Sharpening My Needle

You know how there's that one thing you will always muck up, no matter how much practice you've had? No? Well, I have that one thing, and that thing is threading a needle. I've done all kinds of other things that are much more complicated..like Yoga-Asanas, learning how to cook, repairing broken furniture (you get the general idea..). You'd think threading a needle should be a breeze. It's not. And to all those of you who can sew, I don't care for your eye-rolls, and I certainly don't care to acknowledge the fact that you find this thing simple. I will ignore you for the rest of this post. (But don't stop reading!!!)

Way back in middle school (circa 1994) we'd have this slot every week called 'Work Experience'. Looking back, I don't think people would've been lining up to give us jobs on the strength of this. All of us would eagerly look forward to these classes because it meant being able to put away the boring textbooks, and basically faff as much as you could possibly manage for two whole hours.

That is, everyone except me. Because you see, while there were such cool things as gardening, textile dyeing and baking, I got drafted into needlework! WTF!? I mean seriously..I blame my genes for this. I've always been told I look like a "good girl", so I guess I just seemed like one of those girls that would take well towards domestication and such harmless, housewifely activities as sewing a button and darning a hole in my future husbands Lungis.

In any case, I accepted my lot, and channeled my resentment into dreams of being the 'Mistress of Seams'. I only managed 'Mistress of Screams' from nearly sewing my fingers into the damn cloth, time and time again. And this was only after I managed to thread the needle - which meant I "sewed" for about 10 minutes total every class.

Considerably injured, and insulted relentlessly by the teacher, who had rubbished me in every way from my femininity to my general human worth, I reached a point where I wanted to learn how to sew just so I could seal that mouth shut.

Thanks to some of my talented peers, we were all compulsorily enrolled into an embroidery contest at the end of the term, and I was given a handkerchief with a pre-drawn design of flowers. I had helped my Mum do one of those cross-stitch art things, and I was a little less intimidated about this contest than my classes. I finished before time, and took my work to the teacher, who was wide-eyed with surprise as she told me I'd done a brilliant job.

Then it all went to shit. She turned the hankie over and her expression changed to one of utter disgust while she showed the whole class what I had done. The sight of the massive multi-coloured bunch of knotted threads haunts me to this day. No one told me the back mattered.

I managed to whine and beg my mother to do my class assignments for me, and I scraped through with a non-fail grade. I vowed then that I would never, ever pick up a needle again.

Cut to 2010. I'm tired of explaining my designs to tailors, and I am fed up of them botching my grand plans consistently. In light of these distressing developments, I decided to suck up the residual self pity and enrolled myself in a sewing class. Shockingly, I have not been thrown out, and I will admit under extreme blackmail to actually enjoying it. *GULP* They say admission is the first step to recovery..so hopefully my classes will continue to be injury less, and while I still struggle with the needle threading part..it sure feels good to plan my comeback - which will involve shoving a wonderfully finished garment in the face of my middle school teacher.

A gift from God

I've always loved flowers, and would constantly engage in debates with my Grandfather who was partial to the fragrant ones, that looks counted for something too. He was immovable on his stance that inner beauty is far more valuable than just visual appeal, and the same held good for the blossoms in his big, beautiful, lush garden. I will forever remember the days when I hitched up my frock as a little child to help him water the garden. He would pretend to merely support the bucket while I was swelling with pride at being able to heft a heavy pail of water over his beautiful roses and feign annoyance while he scolded me for watering myself with the hose. Stumbling out into the garden, rubbing my sleepy eyes on dewy December mornings in Bangalore, I'd help him pick flowers for his daily Puja. He would make me feel so special - talking to me about the flowers, and teaching me how to pluck them without any damage to the plant or the blossom. We would sit on a stone bench in the late evenings taking in the scent of 'The Lady of the Night' while he told me stories of Kalidasa, Tenali Raman, Birbal and his own childhood exploits and fed me my dinner.

While my favourite has always been the Sampige or Sampangi flower, he was partial to Jasmine. This weekend, I had a very special experience that brought back powerful memories of my grandfather, and this small, unassuming blossom that is so prized in India for both religious and ornamental purposes.

I made a trip to my hometown and had a lovely time meeting friends and family. I was also able to re-establish contact with one of my oldest friends - Muniamma, who worked at my home for as long as I can remember. She is a very special person with great strength of character and a very positive outlook towards life. She has probably had one of the most difficult lives of anyone I have had the opportunity to know, and yet, there have been very few moments without a smile on her face. Always cheerful, she is a caring and protective person who still loves me just as much, even though I have not been able to meet her for over 4 years.

