Chez Moi

Image courtesy: AP/ BBC website

 
Now if that isn’t a miracle, I do not know what is. This baby girl, born two months premature, when her mum squatted over the Indian toilet on a train in Rajasthan, survived the fall, lying in the cold for two hours and the filthy toilet, too!

May you live long, baby girl!

ps: This makes my fears of delivering P in the toilet bowl unknowingly, quite sensible!

Inba tagged me to do justice to this. I think one tag post is all that is needed for me to prove to her how hopeless I am at following instructions.

A - Available?
Bwahahaha! Er, no.

B - Best friend
Don’t believe in having a ‘best’ friend. Have a handful of close friends and that keeps me happy.

C - Cake or Pie?
Cake, cake, cake! Esp the inhale-able kind from Taj Cake Shop.

D - Drink of choice:
Coffee to kick start the mornings; margarita when out on the tiles

E - Essential thing used everyday
My lovely MacBook. God bless Apple.

F - Favourite color:
Red

G - Gummi bears or worms:
Gummi bears, yay!

H - Hometown:
Madras, nalla Madras

I - Indulgence:
Designer perfume

J - January or February:
Feb. Dunno why.

K - Kids and names:
A boy - P and another baby (a girl, hopef) on the way

L - Life:
“Life is a roller coaster, just got to ride it!”

M - Marriage date:
A day and a year before P’s birth!

N - Number of siblings:
One – a brother, who, funnily enough, is all growed up now!

O - Oranges or apples:
Hmm depends. Gimme banana or mango and no doubts there!

P - Phobias:
Reptiles. Enough to make me wet myself - seriously.

Q - Quote:
“What goes around comes around”. Kinda doomsday-type philosophy that I believe in totally.

R - Reason to smile:
Er, life’s good? You see so much shit nowadays that I am like ‘count my blessings and keep plodding on’. So yeah, so far so good and that’s reason enough to smile.

S - Season:
Autumn, def. We once went to Bath during October and almost crashed the car during the drive cos we kept gasping at the foliage.

T - Tag three people:
Hasn’t everyone done this thing already? If anyone’s out there who hasn’t, pls do take it up.

U - Unknown fact about me:
Er, kinda defeats the point, methinks but well, let’s see…. I have no special skills to speak of - singing, dancing, playing instruments, crafting, even driving the frigging car - nada.

V - Vegetable you do not like:
Broccoli. Blech.

W - Worst habit:
Too many to list here.

X - x-rays you have had:
Teeth, chest.

Y - Your favorite food:
TamBram, Gujju, Tandoori, Italian, Indo-Chinese, Mexican

Z - Zodiac:
Cancer

Phew!

Ever tried selling one of the stories from Ramayana or Mahabharata to a child today? Especially one raised on a PG or U certificate rating anywhere else but in India? Hair-raising, I tell you. For one, the stories are all way too gory for their bland tastes. Tell them so-on-so chopped the other bloke’s finger or head off and watch young eyes turn into saucers. The whys and whats and loud gasps would take days to stem, leave alone the increased Nightmare Alert.

If your child is not raised on an Indian filmi diet, then the damage is manifold. Stunted far-fetched imagination, refusal to accept outlandish suggestions and the uncanny ability to put their finger on the one point of niggling abnormality are all just a few of the side-effects.

Take Krishna, for example. The whole baby Krishna- Bhoothana story was declared no-no the minute breastfeeding as a concept was introduced. Being an only child, P has led a much sheltered upbringing and the concept of a baby feeding off a lady’s er, chest, brought forth series of shrieks from my young lad. The Kalinga nardhan story also suffered a similar fate, when the gravitational forces (damn the school’s Science week) and the inability of the parents to keep an eye on their child (Krishna, that is) were brought into question.

I actually managed to sneak in a story of Chathrapathi Sivaji during yet another problematic mealtime, in an effort to make him eat his pasta from the corners of the bowl. This did work for a while and then disaster, in the form of Rajini’s super-dooper hit film hit and now the Chathrapathi got mixed up with ‘Vaaji, Vaaji’ and we were back to Square -1.

I am nothing if not persistent. So tried a different tack and told him the story of Ekalavya over breakfast cereal this morning. Buoyed by the fact that I wasn’t met with rapid fire questions that blew holes into the story, I bravely plodded on. Till I came to the part where Drona asks for Ekalavya’s thumb as guru dakshina.

