying and going out anywhere at night. Anywhere my baby wasn't welcome, well, then I wouldn't be there.

In hindsight, I feel I could have been less rigid and a bit more compromising. Maybe I should have trusted my MIL a bit more with the EO, but back then, I just couldn't hand over a piece of me to anyone at all. And I do mean anyone and everyone. Did I ever hear the end of it? No. I still don't.

Do I regret not having help? NOT FOR A SINGLE SECOND. Do I wish I had gone about things differently? Maybe just a tiny bit since it affected my husband AND my marriage so much. But even then, the decision not to have an ayah was the right decision for me...then.

Now, I really need the help and I am grateful for it. I am so busy ferrying the EO to and from school and then his various activity classes and his birthday parties and keeping up with his social life in general, that I need an extra set of hands to help me with my YO. As a result of which, I am a lot less possessive about the YO. Does that mean I love him any less? My mind shouts a loud, clear and resounding "NO!!!!", but the heart? Ah well, that is another story entirely all together for the heart has a mind of its own...

Does it hurt that the YO first turns to the ayahs for comfort if he falls down and hurts himself? No, it doesn't hurt...it KILLS me. Even now. I die a hundred deaths when he goes, arms outstretched, to one of the ayahs for anything...be it a cookie, a toy, a few words of endearment, some soothing... But, this is a decision I made and have to live with. Yet, there are often [in fact, very often lately :)] when the YO chooses me over anybody else, when he wants me and only me. And these are moments I cherish with an insane kind of triumph and glee. And that's when I realise that I will aways be his mother and no one else can take my place.

So the decision to have, or not have an ayah, is a very personal one. What is right for you may not be right for somebody else. Hell, it can your decision can even change along with your circumstances. As it did for me. Like I said before, I don't regret not having one during the EO's time. However with the YO around, I wish I could do without one, but I would only be fooling myself.

What I would never do though, is deride someone for having/not having an ayah. I would never force my opinions on somebody else and put the other person on a guilt-trip regarding this decision. And very frankly, I think it's the mother's call more than anybody else's in this issue.

After all, the decision to keep someone who can do huge chinks of your job is a very, VERY big one. You have to be sure. The ayah is someone who ca stand in for you whenever you're not around. Having someone 'take your place' in your baby's life...well, it's humongously HUGE. And you just have to be comfortable with it.

In conclusion, I just have this to say -- if you know someone who doesn't want an ayah even though you feel she should have one...back off. If you can't be supportive, at least keep your trap shut!

Gotta Love Them Babies...

A while back, I was tucking the EO into bed. Since he had had a very early dinner, I was giving him a glass of warm milk to fill his tummy (yeah, I believe in the miracles of milk). A friend had come over and she was chatting with the EO and helping me out by trying to get the EO to drink his milk faster, when suddenly, out of the blue:

EO: Mamma, when I grow up, I think so I'll have a baby boy, or baby girl.
(considering that those are the only two options available to him, I smilingly asked him: Tomaar kontaa chai? (What would you like?)
EO: Baby boys.
M4: Why?
EO: Because boys are awesome!

I was a bit startled by the use of 'awesome' but then I remembered Ben 10 and his lingo, plus, in all honesty the EO's Mamma and Mama have a pretty American way of talking, so it's not really unusual that he said that. I couldn't help but agree with the sentiment, since I'm mommy to two pretty 'awesome' boys myself, but then the part of me that wanted-and-still-so-desperately-craves-for-a-bundle-of-rose-pink, asked him: "And what about baby girls? What are they?"

EO: Oh, they're beautiful!
(again he hit the nail on the head, he's a wise little cookie, my EO is!)

Then my friend, who was listening in, highly amused and who is mommy to a girl and boy, asked the EO: "But what will you do if you have boys?"

EO: I'll take them to karate class!

Awww, how cute! He wants them to follow in his adorable, kiss-the-ground-upon-which-he-lays his adorable footsteps and...heyyyyyyy!! Just wait a cotton-pickin', frickin' minute here, my darling son! Name me one instance when your daddy darling took YOU to your karate class! It's always been this faithful Mamma that you keep hanging around! "Take them to karate class", indeed! Hmph! How cute is that?!?
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The YO refers to himself as "A****** Baby". Point to a photo of him and ask him, "Ota ke?" (Who is that?) and pat comes the reply, "A****** Baby." Ask him his name and he'll reply, "A****** Baby." If he trips, falls and cries and you go running up to him asking, "Who got hurt? Which darling, little precious sona-muni fell down?" and you know that the answer will be "A****** Baby!"

Well, he's learning to answer the question, "What's your name?" in school now, by replying "My name is A****** XYZZ." [Yes folks, we get that surname from the Chzekoslovakian side of the family! ;p]

This morning, I asked the MIM to ask him his name in English. Promptly comes the reply, "Mii nem ijj A****** Baby XYZZ!"

Baby! Yes you are and you're all mine!

