Ten On Tuesday – Gaming With The Boys


When we got tired of playing the mind games these are the ten games me and boys played and mastered. We were always good at being escapists, prefered the imaginary to the real and often yanked ourselves from one world to plunge into another. We all had our “me time” but still we spent a lot of time together bonding over board games, singing, telling stories, doing some sort of art/craft, playing some real-time games which would leave the house looking like as if it has been hit by a tsunami. It was tough but it was fun.

Computer games were a new rage and the boys were fanatic supporters of ¬†this new religion. All my efforts to keep them away from this growing menace failed and then I thought,’ if you can’t beat them join them’. WTH.. but I still laid down some rules.

And what did we play ? Here are the top ten.

1.Claw – Because I love wild cats ūüėÄ
2.Soldier of fortune – The first gory game I played where it was all guts over fear. Imagine that after yelling at the boys for behaving like bloody psychopaths.
3. Need for Speed/ Roadrage – I could never learn to drive but always dreamed of the mean machines I could control. The need for speed was satiated here and it was so engrossing that sometimes the line between virtual and real just disappeared. It was fun all right.
4. James Bond Nightfire – ¬†The only time I could be more than just a bond girl ūüėÄ
5. Delta Force Land Warrior РMy initiation into first person shooters. It was cathartic in some ways.
6. XMen Arcade Game – For the love of classic X-Men characters. Storm, Wolverine, Nightcrawler, Nimrod, Mystique and many more. At times it was ridiculously funny but a lot of fun with the boys. A comic book come to life perhaps. ūüôā
7. Batman Arcade Game – Chaos in Gotham – My love for the dark knight began much before Nolan. When you have two superheros in the house you need to learn the survival techniques for anything could happen anytime.
8. Solitaire and Freecell РThese were the games to zone out when the house was not a war zone with aliens  spaceships landing on your head and cars flying from between your legs.

9. Don’t think we just engaged in virtual games. There were a lot of indoor and outdoor games that were invented at the spur of the moment. Missions planned and executed, Rooms turned into makeshift WWF arenas (I was always the referee trying to save my head) ūüėÄ , paper planes flew out of the balconies and windows with their tails in a blaze of fire, The entire house turned into an obstacle racing fast track where all sorts of cars, jeeps raced like lunatics. (my participation was limited to providing unlimited power boosters ( especially made in my kitchen) and occasionally tripping over some invisible flying object. ).. Oh yes, and picking up the debris later on while chasing the boys around to clean up.

10. Yes, I had my collection of WWE and Pokemon cards, tazzos and what not. These were guarded like prized possessions and traded occasionally with great deal of negotiations. We did play all the games with these interesting loot.

Raising boys is not for wimps and they kept me on my toes 24/7 but then it was also an adventure and great fun to grow up with them.

A Gift of Discernment – For A Better World


I believe that Parenthood teaches selflessness, to love and respect your kids unconditionally. Parents teach the children to be independent and rejoice in their blossoming. Both my sons are adults now and when I look back I think all I ever taught them was to shed everything that hindered their growth as human beings and accept themselves as and who they are. This covered almost everything that needed to be said.  As a mother I believed that what I could teach by example I could not by words.

My parents taught me the value of discernment and take independent decisions and that is exactly what I instilled in my boys. To be discerning without being judgmental. It was an uphill task in the kind of environment they were growing up in. To keep their minds from being polluted by ¬†age-old rituals, customs and doctrines was an everyday struggle but I stood my grounds and made sure the boys learned to use their minds and not follow what the adults in the family or in the social milieu shoved down their throat. Since early years both the boys were encouraged to travel, explore, learn from the way people lived. To have a hunger for experiencing life at different levels. Independently. It was a challenge they had to undertake to refine themselves, to shun the comfort zone. To survive in all sorts of conditions. Build immunity, sensitivity, compassion towards life in all its forms. To value life and engage with it with an open mind and a student heart. I believed that exposure would enhance the personality and it did. Most of the times the ordinary things, the experimentation, the willingness to ask question does extraordinary things to children’s psyche. It teaches them important skills and to look beyond what is right in front of them.

I knew the importance of a dialogue, conversations, questioning, airing the differences fearlessly and with a trust that they will not be judged or reprehended. Freedom to converse without inhibition or fear helped them form their own opinions and choose what was right. That they could speak up their mind was largely due to the trust we shared.  It is a friendship that we share even now.  Once you rise above the relationship and treat the children simply as fellow human beings the approach to life changes. They become confident, curiosity helps them to expands their horizons inwardly as well as outwardly and a foundation for critical thinking is laid.

My boys had a privilege to experience two very different perspectives on ‘how to live a life’. A liberal, freethinking one from their maternal side and an orthodox, ritualistic one from the other. I think it helped them form their own set of values for life. They also learned from my limitations and sufferings. It made them a champion for women’s rights. Another major aspect was to make them aware of themselves so that they accept themselves as and who they were. I remember one of my sons asking me how I would react if he told me one day that he was gay or bisexual. I said it was his life and his sexual orientation or the way he is biologically. There was nothing to ‘react’. It is what it is. He asked if I would accept it. I replied that the question of acceptance doesn’t arise because it is ultimately His Life not mine. The fact that I would be by his side if needed was enough to make him comfortable with his choices I guess. I belive and taught them that unless you love yourself as who you are you can not love others nor others can love you. Loving oneself is an important lesson in life. To value the life we are given and live it well. Brief as it is.

The knowledge that I neither considered or treated the boys as my extension nor tied them to my apron strings helped them and me to lead a normal guilt free life in which we had mutual respect for each other, learned from each other and grew up together. Children are keen observers and often make decisions based on their understanding of life. To help them in this process all that is needed is a slight nudge. They have an agenda of her own. Suddenly one saw that the role of a mother as imagined or perhaps, vaguely understood could be questioned. Please! Can I not live my own life? Do I have to answer for each little thing I do? I am disgusted with this refrain ‚Äúit is for your own good‚ÄĚ. I know what it means and I can take care of myself ‚Äď thank you! There is much heartbreaking pain and avoidable conflict. An uneasy kind of friendship develops as the teens are about to end, and one hopes that some understanding and maturity comes along to make life a little less rough ‚Äď not for the daughter or son alone but also for the mother too. It is phase that strengthens the bonds without turning them into a noose. All one has to do is understand where they are coming from and help them deal with it if required. Unnecessary¬†involvement in their daily struggles irks them at times.

I feel children who do not carry the burden of ‘teaching’ turn out to be better adults. I have seen around me the all engulfing apron strings, the controller moms who invade the¬†very fabric¬†of their son‚Äôs life till the core and leave it tattered. Mothers who just do not know where to draw the line. The worse thing a mother can do is to smother the child with ‘love” stunting their personalities. I cut the umbilical cord for my sanity and for the betterment of my children. They were loved and cared for but never became the primary focus of my passion and preoccupation. For the children to grown up without any mental, emotional, sexual dysfunction it is essential not to suffocate them. Being a free-spirited person myself it wasn’t difficult to instill it in my boys.