That was when my luck ran out.

“He asked for the boy’s thumb? Why? That is so gross! Did the boy die?”

“Er, no. It was just his thumb.”

“Why did the teacher want it anyway?”

“With the thumb gone, Ekalavya cannot use a bow and arrow anymore and Arjuna would be the champion shooter, that’s why.”

“Eh? So what if he can’t use a bow and arrow or his right hand? He can use his left hand! Or he can use a gun! Pow pow pow! Easy, see?”

Sigh.

My gran and her kind did not know how lucky they were with us, I tell you. Seriously.

So young Max is not going to continue blogging for Guardian. What a shame! After the vitriol that followed his introductory post, the poor lad will not be posting furthermore. The Travel Editor posted a follow-up piece on Feb 15, explaining the editorial decision behind allowing the trip to go on the site as well as pooh-poohing any claims of nepotism. Well that went well with the punters, I tell you. The great British public had a rollicking time commenting on that piece, with phrases like “shame on you, Editor” and “where’s the blue pencil” appearing with some regularity.

There was also a comment from ‘Maxdad’ that went as follows:

“As Andy Pietrasik’s blog hasn’t mentioned the fact Max won’t be writing any more blogs, I thought I’d bring all those heroic internet warriors the good news. Max’s trip (which he paid for himself I’m afraid - sorry) has got off to the worst possible start and he’s feeling pretty grim so that’s double good news for the brave warriors. You may like or dislike the blog but the cruelty is shocking if quintessentially British. Obviously everyone in his family is very hurt for Max so that’s a bonus. I won’t be reading any more smug clever dick comments but feel free to kick me around the field a bit now - just please leave Max alone. He hasn’t actually done anything wrong and you have your wish - he won’t be writing any further blogs.”

Ah my heart bleeds! The comments he got were miles better than the ones bloggers get at the hands of trolls. And some of them were perfectly legit too, IMHO.

What I do not understand about these kids ‘finding themselves’ is why justify the horrendous expense of the trip under the guise of a learning experience or a social service-type one. Granted, you learn so much by living amongst different people and different surroundings and the perspective you get is invaluable. So go on a working holiday. Go to a place where people are screaming for the bare necessities of life, pull up your sleeves and get stuck in. Build them toilets, help construct houses, eat the same crappy food they eat - that will be a revelation.

Going off to Goa and Bangkok, hitting the top spots with an odd peep at the real suffering world every now and then, well, what good does that do? Better just go on a month’s holiday, live it up and don’t dress it as anything but a holiday. After all, if you’ve got the money to do it, then what’s the harm?

But what’s this faux interest in suffering capitals of the world, like India and Thailand? What’s wrong with good old community service in the estates around UK? There are old people living on their own in absolute squalor who would be glad of the company of a young 19 year old lad, who can drop in and stay for a chat and make them some tea in the process. And maybe do their weekly shopping or trim their weeds.
Not cool enough, I suppose.

Oh well, there goes my planned entertainment for the next few months. Sigh. Hopefully something more entertaining will show up on the horizon soon.

Jordon - sorry, we are supposed to call her Katie Price now, to go with her new demure, non-smutty image. She is, after all, trying to reinvent herself as a serial writer and a children’s author. Which moron decided to let her loose on the influential minds doesn’t bear thinking.

For those of you who don’t know who she is (oh you lucky, lucky sods!), she’s a Brit glamour model, who married former pop singer Peter Andre and has been alternatively baring her bod and having his babies. She’s also trying to shed her glamous puss image and become a wholesome personality. She ain’t having much luck with it, I should say. During the launch of her recent book at the Waterstone’s outlet in Central London, she showed up in a supergirl type outfit, complete with hot pants. Not a look a children’s author would like to sport, now is it?

Well, true to type, she resorted to her usual shenanigans - she lifted her hands and guess who popped up to join the party?

What amazes me about this character is her releasing her THIRD autobiography!!! I mean, word fails me to learn that not only has some one commissioned her to write an account of her life but gone on to update it a further two times. Really!

One cannot have an article about Jordon without a mention of the other skanky mank, Jodie Marsh. So here is she, in her ‘wedding gear’. The picture says it all, doesn’t it?

I really despair for the British society that these individuals are the celebrities who are flying the Union Jack and are having young, impressionable children looking up to them. What has the world come to?