A Lot of McQueen and a little Bit of Murphy

I was watching the YO's current flavour-of-the-moment movie with him last night, again. I saw it today, briefly, again. And I dare say I'll be watching it with him tomorrow, again. And I don't mind, really. The movie? "CARS". I love it, I do. I have lovely associations with that movie, because it's the first movie we took the EO to see on the big screen, the silver screen, in the movie theatre, at a cinema hall...you know what I mean. No matter how many times I write it, or how many different ways I phrase it, I can never capture the excitement or recreate the magic of that 'first time'. It was a few weeks after his third birthday and I thought he was 'big enough' for a movie treat. It was like we had entered some kind of magic fantasy land with him. A TV screen so big?! A cartoon about cars, his most favouritest, belovedest, did I say favouritest (?) things in the whole wide universe and all of creation put together?! And other people his size?! And junk food at ten in the morning?!? It had to be some kind of wonderful, crazy, bizarre alternate galaxy and he couldn't get enough of it. The MIM and were much more interested in his expressions and feelings and we pretty much had our eyes glued to his face, our ears tuned to his glee. He was entranced, we were enraptured! Of course there were countless questions, a few trips to the bathroom and a period of restlessness when the action was slow, but all in all, the experience was unforgettable...for me. He obviously doesn't remember much of it and he's become quite the pro at the cine-going experience, but for me, that first time was definitely something else altogether. I'm now looking forward to taking the YO on his first trip to the movie hall. I know it's going to be equally special and as unforgettable...for me.

The movie was also the theme for the EO's fourth birthday party. The colours were red and yellow, the cake was in the shape of Lightning McQueen, we had hired an electric car and a very kiddy car-merry-go-round. We had even installed a big screen and put the movie on for other 'Cars' buffs like my EO and boy, were there many!

The other reason I love 'CARS' so much is because it has Paul Newman and I thought he was simply superb as a crust old race car incognito. Owen Wilson was brilliant too as 'Lightning McQueen', or 'Liniiinng Makeen' as the YO says, about 157 times a day. McQueen is this hot-shot rookie race car, gunning to win the Grand Prix of PIXAR animation-land's racing event of the year, the Piston Cup. Full of bullshit and arrogance, he's a bucket of bolts running on four wheels of over-confidence, with loads to spare. The movie is about how, by a quirk of fate, he lands up in a sleepy town called Radiator Springs, and how he has a change of heart and turns from being a cocky, wise-ass rookie to a race-car that has only love revving up his engines. Guaranteed to bring a lump to your throat and if you're a softie like me, well then, a couple of tears to both eyes as well. Yes, there's no doubt about it, it's my all-time favourite, feel-good movie through the year.

And what's great about it, is that it only has a positive message in it for kids. There's no slice of reality here for kids to deal with; young foals don't lose their mothers to hunters; wicked step-moms aren't trying to do away with beautiful step-daughters and mommy fishes aren't eaten up whole by mean sharks while baby fishes with bad fins are stolen from their daddy fishes. Don't get me wrong, I love, love, LOVE animation flicks, but sometimes they tend to get a bit too realistic for my liking.

But, as I said it before and I'm saying it again, the Linniing Makeen is one heckuva hot-rod.
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And hey, Mr. Murphy, I've got a question for you...

Why is it that kids seem cuter, way cuddlier, more huggable and are tons more affectionate when you're too sick and therefore not supposed to be touching them?

Still Depressed...

So why did I slap my beloved five-year-old? Because he's forgotten how to add and spell 'number-words'. Cruel, cruel beyotch of a Mamma am I.

I should never have sat down with him yesterday to "see how he's doing and what he's up to", just out of the blue, and that too when I was already so cranky and irritable from the illness. Needless to say, he mucked up, I shouted, that flustered him even more and he messed up even more and I just slapped the boy silly and told him I'm going to throw all his toys and precious movies into a big bonfire. And when the YO came running to his defence, beyotch that I am, I yelled him into a shocked and stupefied silence.

I have been hating myself since the incident. Yes I'm sick. But instead of turning on my babies, I should have locked myself in the room, banged my head against the wall to get the pounding in m head to stop and knocked myself out cold.

And what happens? After the EO comes back from karate class, he wraps himself all over me and says "I love you my Mamma" about a zillion times and the YO has only hugs, giggles and smiles for me.

How easy it is for them to forgive and forget. They don't know what it is to hold grudges...why can't we take a leaf from their books?

My tears of guilt, shame and remorse have made a mighty river, yet I still don't feel calm.

You all hate me now, don't you? I don't blame you...I hate me too.

Depressed

~I've got the viral and the heaviness in my chest has set in. My body aches all over, it hurts to breathe and kills to cough.
~I just lost one of my regular, freelance projects. Damn this recession!
~I hit the EO and scolded the YO. I hate myself!

One, A Jumbo Treat; Two, A Wild Escape

Yes, I am obviously talking about the latest animation flicks that hit theatres quite some time back.