Growing up with them has been a wonder filled experience. Still is. I know I am the most unconventional mom but I love just the way it is. Now, I am looking at my life afresh, from their perspective, sharing a more mature friendship which began from the ¬†time I conceived them. A beautiful detached attachment. Motherhood has made me a better person and to sum it all in one sentence I would say, “Let your children be. You can’t teach a sapling how to grow; you can only give it all it needs, sit back and watch.” In doing so you are not just making them good¬†citizens but most importantly better human beings; and in the end, that is all that matters. This post is written for¬†the #MomsforaBetterWorld Project

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On Being A Mother And A Woman , In That Order


‚ÄúIf you don‚Äôt like where you are in life, there comes a point when you must give up the part of you that‚Äôs keeping you back.‚ÄĚ ‚ÄďDr. Sonya Friedman Best friends- mother and son Kid 2 embarked on a new adventure in his life today. It gives me immense pride to see my little cherub begin his college life. Till kids are in school we usually consider them as kiddos and then in a blink of an eye ¬†they grow up. ¬†Since last few years I saw the handsome lad mature into a responsible, thinking young man. Something that happened too quickly in the case of my first-born. The kid grew up too soon. That’s another story most of you know by now. It is hard to be a mother and harder ¬†to be a woman at the same time. Why am I reversing the order? Because that is how I want you to look at it for now.¬†I had thought I will never bring up this subject again but things don’t always go the way you want them to go.

Once a female child is born, she ¬†immediately sides into the role assigned to her by the society – of a daughter, sister, wife, mother so on and so forth. The first robe of role-playing that the baby girl is wrapped in grows with her infant body, taking her through the long tedious ¬†journey into womanhood. Somewhere she shrinks into nothingness and all one can see is the role she is playing at a particular stage in her life. Am I being too bitter and judgmental? Maybe, but this is how I see an average woman’s life especially in my country. So what happens when this infant begins to acquire a mind of her own, when her body begins to stir ¬†and revolt under all those layers of responsibilities etc? What happens when she finds she has a voice? What happens when at some point of time in her life she throws away those cumbersome layers that draped her individuality and breaks free? She is condemned for life. She is called names. She is looked down upon and ¬†society begins to foam at mouth and picks up weapons of filth to fling at her. Thinking for oneself is not acceptable. How can a woman think for herself? Who is she anyway? Some women disagree and step out of their “boundaries” their “line of control” irrespective of ¬†the repercussions that would follow. Some “adjust” and ” compromise” for various reasons and stay confined within the four walls of their “home”. ¬†Consumed by the fire that burns in them.

In a society where maternal love is revered it is difficult to digest the fact that a mother can walk out of ¬†a bad marriage leaving her children behind. Men do it all the time but women are judged harshly. They are called “cold-blooded” “inadequate” “shameless”. How can a mother leave her children? It is sacrilegious. Taboo. “What kind of mother are you?” Someone asked when I said my boys stay with their father and I have been away from them since last two years. “You abandoned them?” Pat came another question and by this time I was beginning to feel guilty again for the umpteenth time since I crossed that threshold of the house I lived in with my kids, husband and in-laws.

“No, I did not abandon them. (The word is very upsetting ) I see them regularly, talk to them almost daily. They come and stay over at my place. We are closer than ever before.. I think so..” my voice began to fail me here. Leaving your marriage is the biggest challenge one faces in life. For twenty years I stayed in an unfulfilled marriage not knowing which way to go. I was economically dependent and had no confidence to break away and start all over again. The boys were small and needed me. I wanted to stay with them, watch them grow, give them all the love and support they needed from a parent, be their friend, be there when they needed me. I did that as best I could but then something snapped within one day. I had to take the hardest decision of my life. To stay in the marriage which had lost its meaning or walk away. Choice 2 meant leaving the boys behind. At that moment I did what I felt was right. I left. I broke the news to my sons (15&19 at that time) and hoped they would understand. I believed they did. convinced myself. They put up a brave front and stood side by side with me but the sound of their hearts crushing into trillions of pieces shot through me like a comet leaving me throbbing with unsaid hurt and a permanent feeling of ¬†guilt. Still somehow I could not bring them to stay with me nor could I go to live with them. We had to part to discover each other. The fact that I did not ever feel guilty enough to reverse my decision made things worse. In the eyes of others it was “cruel” in plain and simple words. I often talked with my boys about it and knew how difficult it was for them to show support for my action when inside they were hurting. No child can be happy in such circumstances but I often wonder if they were growing up as happy kids in the kind of environment they were living in. What changed by my leaving? The house was same, people were same, it was same shit they were facing anyway and now without my support. It was worse or was it? Only they can tell.

I have heard people whisper “All that fight for dignity and respectful living is fine and dandy but how could she do this? I could never leave my babies at any cost.” Well, it is what it is. I left at a time I believed they would understand my action. I am sure they did or they would not have had anything to do with me. The fact that we are still together no matter where we are speaks volumes. Some day I would want to know honestly what went through their minds but till then i am not assuming. There are times when I ache for togetherness. It is a lonely battle one has to fight if one chooses to break the norms. I began to start afresh, learned to be financially independent, though still legally married and still dependent on my mom and brother as I stay in their home, I am finally able to choose what I want to do with my life , with myself. Sometimes it feels like a bigger trap , more space but still a sand box. It is fine till the time I play inside it, stepping out isn’t an option but for now I am good with it. At least I am breathing without ventilator.

It is unfortunate and very tragic how the course of events in one’s life can affect children. They do bounce back and begin to live a normal life but somewhere the heart longs for the times spent together. It is the same with parents. I won’t say its just the mothers who go through this, fathers too suffer. I told myself over and over that kids need love and support and don’t want someone to fight their battles that they do on their own. They chart their own paths. One just needs to be there to encourage and give them that opportunity to grow and expand their horizons. It doesn’t matter if that’s done living together or elsewhere. I have been there for my boys no matter what ¬†and¬†whenever they needed me but today somehow the deluge was too much to contain. Caught between rock and hard surface I sat here in my room getting updated on the progress of how things were shaping up as Kid 2 prepared to leave to other city to join the college. An important mile stone in his life. I wasn’t there in the last two important years of his school life and the fact that I could not give him a proper hug and wish him luck by physically being there broke me completely. Some emotions are private and I cried my heart out into the pillow. For the first time I longed for two strong arms around me. A shoulder to keep my head on and just pour it all out. We weren’t engineered for being lonely. It is tough at times especially when you are mushy and a sucker for love.

