Is that an angel?

I have five friends who had babies last year. And they are unanimous in their verdict: our kids play us from the moment they are born. It’s often very difficult to admit that our beautiful angels could be unintentionally but cleverly manipulating our responses well before they can speak. But it’s true, isn’t it?  

They live in our arms during their waking hours and have all the time in the world to observe what makes us tick. On the other hand, we are usually too busy tending to their every need to notice that observant gaze following us and deciphering us.

So what happens when we drop whatever it is at hand and just settle back on that couch and stare back into those surprised and delighted eyes? Do we see that we truly are their best friend? The one person on earth who’ll understand their every cry and every sigh?

As they grow older, it gets better in so many ways as they discover new ways to communicate with us – drool-filled giggles to show they love being tickled, curious eyes widening in amazement at the sight of something new, frowning in concentration trying to understand the advantages of potty training, or even that vehement shake of the head when you try to convince them that greens are good.

All of us would agree that parenthood has taught us heaps. But where does this enlightenment come from? From parents? From friends and siblings? From colleagues? From the pediatrician? From sympathetic strangers watching you trying to get a grip on your rambunctious three year old?

It took me almost five years to get the basics right: to just pause and listen to that small voice amid all that mayhem in my head. But when I see that gleam of happiness when she knows she has my attention, not because she’s been naughty but just because she asked for it, it makes me wish I’d listened sooner.

What keeps you safe?

Every time news of a woman gone missing comes up, my mother and sister never miss the opportunity to point out the importance of locking up carefully at night, never using a cab service alone, and of course, getting home well ahead of the setting sun. I agree with all of the above. But is that enough to keep us safe?

Yes, I feel safe when I’m home or out with my husband, but what happens when I do have to travel alone or use a public transport system in a new city? What keeps me safe there?

I love every city I have visited in India. Everywhere I’ve been, I’ve encountered helpful strangers and have rarely come across rude and outright obnoxious people. But when you read about a crime against a woman, you always wonder where all those helpful strangers were in her story. Did her plight make people look the other way? Was there something utterly malicious and ‘run like hell’ about the villains in her story? Or was it a simple lack of chivalry?

Perhaps chivalry is not the right word. I mean, we as women have a duty to our own kind as well! So maybe the word I’m looking for is graciousness. Do we take the time to make sure our colleague is not left alone in a cab when she gets home late at night, especially if she lives alone? If a woman is travelling alone, do we have a word with her to make sure she is opting for the safest source of transport from the train station or airport? Or if, barring all that, something doesn’t seem right, do we make note of a vehicle number and report it?

I haven’t done any of the above. But it is a stab through the heart to hear of every instance when a woman has been traumatised. And when I think about it, I realise that picking up the newspaper and reading about death sentences for the miscreants is not as fulfilling as it should be. The need to be part of a culture that would be gallant and gracious towards women is much more compelling than that. 

Resolutions, resolutions, resolutions

We've welcomed another new year with just as much enthusiasm and hope as the years before. One of the mandatory fields to be addressed while wishing someone includes: so what are your resolutions for the year? One of my friends, a guy might I add, had a very interesting reply – to carry lunch from home.

I don’t know how the rest of the world functions, but in almost all the homes I know, that’s more of a resolution for the lady of the house than for hubby dearest who tirelessly ‘carries’ lunch from home! God forbid if the weight of that task is too much, my husband constantly manages to lose a good many of my Tupperware to boot!

So if you thought you were the only one being hounded with a lunch service at 6 am, don’t be afraid, you are not alone. Yes, we love our husbands and want them to eat healthy, home cooked meals. And while some of us can hop onboard the cooking express and manage a commendable breakfast and lunch in no time, it does feel like a Houdini act for the rest of us.

Let’s not forget that this is Indian cooking we are talking about. I remember feeling extremely guilty thinking that – I mean, after all I am a born and bred south Indian, so what else am I going to cook? Until the discussion came up with friends, and one brave soul volunteered softly, “But Indian food is so diffi-”. Let’s just say at this point, my friend had a lot of company.

My husband has an excellent sense of humour about the whole affair. In fact, he hardly has to say anything at all sometimes before I burst out laughing. To give you a visual: I’m busy pulling leftovers out of the refrigerator for his lunch when we hear the shrill whistle of a neighbour’s cooker in the wee hours. He pauses and with a resigned sigh looks longingly at the only thing on our four burner - a lonely pan of milk, which, to be fair to him, he boiled!

Alright, so establishing that balance between work, home, children and food can be a daunting task in any year. Wait a minute, perhaps I should call it a juggling act rather than balance! But unless those juggling pins are in the air, we just don’t know what we are capable of, do we?

Who’s your macho man?

Who’s your macho man?

Now if you are thinking big and strapping, I want you to stop right there. You know as well as I do there’s not enough of that to go around! So while my guy is dark and handsome in his own way, he’s certainly not one any Bangalorean would look at twice – he’s the stray mutt who seems to have taken his place as a quiet sentinel at our apartment gates.

With the city ‘expanding its boundaries,’ we live in a quiet stretch of road that was once notorious for ‘silent crimes.’ With this piece of background, you probably understand why our voluntary hero is much appreciated. But for those of you who could never understand the fuss over dogs and for those to whom Bangalore strays have always been bullying barbarians, what can I say? You don’t know him like I do? 

And I’m kind of right. If our first meeting was anything to go by, he should have never bothered with me either. But he gave me a second chance, and I owe him as much too. Seven am is not my favourite time of the day. However, since my daughter’s school and transport facility haven’t really paid attention to that, her bus pulls into a spot opposite to our gates around then and my daughter and I trudge shivering and sleepy across the road.

Again, given the early hour, I didn't appreciate the exuberant tail wagging and colliding into my heels the morning we first met. So after a couple of angry ‘shoos’, I got across the road with my daughter safely tucked into my arms. After I waved her off, I turned to find him a few yards away from me. He had decided that my angry rebuff wasn't reason enough for him to not escort me across the road! And he kept his distance too: he had a very ‘I’m going about my responsibilities immaterial of your attitude’ look as he walked me back to our apartment gates, still a safe distance away. For the first time I noticed that he had a pronounced limp as well, but that made him look more jaunty than anything else!

I waited to see if he felt the same way about us over the next few days. And he really has been a gentleman, getting up stretching himself out and escorting us across the road every time my daughter and I step outside our gates.

So, yes, we've come to love our macho man and I’m glad he didn't give up on me because he makes me feel better on a cold morning than a hot cup of anything!