What can I say? 'Jumbo' was a huge hit with the kids and me too! The plot was interesting and had my EO, the Nephew and a niece riveted right from the beginning. From the cute and lovable antics of the little Jumbo and Sonya right up to the point where Jumbo proves himself worthy of his true name, 'Jaiveer', who avenges his father's death on the battle-field and helps the King of Shaktinagar win its Independence, you'll find it hard not to be entranced. A great film,that was just the right length and had a gripping story line.

Finally saw 'Madagascar 2: Escape to Africa'. Liked it, but it wasn't really a movie for 5 year-olds. The EO and Nephew say they enjoyed it, but the humour definitely went over their heads...it was more for the adults to get the jokes. The kids just had a laugh with the mad-cap adventures of the friendly four and of course that crazy coot, King Louis. The penguins were as violent as ever, not to mention the old lady who kicks serious lion-butt...did not at ALL enjoy the portions where she was featured. It reminded me of 'Shrek 3', a movie that I found hilarious, but the humour just wasn't aimed at the very young audience.

So my verdict? If you have small kids of the EO variety, take them to see 'Jumbo' and for the children of 9/10+ (and of course the child in you), go for 'Madagascar 2'.

What the hell? Take your five-year-old along if s/he 'likes to move it, move it' and let them boogie it out in their seats. The memory of that sight will be so worth it!

Thank God for Prince Charming...

One day, five years four months and 27 days ago, the MIM and I were blessed with a little prince. The apple of our eyes, the joy of our souls, the reason for our existence and oh-so-much more.

Now he's been growing, the little one has. He left his babyhood and infancy far, far behind him and all too soon, toddlerhood was over almost as soon as it began.

The little boy is quite actually a big boy now and it breaks his Mamma's heart to think it. But it is so. He wants to do things by himself now. He uses big boy words and has 'secrets' that can't be shared with me. He has serious conversations with his friends discussing matters such as films and future careers. It all makes me smile. It all makes me cry.

So you will understand why, when I saw my little-one-turned-big-boy put on his Prince costume from his school play complete with sword and crown, and roam the entire household the entire afternoon and evening, my heart smilingly sobbed at the innocence, childishness and sheer beauty of it all.

I Feel Woozy...

I think the MIM and I went out for a movie last night.
I think another couple was there.
I think the movie was 'Australia'.
I think there was cheese popcorn invloved.
I think it was good. Yes, the movie too.
I think it was a teeny-tiny tad too long, epic movie notwithstanding.

I KNOW I am jealous of a certain Ms. Deborra Lee-Furness.
I SOOOOOOO KNOW why Hugh Jackman is the sexiest man alive.

Hugh, baby, you can drove me into Faraway Whereever-the-hell-you'll-have-me whenever you want!!

Counting Tales...

"1,2,4,6,7,10!"...my little one finishes with a flourish.

It used to irritate me with the EO and with the YO I am more resigned. I mean what? Do the numbers just fall out of your head?!?

I think I have my answer now.

I went for a couple of rounds around the park yesterday. Try keeping track of the number of rounds you complete along with the multiple thoughts, songs and he-said-she-said issues in your head.

Yes, I've found that numbers do have a way of flying out the ear-drum.

I'm sorry my little ones, Mamma owes you an apology!

I Wish...

...that all of you can experience the soul-touching pleasure of watching your two children lie on bed next to each other while the elder one 'reads' to the younger one and the younger one asks lots and lots of question which the elder one patiently answers.

Wild Animals in My Bed...

I rceived this mail from a sender-whose-name-I-did-not-bother-to-look-at, asking me if I would like to take "a python to bed."

I have heard about men naming their partners-in-lust-propogation-and-the-pee, Mighty Lion, Roaring Tiger and Raging Bull. This is the first time I was made aware of the fact that those objects could actually be transformed into jungle creatures.

So then it's not enough anymore that the mere possession of one changes their personality from man to beast.

Well, I did what any dignified, sophisticated wife would do.

I forwarded the mail to the MIM.

Hee-hee-hee. I do have a sense of humour!

Note to Self...

Today was a good day. I had fun. I was surrounded by certain 'lost friends', but I did not let their presence depress me, kill my self-esteem or exclude me from the conversation.

Today, I was not a wall-flower.

And that felt good.

I can do this.

I can talk. I can be interesting. I can hold my head up high. I can indeed not wallow in the quagmire of self-pity.

Even though a crow shat on me.

I just went to the bathroom, scrubbed the area with soap, gel and Dettol and came out smelling like a freshly-washed nappy. I smiled, made a joke about it, laughed and carried on having a good time.

I can do it. I can laugh at myself again.

I think I can find my voice again.

And now, to keep this positivity with me through the rest of the year.

Missed my 'Jan 1st' Post...

because I was a greey little sow who had to hog the 3 a.m. biriyani that everyone else was wolfing down.

My tummy avenged itself the whole of yesterday, by keeping me moaning and groaning on bed and away from my precious laptop.

Not a happy start to the year! :(