The sun is about to set in my city and soon the night will come bringing another rush of memories. Memories of all that I lost and found in my struggle to juggle various roles as a woman and somewhere I would stand and watch myself , the “me” that is now and wonder was it worth it ? I don’t know what the answer will be today but most of the day it is “YES”. Even with this burden of gratitude I am carrying of being “taken back in the fold of my maternal home”. Even with the knowledge that I owe my “independence – economical and otherwise” to someone without whom it would have been a different story all together. Even though it is a bumpy, uphill task to live day-to-day and struggle to keep my voice strong It is Worth every bit of it. I will miss our weekly meetings, fun and laughter, cooking especially for him, hanging out in favorite joints but we will be connected none the less. he didn’t meet as often as Kid 1 but his absence will be strongly felt.

This is the second time the brothers are being separated. Earlier it was when I had to send Kid 1 to he boarding school. Another hard decision I would have preferred not to take. I know they will miss each other more than anything. One day each one has to take their own path and go in different directions, the hearts say connected none the less. I know my boys will understand and not judge me harshly. I know they will treat the women in their lives and for that matter any woman anywhere with the respect they deserve. I know things will not stay the same. ¬†I know that wherever we go we will never be far away. The love and friendship we share will strengthen with time and we will always be able to float above the so-called ” social norms and code of conduct”. I wish my boy all the very best in life and success in the path he chosen. I am there for him always in any way he wants. I have a lot to say to the elder one and some day we will sit down , just the two of us, and talk to each other as two friends should but till then I just want to say I am a very proud and happy mother. Thank you for being in my live and enriching it. You guys are the best friends I have .

Stay strong , Stay Focused. Love you. please excuse the typos and random flow of thoughts.   Republished on BellBajao Blog 

Monday Memories 1 – Bottomless Pits, Edible Weapons and More


I was looking for more ways of wasting time and thought of starting a new series called ‘Monday Memories’ . ¬†There are times when some little thing in the present takes you back to some moment in the past. Some bittersweet memory comes floating to you and then the things you remember are more real than the things you see in the present. I always wondered if a moment from past tasted the same . Sometimes it does. You can actually feel, hear, see touch exactly the way you did at that moment or maybe you believe you do and that’s all matters. It keeps you going in hard times, in times of loss, separation,¬†loneliness.

My boys are now grown up and many a time a simple little thing as a pack of cookies, a box of crayon, a song or a sentence in a book sparks a memory of  their childhood, a childhood that was an adventure for them as well as for me, and I realize how those memories are piles in endless stacks inside me.

My elder one is now 21 and I guess we spend 3,000 more hours on our first-born than the second one. Every little thing the child becomes precious. I don’t think I remember his “Firsts ” or ¬†“Lasts” but I do remember some¬†particular¬†incidents that filled my young mother’s heart. Raising boys is not for¬†wimps. It is a challenge only some can endure. I guess I developed eyes at the back of my head when Adi was growing up. He was one little explorer who was curious about anything that he could lay hands on. A complete foodie and an absolutely fearless boy. While I struggled to keep things under control without going insane he invented different ways to bring the house down. Those were moments when I cried and laughed at the same time unable to decide which was the best thing to do. ¬†Never thought that these very incidents will become¬†irreplaceable with time.¬†¬†I had to think two steps ahead to find a way to involve him while ¬†I went about doing my household stuff. One of them was colors. He would sit for hours totally immersed in various types of coloring material, old newspapers etc and create masterpieces on everything in the color zone including himself. He would then look around quietly, make sure I am not watching and then slip through the door with a riot of color in his little hands. He would pin it somewhere or place it where I will surely see and then hide. Waiting for me to make the move. As I said, I had somehow developed superpowers so I would know exactly what to do. I would pretend to do something right where his¬†treasure lay and¬†accidentally¬†discover it.¬†It was such a joy to see him creatively involved. I would say ‘ look what I found. This is such a beauty and who made this gorgeous piece of art? ” and he would shyly¬†emerge¬†from his¬†hiding¬†place , his eyes sparkling with joy and pride and his a big dimpled smile¬†lighting¬†his face and say , “me’. I would hug and kiss him and we would sit and talk about his masterpiece all covered with colors of love. For many years I kept those paintings and drawings till they were discovered by another curious adventurer who had found the art of¬†dismantling,¬†dissecting, tearing and¬†making¬†new objects what could be¬†¬†anything from weapons of war to some new inventions of a technical genius. ūüėÄ My second boy was exact opposite of his¬†elder¬†sibling. four years his junior he loved a¬†leisurely¬†peaceful life most of the time. Another bottomless pit was added to my misery. At times I thought I was created for just two things-¬†cook and clean.

Shubhang was always curious about the “hows” and “whys” of life and he practically¬†dismantled anything and everything to observe the intricate¬†machinery¬†that lay within the mundane looking objects.¬†¬†If a watch was missing we knew where it would be or for that matter bigger things like camera carelessly left unattended. It would all end up in the junk box or will be discovered months later buried under something neatly tied in a bundle. One really needed a high IQ to figure out what that¬†originally¬†was. ¬†Watching him working with rapt attention on some complex toy or gadget that he had decided to open up I would often marvel at the working of his mind at such a tender age. Of course I went into a rage on finding something destroyed for good but then there was some magical spell these boys put on me every time they screwed up something. Yes, they were a gang of two. Partners in crime and vowed to defend and protect each others honor at all times Unless there the offered bait was a better option :D. I had to shell out big time in kind more than in cash to get the desired information. This was the beginning of a very strong bond between them which I can see even now.

One thing one must remember as a mother of growing up boys is that anything can be converted into weapons and landmines. It is through cuts and bruises and spilling of blood one learns this unless you are prepared for it and you never are. You never can possibly know what will burst under your feet or hit you from nowhere. It just isn’t possible to know. I¬†realized¬†it when I watched these brats chew their toasts in shape of guns and shoot each other or target strategic places or people with things they found¬†uninteresting¬†to eat. Although I hovered like a chopper to watch over the¬†proceeding¬†they managed to turn almost anything into a missile. I just had to learn and master the art of being alive.

The space between these memorable moments were filled with hair-raising tales about which I will talk some other time and between those tales of horror I cooked endlessly to fill those bottomless pits. It was something I loved to do till it became the sole purpose of my living. “WHF, I would say , You guys¬†just¬†had your meal” and they would look at me with those innocent puppy eyes and I wold melt like butter on toast and tie my apron once more.

But you know what, although I could kill with bare hands and I got so tired at the end of the day that I wanted the earth to split wide open and take me in I never restricted them in any way. I disciplined them but not at the cost of snatching away their childhood thought they may feel differently.

That bond which we three developed grew with passing years and slowly we rose above the mother-sons ¬†relationship without even noticing it. This is a friendship which I think should be there between all parents and children where the kids aren’t extensions or your subordinates but individuals. You got to respect their uniqueness and intelligence to gain respect and love. You got to listen to them, praise , them, guide them and make them believe in the fact that they can count on you for anything and you value their¬†presence¬†in your life.