When she saw me, she scolded me for having lost weight and dressing like a gypsy, and asked the spouse why I was being allowed to run around without any jewelry. :) We talked for a while, and she said -"Nee poovellam thalaiyila vekkamaatennu yenakku theriyum..aana naa malli vaangi thanda, konja neramaavadu vecchipiya? Yennala unakku vera yedhuvum kudukka mudiyaadhu." Meaning, "I know you're not that fond of wearing flowers in your hair, but if I buy you a strand of Jasmine, will you keep it on for at least a little while? I don't have anything else I can give you." What could I do, but say yes? She pinned the flowers into my hair herself, and told me how happy she was to see me, and thanked me for remembering her. I was so touched by her gesture that for many hours after I left her company, I could not stop thinking about the smile on her face, and felt elated that I had contributed a little to her happiness. Taking in the powerful, sweet scent, I was taken back to those precious moments I spent with my Grandfather.

P.S. I googled 'Jasmine' and was pleasantly surprised to find that it means "Gift from God". How appropriate that it is a sign of Muniamma's friendship, and Ajja's favourite.

All clear!

India visits always involve more lunch and dinner invitations from friends and family than my poor stomach can handle. Though I'd like to pretend that it's a chore to go eat all that good food, the truth is, I gladly suffer the indigestion in exchange for goodies I will never make or eat in the US.

On one such occasion, we were all over at my uncle & aunt's for lunch, and had finished packing in an ungodly spread. Post lunch - pre coma conversation was ongoing when my Grandmum announced that it was the worst Bangalore summer yet, and that she needed a drink of water.

So off she went to the table near the refrigerator where all the bottles had been placed. If it were me, I'd have just glugged from the bottle, but she did the decent thing and poured herself a glass, and remarked disappointedly that it wasn't cold since it had been out for a while. We all resumed talking, and a second later, there was an agonized squeaking, and we all turned around to see my grandmother shove the house-help away from the sink and spit a whole mouthful of water out.

Once that was done, she sagged against the counter and said..."AIYO! My mouth and throat are on fire!! What was that!?". Turned out, she'd just downed half a glass of Gin, neat.

Her first reaction when she realized what she'd done was to say.."UGH! You people drink this by choice? Mad."

Now, any time she says anything remotely conservative sounding, we let her know that she's joined the ranks of us degenerate alcoholics, so this kind of hypocritical attitude isn't going to fly. She's such a sport though..she laughs harder than the rest of us put together. :)

India's Favourite Sport

India is a cricket-crazy nation, and my family is most definitely high up there on the scale of craziness where the sport is concerned. I however am not. In fact, in the span of my life in India, I may have watched at most 2 complete games if you cobbled together the bits of the ones I caught on TV while on my way to the fridge,  stepping out the front door, or if I happened to be sitting in the living room when my sister ran in throwing a blue fit about how dare the channel be on something else other than a game that was in progress, and didn't I have a book to read or something?

Now that you have a fair idea of my deep involvement with the game, I want to share that I went to watch my first live cricket match at Chinnaswamy Stadium in Bangalore where the Royal Challengers, Bangalore gave the Kolkata Knight Riders a fair trouncing. I shall also admit that this is 4 years after my move to the States. Better late than never, what?

My sister, seated next to me ruptured my left ear drum during the course of this outing with her incessant shrieking, so if I don't respond when you talk to me, move to my right and repeat. Also, I narrowly escaped with both eyes despite some frenzied flag waving by this very large, not young man in the row in front of us.

That I was also people watching rather than being riveted to the game is a cause of disappointment to my sister, but I have no such regrets. In fact, the guy who was dancing as though possessed - rapidly jerking his head with his tongue hanging out, which in turn caused his considerable belly to also rapidly jerk (imagine a walrus having a seizure) - more than made up for a wide ball. I had no idea that a Bollywood song could inspire such reactions.

The spouse, having had no exposure to cricket since his childhood was spent doing little league and soccer, and who this outing was really in aid of, had his first taste of India's favourite sport. He rather enjoyed it, contrary to his pre-conceived notions about the speed of the game, and the possibility of being able to pack for a trip between runs.

In any case, good times were had, much thirst was experienced (since they don't allow any bottles with liquids into the stadium, and if anyone has a strategy to get to the iced tea vendor before he is mobbed and robbed of his meagre supply, let me know) and I finally bonded with my family over that game.