Anything is possible in the house with growing up boys. It is fantasy land where you can trip on cars, you got to dodge flying objects and things popping out of no where, where there are no time zones, where there is battles are won and lost every day and you can hear one of the finest remixes and music pieces ever written. It is also a warm cozy zone of love and togetherness, of laughter and craziness, of pains and¬†pleasures¬†that life offers. Here you will find yourself floating in a cocktail of emotions almost all the time. From birth every stage of their enchanting life is an¬†irreplaceable miracle.¬†¬†You learn the biggest lessons of life and the greatest¬†strategies of¬†survival in this world. You got to enter at your own risk but once in you are part of the gang. Once in never out. That’s what friendships are all about.

This is for my boys with love and a warm hug. I treasure them and very proud to see them all grown up into sensitive, discerning young adults.

Memory of Memories 1 – Treasures from childhood


So, like a forgotten fire, a childhood can always flare up again within us.
Gaston Bachelard 

As a kid I never understood why my mother had a bagful of old letters, cards and another of little¬†mementos, clothes from our childhood. It seemed like an extra baggage though once in a while I did do through them and listened to the stories attached. When I grew up, got married and had children mom gave my little clothes to me and said ,” theses are for your sons”. ¬†I smiled. Suddenly there was a gush of emotions .. you know I think I got it from mom, this sentimental gush for people and things ūüėÄ

I carefully wrapped them and gave to the boys. Even made my younger one wear my parkar polka ( lehnga and choli) I am sure he hates me for this but he looked super cute ūüėõ ¬†. Maybe I wanted to fulfill my desire to have a daughter by dressing him like one .. Ya ya I know that’s kind of not good but then every boy is dressed in those pretty frocks as babies , aren’t they? ūüôā I will share the pic if he allows . This particular lenga I had word on my first birthday and is very precious to me.

The other thing that mom gave was a small coat and cap which I wore as 3-4 month old baby . It is still is perfect condition with no dry cleaning and all. Preserved  just with love and care.

There is some special¬†fragrance and softness in these clothes. I had seen myself wearing this in photographs but to hold it in my hand and run the fingers on its fabric gave me a feeling which is beyond¬†explanation. ¬†I realized there were so many things which were part of my memory of memories. Things straight out of magical days of childhood, connecting me to those wonderful days. A little box that held my first curl of hair, my¬†umbilical¬†cord wrapped in cotton wool. little anklets, small¬†silverware¬†( a glass, bowl and spoon). ¬†It brought back memories of many things that were so precious to me but aren’t there now. A doll I always tagged along everywhere, picture books, scrap books, box of crayons and much more. Those were days when we had imagination and crayons instead of mobiles and¬†play stations. ¬† I now knew what ma must have felt to so carefully treasure them. There are letter written in colorful scribble ¬†from me to ma, picture with alien like characters and¬†scenery with exceptionally imaginative colors. ūüėÄ .

Many times ma would take the bundle out and we would read and go through all of it and laugh and cry at the same time. She also managed to make the grandchildren gather around her and narrated stories about our childhood much to the amusement of the lot.

Letter writing is a lost art. I feel that nothing can replace the warmth and intimacy of a handwritten note or a hand-made card. Just as I was encouraged to write letters and draw , I encouraged my boys to scribble a few lines or draw something and send to grandparents. It always went with my letters and kids felt so proud of their feat every time , waited eagerly for mom or dad to reply. They were never directed what to write, just given a paper, pencil and colors and what emerged was a kaleidoscope of their imagination . I believed that this kind of interaction helps to develop a bond and creates a comfort zone. It sometimes even bridges the generation gap, at least it did in our family.

As they grew older and learned to write , these letters became one amazing peek into their inner world. Mom carefully kept each one in labelled envelopes with dates and time written in neat bold letters. From the time they began to hold the pencil/ color to when they could write properly. My elder one sent a lot of handmade cards and letters from hostle to both mom and me and each of us kept each one.

letters and cards from grandsons to their maternal grandmother

There is a bundle of my letters to mom and Adi’s letters to me. Pix will be added soon. ūüôā

I have preserved some of the things from the childhood of my boys. Some of Adi’s stuff was buried in a transparent plastic bag as part of ¬†Dorling Kinsley Publications ¬†millennium year project.

I am a sucker for such stuff. ūüėÄ

Like mom I too kept the little clothes, letters, pictures, cards, toys, whatever I could squirrel away.

¬† Here is my elder one’s first birthday dress. (he is twenty year old handsome adult now) ūüôā

Adi’s first formal wear

There are a treasure trove when it comes to these beautiful memories. I am sharing just a few. I may add a few more pictures in coming days.

I always loved book and the family encouraged reading from a very early age. Most of the books I gave to a¬†library of a village school. The picture dictionaries, children’s¬†literature by Tolstoy and other books from PPH( People’s publishing house), CBT, etc. Some books were handed over from my brother to me and some others are part of my maternal grandfather’s collection. Collectors issues, first prints and some now out of print editions. Here are three of my favorites from my ¬†childhood.

The pages have yellowed with time. The books are a treasure from childhood.

The covers. These are out of print I think. In Poem Town is in 8 volumes.I have only one left.

These books are priceless¬†treasures. Fruit Gathering ( Indian edition 1927), a gift from my grandfather’s collection. In Poem town is published by Blackie and Son Limited (London) somewhere between 1939=45). It says ‘Book production war economy standard’ and here we are talking of WW2. Now we are six doesn’t have the first page so the year is not confirmed but its yellow crumbling pages show it is as old as the other books. ¬†I am searching for someone who can preserve these books. If someone can help , please leave a comment.

I will do yet another post as I get hold of some other precious things which are tucked away somewhere.

Do you have such precious objects? Things from childhood –¬† yours or your children’s? Do share links if you write about them.

Here is one more post I did long ago https://tikulicious.wordpress.com/2010/10/22/heirlooms-treasures-from-the-yesteryears/

Rakshabandhan – I can do without both “raksha” and “bandhan”


Sacrilege is it?  Well , so be it.

I have never liked this concept of tying a thread for protection and there are many there are many other ways to express the love. The bond of¬†love¬†sounds like a business deal to me. The festival may have¬†religious and¬†¬†traditional significance in the past but in today’s age it nothing but a¬†commercial activity.

Why do we need men to do our “raksha” (protection) ? I don’t need one. I have never relied on any man for protection. We were not brought up that way. For us the sibling affection, caring and love was and is a¬†continuous¬† process not limited to a day. We never bartered a fancy thread for¬†money¬†and gift and an unsigned bond of protection from the brother.

Emotionally and mentally women are stronger than men and many a time these brothers need our “protection” than the reverse. It is time they tied the “sacred thread” if at all on the wrists on their capable strong sisters.

I understand that these festivals are normally times for all to get together and relax and I am not against that.

What irks me is the attitude of certain brothers towards their sisters when it comes to their freedom, freedom to think and make choices for their lives etc. It is actually more of a man – woman thing than sibling attitude. In the name of protection and family honor this “bandhan” becomes “bondage” instead of “bond” . ¬†I never liked the word “bandhan” in any of its forms. There should be¬†fluidity in a relationship I believe.

The protective big brothers smother the sisters by pushing them towards so-called socially “accepted and expected” norms . One can really do without this. We don’t need a gate-keeper, Do we ? All their lives girls face barriers and restrictions and many brothers just do not let the sisters decide for themselves. I find this contradictory that on one hand they check the very essence of the lives of their sisters on the¬†pretext¬†of protection and honor and on the other want them to follow tradition and worship them. Yes it is a kind of ¬†” male worship” in my opinion. Many brothers feel empathetic towards their sisters are¬† moved and driven to make a better life for the girls but ¬†then it is an assurance that comes from an inner awakening and not by tying a thread. I have seen this in my relationship with bhai. We never celebrated rakshabandhan but there was always an unsaid¬†undeclared understanding, respect and love between us , still is.

News like this ¬†LINK ¬†¬†and this LINK¬†¬†show how much brothers honor their sisters. To these brothers so-called ” family honor ” is much more important than the life of the sister who had been lovingly tying the ” thread of protection” on her brother’s wrist hoping that he will stand by her ¬†through thick and thin. I find it meaningless to submit oneself in hands of someone be it the sibling.

It hurts me when I see my domestic help’s daughter getting a second-hand treatment from the family when it comes to choosing between her and the brothers. The boys, who aren’t very old, maybe 10-14 , believe that they are superior to the sister and have the unsaid right to dominate her. They get the best of food, clothes and unrestricted freedom which is completely denied to the sister and they approve of it by putting it under the cover of “protection and honor”. How pathetic is that.

Even in the so-called educated families I have seen the underlying partial attitude. The festival of Rakshbandhan is just another way to flaunt money, jewelry, a glam show.

In the society where relationships and in fact human life is losing its value these festivals seem like a ritualistic show to me.

I also think about all those girls whose lives were cut short before they could blossom. Killed at birth or in the womb itself. Those sisters who never saw the light of the day. Who stood for their protection?

I also hate this “muh bola bhai” thing which has come up in recent years. It also may have some past¬†references in the mythology and history but in these times it is just a fa√ßade.

I don’t want to pass judgement on anyone or hurt sentiments. This is my personal view.

I feel the sisters would certainly feel more proud of their brothers if they stood side by side and considered them their equals. If they voiced their anger against the unjust traditions and customs, if they considered them as human as they are. It should not be a one day program.

I don’t wish to sound cynical but this whole business of rituals and religion and the¬†paraphernalia attached to it irks me.

I feel in a country where female infanticide, honor killing, sexual and other kind of abuse, rape and molestation is rampant , where women are treated as sub humans and inferior such festivals do not hold any meaning.

I have been an atheist all my life and never followed these rituals and I feel good that my parents and brother encouraged me to  fight my own battles, to speak for myself, assert my individuality and un-warp my dreams and realize them.  Helped me become a better human being, a much more confident woman and a responsible person .

I think I have a stronger “bond ” ¬†with my brother without the¬†crutches of these “threads” called “rakhi” ¬†and we feel no “bandhan” between us. Ours is a luminous lucid relationship. That’s how it should be.

Relationship Dysfunction: The All Engulfing Apron Strings And The Parental Guilt Trip


This is not just my story, it is the story of all women who dare to dream , who dare to step into the home maker arena and face the Monster – in – law from Hades who is a pro in running the show and is the master¬†puppeteer. It is the story of women who are financially dependent and have been ¬†dreamers all¬†their¬†lives. Who believe in ” and they lived happily ever after ” stories.

The hard truth is that all men have mothers and some mothers just don’t know where to draw a line and let go of their sons .

These controller moms invade the¬†fabric¬†of their son’s ¬†life till the core and leave it tattered.

Have you ever wondered, Why?

Why do they smother their sons?

Why don’t they let them blossom instead of stunting their entire personality?

How does one find a man grown-up enough to have disentangled himself from those unrelenting, all-engulfing choking  apron strings?

Why is it that men  are unable to cut the strings and release themselves?

Doesn’t¬†it suffocate them to lead a life on a leash with a guard on their mouth and brain kept in vegetative state ?

I am married to one such man and seriously don’t understand WHY he accepts all this with head bowed. It is always a guilt trip, an emotional blackmail, a constant tug of war.

Parents constantly hammering the fact that the son is duty bound to look after them in their old age  even if it means killing his desires and submitting to his fate designed by them.

What is the mystery behind these apron strings that become a noose for the woman the son marries?

Why cant the MIL exit gracefully and let the son and DIL live their lives? Why is it important for her to constantly prove the superiority and criticize  everything I or her son do?

What makes her irascible ?

Some questions only she has answers to.

Overbearing suffocating love which turns to¬†manipulative¬†scheming ¬†emotional blackmail holds back the freedom to grow and simply turns “mama’s boys” ¬†to “mama’s Men” . The dominant¬†matriarch¬† not only controls the son but her hubby too and practically every person. ¬†I have seen by experience how for each decision he has to seek permission of his parents and give in to their demands and wishes irrespective of his desires. He folds his passion for life, his aspirations and dreams and tucks them in a dark crevice knowing that he¬†would never gain enough courage and strength to stand up for himself.

This kind of man is molded in a special¬†mold¬†from birth. Designed to take commands and lead a life of¬†suppression. His mind is trained to just look at one angle and not revolt against what is being said and done. He is given a life which seems like a ” comfortable setting” but is basically a ” dog’s den”.

I have seen my MIL say with pride how she has taken care of all the needs of her son all her life and he had obeyed her without questioning ¬†like a “dutiful son” until now when I came in the pretty picture to ruin his life and theirs. ¬†However I may abide to the so-called “norms and customs of their family I am an outsider. My¬†place is below her jutti ( slippers) and am a non entity with no respect dignity or standing of my own. She¬†doesn’t¬†want her beloved dutiful son to turn into ” hand pecked” husband to such non entity.

I used to wonder if it is only ¬†true of ¬†“love” marriages and inter-caste marriages ¬†but I realized this wasn’t¬†the case. This breed is found irrespective of caste, creed, social strata , economic background. It just varies in its shades.

The relationship turns sour with each passing day and the guy becomes a martyr. Poor chap is caught between the love of his mom and wife who has barely entered his life. The blame game starts and the DIL becomes the butt of insults, accusations and the suppressor becomes the victim.

I have seen the emotional dramas, the hunger strikes, the silent treatment, the cold shoulder, the constant cribbing and the sorrowful complaints and I have seen how t is taken with bowed head and sealed lips.

In the scale of relationship always the scale tips in favor of mom( parents in some cases like mine) .

You are guilty of wanting a life of your own.

You are guilty of dreaming of a happy home with your life partner and kids if any.

You can guilty if you open your mouth in protest or want to assert yourself in any way.

You are the¬†disrupting¬†factor in the “mum’s world “.

I have come to a¬†conclusion that men whose ¬†mothers take every opportunity to stay involved in their lives have bad marriages and poor, disturbed relationship with their partners. ¬†These men consider the¬†behavior¬†of the mother normal and support her cause ¬†mainly because they are conditioned that way for all of their lives and secondly they don’t know anything else.