Shoe Karma

The whole of last month was spent building up to my trip to the motherland, and here I am 2 weeks in, having worked remotely, started yoga classes, taken a trip and combated some crappy food poisoning. I am on the mend now, and well enough to blog. :P

My entire family is obsessed with Indian classical music, and we make it a point to go to as many live performances as possible. On one such recent occasion, the whole shebang had made its way to a concert in the city, in a relatively new auditorium within a temple complex. By shebang I mean mum, dad, 1 grandfather, 2 grandmums and a great-grandmum! My poor parents probably feel like they're kindergarten teachers taking stubborn children on an excursion, complete with bathroom visits, the inability to sit still for more than 10 minutes at a stretch, and the insane amount of resistance to anything that might make their lives (and that of my folks) a little easier. They weren't kidding when they coined the term 'second childhood'.

Anyway, the concert was great, and it was time to leave, not to mention that it was pretty late in the evening. Out they walked, only to find that the men had absconded someplace with no warning. So the rest waited for about 15 minutes near the car outside, and finally spotted my dad and grandfather striding towards the car, the latter visibly upset about something. On closer observation, we noticed that my grandad was barefoot, brandishing a lone slipper in one hand, and a cup of 'prasadam' in the other. When he reached the gaggle of ladies, he began offering them the prasadam while dangerously swinging his slipper close to their faces with some wild gesticulations of his other arm. My mother, quite baffled by this point, asked him why he was holding his slipper, to which he responded - "Yaaro shaniyan yennoda oru seruppa thirudita!" meaning "Some worthless individual has made off with one of my slippers!". My mother then asked him what use one slipper was going to be. My grandad in his innate naivete, said "Will they not give me a matching one at the shop?" Everyone around him asked if he was mad, and then he said.."I don't care..I'm going to hang on to this one in case the other turns up someplace". Humouring this completely ridiculous notion, everyone got in the car and went home.

My grandmothers were having their usual morning tete-a-tete, and one says - "I cannot imagine who could have taken your husband's single slipper. Would they have had no clue that they are wearing 2 completely different things on either foot?" The response was.."I don't know, maybe it is possible to not realize such a thing at all..it is pretty stupid though." And she proceeded to go upstairs to her flat. When she stepped in the door, she saw that miraculously, both my grandad's slippers were there! She ran to ask if he had gone back to look for it, and was met with a 'Are you nuts!?' look. My grandfather then realized the import of what she was asking, and was overjoyed to discover his move of keeping the other slipper had reaped such heavy rewards. My grandmother, still very confused about what could have happened, decided to step out to get some groceries, and realized that one of her slippers was missing.

Of course, this could only mean one thing. The culprit and thief of the lone slipper had been her all along! In her haste to get my great-grandmother into the car the previous night, she had put on one slipper of hers and one of my grandfathers and had merrily returned home. My mother when told of this sudden and startling development, asked between convulsions of laughter how she could possibly not have realized this, to which she said..I was walking all awkward, but I thought it was my spondilitis acting up.

A contract for life?

With a good amount of luck,
A freelance project I'd land
To make a few bucks
Concepts I created for a new brand

"Oh! This is not what I had in mind."
said the client for the contract he signed!
"Can you work on a few more,
Only now five for the price of four?"

A few weeks later, a bit discontent,
Designed what he tweaked to a great extent
Months passed by, and all was normal
Until one fine day, he pinged acting all formal.

From topic to topic, it changed direction
Finally he asked about my ancestral connection
Oh, No! What's with all the weird questions?
Politely I logged off, as it seemed only unprofessional.

Almost a year and a few months passed by
A random email I received from the same guy
This time with very little to do with his company update
And more in line with - " How about we go on a date?"

Why oh! Why, will this never end?
It's a new sitcom for all my dear friends!
Who will it be, among these strange men?
Cos I am no Barbie to find her own Ken! 

A Galumphing We Go!

This Sunday, I got to watch the movie I've been waiting nearly a year for! It was everything I'd hoped it would be. Alice in Wonderland has always been one of my favourite books, and I spent a number of years in the fantasy that I'd one day find my own looking-glass to go through, or my own rabbit-hole to fall into. Though, in India..it would more than likely have been a manhole. Doubt anything pretty would have come out of that!

I was transported back to the time I first read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, completely mesmerized by the imagination and whimsy in something so innocuous as a book. To this day, it remains one of my favourites, and I've decided I will buy myself a copy to re-read. I wanted to share this verse from the sequel to the book. A friend of mine used the same poem for a typographic project. Sometimes, words speak a thousand pictures..

The Jabberwocky

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

*The illustration is by Sir John Tenniel and first published in 'Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There' by Lewis Carroll, 1871.
* Lewis Carroll is a Nom De Plume. The author's real name is Charles Lutwidge Dodgson.