Instead of lovingly raising their sons and setting them free ¬†some mothers remain entrenched in the lives of their sons causing major havoc in the relationship of the son and his wife. These perpetual¬†adolescents¬†never really grow up and remain tied to the apron strings of their mom’s. I feel personally that such men are not emotionally balanced or¬†equipped¬†to handle adult relationships and fail miserably in their constant battle to keep everyone happy. Their life is always hell and full of conflict and heartache.

I read in a book by¬†Kenneth Adams and Alexander Morgan,¬†‚ÄúThere is a universe of difference between a mother who loves her son dearly and a mother who makes her son the primary focus of her passion and preoccupation in an attempt to compensate for her own emptiness.‚ÄĚ

These men not only have sexual dysfunction but they also direct their anger towards the partner , are people pleasers and can never ever stand up for themselves leave aside for their partners.  I agree 100% with the author .

I have lived  for 20 years with such a man and know what it is. All the efforts to make him understand seem like a conspiracy to distance him from the woman who gave him birth and raised him  with such difficulties. His life becomes ridden with guilt and anxiety  if he says as much as one word in favor of  me.

He would  rather destroy a relationship that is good for him than stand up to the omnipresent female power in his life called MOTHER. It is extremely sad to see an otherwise wonderful life  getting destroyed at all possible levels  just because the  mother is so tightly woven into the fabric of his life.  My MIL always strokes her son’s ego and unfortunately he, blinded by her love and scared of social stigma, continues to wear blinkers and follow quietly on the thorny path they have paved for him.

Unfortunately in my case it¬†wasn’t¬†just the mom( sometimes benevolent and caring and at others a mafia don like figure ) ¬†but both the parents who slowly drilled holes in a marriage they never approved of. They ¬†seized upon the problems in our relationship which had mainly sprung from their deeds and his laid back attitude towards it and then used those issues to create¬†unpleasantness and rift between us, all the¬†¬†time ¬†maintaining their control.

They acted liked gasoline on the fire and over the years by remote control or by being there as a hanging sword they managed to bring a relationship to a point of no return. They messed up a marriage, destroyed their son’s dreams just to be supreme controllers.¬†I find it very distressing ¬†and¬†disheartening¬†to see these men ¬†spend their entire ¬†life living ¬†mediocre lives caused by their ¬†narcissistic mothers‚Äô ideals or parental¬†overbearingness.

To see that so called social stigmas, morals, the intense desire to seek social approval, the complete surrender to absolutely unjust demands and emotional guilt trip and much more is capable of overthrowing the love and stability, caring and respect, togetherness and blossoming is  unbelievable.

Today after 20 years of my marriage I have found my voice to stand up for a life of dignity and to bring it out in open not to humiliate anyone but to make people see sense and let their grown up children be. To let men think again what a relationship means to them and how important it is to find a balance in some complex relationships like these.

It is heartbreaking to see all your efforts in building a relationship go down the drain just because the man you trusted tour life with did not know how to take care of it. Each one suffers in his/ her own way. Children are also at the receiving end  where mother is fighting for her rightful place and is unable to take that one strong step of stepping out because of financial dependence and the father is too weak to stand up and face his unjust parents especially the mother.

I have already written about adjustment and compromise that a woman has to face  and it is not that I am insensitive to the elderly people  but I also feel that we need to give roots and wings to our children.

Parents who see their sons as investments ¬†almost¬†always end up as losers. They lose respect, love, their child and a happy family they could have been a part of. It cut my heart to let go of ¬†relationships that I had so painstakingly nurtured with my tears, sweat and blood but there is a time when one realizes that there is live much more important and¬†worthy¬†of attention – One’s own life.

We bury it under layers and layers of commitments and duties and somewhere forget to live. Choked by apron strings a son lives a suppressed life unwilling to break the shackles and breathe free  and in that process smothers a marriage, a relationship which could have been a life long source of joy and togetherness.

Sometimes good emerges from the dark harsh realities. I know that my life has deeply instilled one important thing in the minds of my sons РRespect for women as fellow human beings.

Having lived a home bound life of total financial dependence it is hard to start on a fresh note. As a close friend said ,” it is all there for you to get, the only thing is How badly you want it.” To have a¬†financial independent life is¬†extremely important. So is a family that understands the daughter’s predicament in her marital home and doesn’t abandon her in this rough patch. I may not have the first but have the second and that makes all the difference.

I hope men would realize how important it is to cut the strings and blossom as individuals and that parents are irreplaceable but so is every moment of their own  life.

Sensitivity Is Awareness : Are we ready for change ?


Shivani’s blog post ¬†Happy Periods? Hah!! is a must read for all. Here is what she says,

”¬†If you are calling the menstrual cycle impure, you are calling whole process of reproduction impure. It is nature‚Äôs rule, how can you judge it to be pure or impure being an insignificant human? I don‚Äôt think girls need to be ashamed of it. Can you men bleed a week and not die working? You won‚Äôt come to this world if this reproduction cycle¬†doesn’t¬†exist, and you make fun of a girl and enjoy in her despair? Shame on you!

If our strictly traditional elders loosen their mythological, ancient, superstitious-and add whatever adjective you wanna add-traditions, and men become more understanding and start treating us as humans when we are down, we might really have a Happy Period. Mere saying doesn’t make it happen.”

Taking off from her post and the fact that even when the TV advertisements scream about various kinds of sanitary pads and their benefits I still feel it is something no one wants to talk about openly as if it a “tainted thing” to go through this monthly cycle.¬†One day when my periods came earlier than usual time accompanied by severe cramps¬† I sent my elder son to the chemist explaining which pack to get.¬† The teenager came fuming with anger and told¬† he “fucked the happiness of the shopkeeper and a lady customer there”. I was interested to know more.It turned out that the guy did not have “black plastic bag” and kept searching for a newspaper to stash away “the thing”.

When my son demanded that he hand over the pack and forget the bag etc the lady standing at the counter told him,

” Beta these things are not carried openly. Doesn’t look good. waise to your mom should not send young boys to buy it . It is so embarrassing or at least she should have given a bag or something.”

It seems the young man blew them apart in front of the whole crowd before leaving the shop. I gave him a proud smile.

After reading Shivani’s post we all remembered the incident and this started a series of debate at home.¬† The taboo topics- Sex education¬† including masturbation, mensuration, sexual orientation and other things.

It became obvious that the father was aghast that I being a woman could openly talk about “such things” with grown up boys and even share “adult jokes” or tease them. Horrifying .

Well, if I don’t talk about it to “grown up” boys do I talk to toddlers then?, I asked

Why can’t a woman talk to her young sons or for that matter anyone about it as part of discussion?

“Not dignified ” came the answer. “Balls to it”, I said. Hypocrites.

During our talks we discovered how most of the schools, offices are not equipped with any disposable facilities mainly because the thought never entered the minds of men who designed the place.

“It is time India had some vending machines installed in bathrooms in malls, offices, schools etc ” , a teenage girl joined the discussion. LMAO, ¬†vending machines? First let them become sensitive and most of all aware of the natural process on which we have no control. Let them puke the age-old formula that has been shoved down their throats by the elder women of their homes.

It is ironical that women themselves make it look like a curse. Hiding, feeling guilty and embarrassed about it.

Another one made a face,” it is a private thing. I would not like to advertise it to the world.”

I asked her politely, ” is asking for sanitary pads or tampons and carrying them unwrapped or telling your boyfriend or son or husband to get it for you if they are going to the market an advertisement?¬† Is it not normal to say, ¬†” I have my periods and need napkins etc. or I have cramps or heavy flow so need rest? Is it something abnormal ?”

She didn’t know how to answer that. Obviously her parents never talked to her openly about it and this view was never expressed. What is privacy and what are socially imposed taboos, are two concepts one needs to be clear about.

When a biological body function experienced by half the world is limited to the confines of home and only between members of the gender experiencing it, it needs reviewing. Making menstruation a tainted issue or something to be hushed up and never spoken about with the other gender is counterproductive and completely unnecessary

It  is an integral part of our  body and being forced to feel extra discomfort or shame about  it  is not only unfair but it  also affect our  mental well-being, productivity, self-esteem among other things

During the discussion the boys shared how the jokes go among male friends about women taking pause from men, looking  like train wreaks and  are things not to be trusted for they bleed for 5 days and still live  and so on.

The younger one said that during their class on reproduction all that they could hear was giggles and sly remarks. I and the elder one were the ones who gave him the real lessons.

It also turned out that major section of their male friends either did not have correct info or did not care to talk about it openly. Even in their homes the topic was ever discussed even if they had sisters.

Is menstruation a taboo undercover topic because it is a woman related thing? Would it become a hot conversation if somehow men began to menstruate? A masculine event to brag about ?

My boys think that media is not helping in any way to make the pea brain men aware and in breaking the taboo. How? Well all the advertisements are women based and if men were introduced as supporting understanding factors things just might improve.

A really good thought to ponder on but will it really work?

In her post Shivani talks of ¬†absurdity of calling a period “happy” and I fully agree with her. It is the most painful thing mentally, physically and emotionally and the men easily blame it on the hormones and get away during those PMS days. One thing I noticed was the names given to the products, “whisper”¬† a name like this says a lot about society’s attitude towards this important bodily function.

It pushes my button very hard if people use euphemisms for these things. I hate this culture of shame. it is disgusting to see some women subject themselves to self-shame giving in to some stupid deeply ingrained social religious beliefs. .

As we sat thinking on this issue another vein opened. Talking sex is taboo too. Well, talk about it.

Everyone enjoys  a good laugh at its cost, sex is talked about  in hushed voices and practiced behind closed doors, people drool over magazines like playboy and FTV  but when it comes to openly discuss or educate young children a very moral approach is taken.

I have seen parents who are themselves so ill-informed and riddled with misconceptions that they have nothing to offer to their growing children. Also they are too reserved to broach the subject and somehow shove it under the carpet if the kids raise it .

Not all parents though but most.

Masturbation is something most kids learn about on their own. While talking to my boys it turned out that between friend these days girls openly talk about all these issues among themselves and with guys too but that’s a very tiny percentage. Maximum people feel extremely shifty when the topic comes up.

The mindset of parents in so-called modern India is still orthodox when it comes to discussing/ debating sexuality,  puberty, live in relationships and relationships in general, sexual preferences etc.

I was stunned when my son told me that his sexually active friends choose not to use protection even after knowing¬† the implications of unsafe sex. Reason ? “It doesn’t feel the same” .

WTF I said.

“Is it the boys who feel this ? What do girls say?”, I asked.

“Well , most of the girls are desperate to experiment and experience the real thing¬† so they agree to it and take morning after pills etc” . He said.

I understand , even adults are curious about sex so it is natural for young boys and girls to be curious and experimenting.

“Pills off the counter I believe ” I said.

Of course , you think they take advice from docs or their parents ? “, he replied.

It sucks.

Why is it that these kids are not guided properly ? Is it that parents don’t spend quality time with their children and that they are no longer role models for them ? Is it that the younger generation sees through the faults in the previous generation and rebels against the system not knowing where it is taking them?

Why do parents think that the child will be automatically educated about sex, is it not their responsibility to guide them?

It is not surprising that Sex is the top search topic on internet by youngsters.  I feel it is a huge risk as internet dishes out a lot of titillating garbage  which these young brains can not filter.

India is still a country of sexually repressed people with half baked knowledge and utter confusion leading to various problems at all levels be it health, society or anything else.

Is it not time to wake up to reality and break the shackles . To be aware and sensitive.  To shake the age-old chauvinistic taboos.

If the urban India is steeped in such muck how do we plan to uplift the rural India?

The junkie and the workaholic


It is a lovely romantic Sunday afternoon. Rains always make me nostalgic and dreamy but today I am in laughter mode. ūüėÄ Feeling better after days of weakness and worry. Those who missed the update This iron lady has iron deficiency ūüėÄ … how Iron- ic¬† ūüėÄ !

Well , after a pampering stay at ma’s home I am back in Hell but this time to rule . When your spirit rebellious is unleashed it gives a thrill beyond comparison. Being away from the mess gave me a sure idea about my place in the universe, goals and the path I want to choose.

I make my rules and live by them irrespective of anything. That’s my motto for the time being¬† and the biggest task is to get back my health..physical, emotional as well ans spiritual.

What happens when you leave the house to a junkie ( younger brat) and a workaholic ( hubby) ?

The main door opens with a lot of effort. The dust makes me wonder what hit my house when I was away. I carefully make my way through wrappers, papers, dust and clothes hanging everywhere. One look at the kitchen tells me – Avoid it .

The beds are hardly visible under heaps of clutter which includes crumpled bed sheets, half nude pillows, men’s clothing of all shapes and sizes. Under the bed are bottles, cans, wrappers ranging from toffee to wafers. Old news papers are shoved near the computer which is struggling to breath from behind the cables dangling all around it.

“Who strangled the computer ? ” I ask. No one responds. I sigh and closed the kids room. My own bedroom is wrecked beyond recognition. Losing my temper I question with whatever energy left after a long drive in the sun.

“What the Fuck ..¬† Is this the way to live? How were you guys living in such a mess?”

The six-feet tall brat and his over worked dad averted their gaze and mumbled something about work, matches, school, time etc.

Something about “No woman around the house” made my blood boil. I picked the line and gave them back with such vengeance that who ever said that ( I am sure¬† it was my hubby) will remember to think again before stereotyping gender roles.

I am not impressed. Although I am not a cleanliness freak but this was too much. I cleared six feet of space to lie down. My body revolting at the touch of the dirty bed but I needed to rest a bit.

After a while I decided to make the dinner. The elder brat had pushed off to buy the daily  grocery as the placed lacked even the usual stuff like cookies etc.

The other men in the house had quickly shoved all the clutter in various ” not easily noticable” places. I ignored and moved on to the bathroom. Maybe a shower will help.

Jesus christ in heaven ..I said , remembering that I was sinning by taking God’s name.

I cursed the lazy lot and cleaned the bathroom, took a shower and entered the kitchen

It seemed freshly scrubbed. The men had decided to bury themselves in newspaper and football highlights. I felt like smashing the idiot box but the love of the game made me check my moves.

After a hard work of exploring the entire kitchen for various ingredients I needed a simple meal of Veg pulao was dished out.

All this time my monologue continued. The master and little devil had lowered the shutters on their ears.

No sooner my elder one returned I poured my heart out to him. The large tears hanging precariously in the corner of my eyes and the tired look helped and I got my first hug of the day.

“Don’t worry matee, all will be well chill maro. ” He said sweetly.

I nodded like a good girl and digged into the sweet, juicy ripe flesh of the mango. Some things are just too good to resist especially in such circumstances.

The night slowly brought the desired calm and I made a mental note of what all I had to do next morning. It included a separate session for all the three junkies.

The next morning revealed hidden treasures. A Box of Pink color Barbie Band-aids ( my FIL’s) ūüėÄ was the biggest find of the day.

The dusky maid  and her magic broom brought out  banana peals, broken hammer, screws of various sizes, dirty smelling socks ( explaining the cause of the strange smell), some hard soiled edible things which resembled alien stuff, broken compass, colors etc .

The latch of my godrej almirah was brutally damaged and broken. The Jr. brat  explained that he needed an ID proof so he had to break open. What all is missing remains a mystery till now.

The worse thing that happened was destruction of the Mayna Nest.

Third time in a row , the beautiful Mayna couple (   permanant residents of our store window) had build a lovely eco friendly nest. Something like a high rise building with green shinn ing leaves at the four corners. It was a beauty and we were early waiting to film and shoot the whole thing but unfortunaely My inlaws removed it at the first sight.

They believe in an old wives tale that Mayna who does a lot of chitter chatter¬† brings bad omen and fights between family members. So the home was wrecked and thrown out. ūüė¶

Today things seem to be under control. The threat of heading back to the comforts of my ma’s place worked beautifully and they have made less mess in the last 48 hours.

The weather has helped immensely to cope up with this devastation. Everything inside the four walls of this house seems to be breathing easy. The trees outside are swaying gently. There is a slight drizzle and the birds are chirping merrily.

The junkie is happy that the issues were resolved without bloodshed all thanks to the football matches and my love for them.

The workaholic is busy working more hours as the hell has its rightful queen.

I am feeling good

and

All izz well in my world :).

Raising Two Boys is not for Weak Hearted


The eerie calm in the house is always indication of some dramatic event ahead. Yesterday was one such day. The city was wrapped in a cover of heat, dust and sand. The humidity was killing. I decided to make a tall glass of lemonade with crushed mint and retire to the coolness of my room with a book.

The maid was happily humming the latest song while struggling with the mud soaked socks of my Beckham. The boys were glued to the Play station and seemed oblivious to the world around them.

I scanned the home one last time cuddled in the bed with the book. After ten minutes The peace was shattered by the cries of “khoon , khoon” (“Blood ,Blood “). I leaped out of my bed and ran out.

The WWE match had come alive in our bedroom and in a state of hyper excitement the two boys had tried the pedigree, STFU, tombstone , RKO, spear etc.. Blood was gushing out from the upper lip and gum of the younger one and the older one was trying his level best to control his emotions.

I gave him a ” you just wait for me” look and went to see what was happening in the kitchen. The bleeding wrestler had managed to clear the mess when I noticed a vampire bite on his chest. “What the F is that ?” I asked perplexed by the red teeth markings .With tear filled eyes he said ,” He bit me “. “What ?” I could not believe my ears. I was loosing it by now .

I screamed at the elder one for being such an animal and drawing blood every time he got a chance. He raged and fumed about my partial behavior and accused me of melting every time there was a fight. I ordered him to zip his lips and tucked the junior in the other room.

My temples were hurting by now. The lemonade forgotten.

The bai was scandalized by the whole scene and kept repeating that all was well. She could not believe that within ten minutes the serene calm house was resembling a battlefield. I told her I had had enough of these brats and how they will be grounded for the next few days, their play station confiscated. She sympathized with me from the bottom of her heart. Another kind of calm was descending in my home. I went to check on the other one. He was standing bare chested in the bathroom inspecting his torso. I told him to turn around and the sight was horrifying. Deep red welt like marks were visible all over. Starting neck downwards. My heart stopped beating. “Are you hurt badly? Does it hurt “? I was at loss of words. I called the retired hurt boy and showed him the marks. Ones again a verbal battle began. It appeared that the junior had tried to chock the elder one and he had to bite in order to get free and breath. He had boxed him in the same process when the strong arms of the younger one had rendered him helpless.

That’s it. I told that the play station along with the WWE CD will be packed for good and some sanctions will be put on both for creating such a havoc in the house. Not one day goes without some such incident. Vacations Suck big time.
One room turned into war zone, a continues never ending supply of ration for the warriors. You call this Life ???

After my soliloquy which hardly anyone was listening to I realized my temples were throbbing again. I told them to stay away from each other or else…

Half an hour passed in silence and then a giggle and a laugh. I wanted to kill. After spoiling my whole afternoon the boys were having a gala time. They requested that the matter should not be reported to dad and all is well in their world. I just looked at them.

What are these guys made of I wondered.

Everyday I discover new stuff, every day I learn new cuss words. Everyday is a new challenge.

Some things I could never understand. They do all the text messaging shitting in the loo. When something is private and personal ( not for dad’s hearing) a SMS will appear in my mobile from the other room. I thought only girls spent hours chatting on the phone ..

” Yes they do” came the reply , ” we listen”.

Sigh!!!

The mobile blinks and vibrates every second with Facebook updates, messages, calls. They lead a busy life.

Most of the days I try to fill their bottomless pits called tummies and still fail miserably. I wonder where all the food goes.

All through the day and night they roam around the house searching for something edible. Anything. From raw tamarind to cheese toasts and pasta.

They never ever tire of eating. Unless you eat your fill the moment something arrives you will never see the sight of it again. Empty wrappers of Biscuits, chocolates, dilapidated bags of wafers and other goodies are recovered daily from under the beds, mattresses, behind the sofas , inside the cupboards and book shelves. It is a tough life. ūüė¶

The innocent faces will stare at you as if you are the culprit.

Vacations always add to the miseries. The days are too long and I feel more sleep deprived than ever.

There are good happy times too but when the six feet tall beasts are unleashed from the depths of their inner it is every mother’s nightmare. Daily I sharpen my claws to be ready for yet another surprise lurking to flung at me.

Lying down emotionally spent and tired at night I pray and hope for a better tomorrow which never comes.