The Silent Warrior

The train was already in the Huballi platform.

It was almost an hour more before the train left for Ahmedabad, they would reach Ahmedabad early next morning at 7am not a bad deal, the afternoon would go in a much needed nap, and then of course the book, by the time the train reached Panel it would be dinner.

Jay and she had the side berths, which were comfortable, and in the compartment beside them was a very shabby looking couple.  With bags and things put in place, Neeru felt very much in control.

Her husband her come to see her off, he ensured that the usual requirement of water, some soft drink and munchables were there, the train chugged out, there was always something very alive about that moment when the train moves out of the station. – A kind of anticipation, a promise of adventure. Neeru liked the rhythm of the train, she liked the freedom of being suspended between two places all anxieties of purpose taken care of for the moment she knew where she was going. Her husband reduced to a tiny speck on the platform walking towards the ramp.

“Mama, I will go up to sleep” Jay declared. Neeru nodded absently setting her bunk arranging the pillow given by the railway, meticulously covering it with a bed sheet of her own. She settled down for her nap.

She gave cursory look at the couple in the next compartment, very traditional looking couple probably in their late fifties, typical Rajasthani married before the hormones could kick in, and kids the minute they did. Neeru had an impatient disdain to the crowd. With them was a younger couple, who got off the train as the train moved.

“Roti hai aap loge,” the woman asked, politely Neeru refused.

The train reached Gadag, when another young couple entered, touched the feet of this couple, gave them some bags that obviously had food, left a 5yr. Old with this couple, the boy had a back pack with toys in it.

“Daadi aur Naani ko thang mat karna” the mother instructed.

“Amma, school se kuch likhne ko diya hai likhwadena.” The girl was telling the older lady about work that the school had given, Neeru found it amusing, and what would this uneducated woman teach the kid. She hid her smirk… “tu chinta na kar, mein karwadoongi” the older lady was reassuring the younger one and advising her that with the kid gone she and husband should find time for each other,”Bahu, picture-victure le ja” she was instructing the man, Neeru figured that it was the son and daughter-in- law. The train moved out.

The woman, whom Neeru had mentally labelled “guggu” the Kannada word for a muff, was trying to make conversation.  Neeru side stepped it neatly by taking a nap.

Later when the tea vendor came in, the couple bought tea, they hosted one for Neeru too.

The man then went up for his nap.

“Hindi?” the woman asked Neeru checking if she could follow Hindi.

“Haan.”

“Kannada,”

“Haan,”

“Mumbai?”

“Naa Ahmedabad… aap” Neeru replied having no way out,

“Bikaner.” The women seem to relax for while and Neeru dived right into her book. The Tea vendor turned up again, the lady looked at him and declared

”aap bakwaas chai banate ho,”   the vendor took her criticising the tea he sold in his stride and gave her a cheeky smile.

Neeru picked up two disposable glasses, cut up a premix sachet of tea added hot water and gave one cup to the Lady, the lady was very impressed. She immediately wanted to know where it was available and that it was a good idea to carry these sachets. All you had to do was add hot water.

She pulled out a small bag with strings that looked like the battered purse that Marcinabhai the vegetable vendor would carry and pulled out a mobile, Neeru wondered who this woman would call.

“Woh packet zara dikhayenge” she asked wanting to look at the sachet, she then clicked a picture, explaining to Neeru that it would be easy to go the shopkeeper and show him what she wanted.

After a while the Guggu tried again,

“Aap dakshin ke ho?”

Neeru accepted that she was from the south, the lady then unfolded her saga.

That she had got married at the age of thirteen because it was their tradition, and she knew no better. By twenty she had four children. When it came to her older daughter, the girl got married as per the tradition at thirteen, but was sent to her in-laws place when she was fifteen after she had matured physiologically.

The daughter’s in-law ‘s were in Gangavati to Neeru was backwaters, but to Guggu it was opening of new vista’s she was amazed that girls of her daughter’s age went to school studied and were not married. She saw the tremendous respect that economic independence gave the girls.

She said she had to manipulate things so that her older son went to Gangavati, she then created a pretext that he was finding it difficult so she had to shift to Gangavati to keep house for him. The next thing was the younger kids would find it difficult to fend for them so she got them down to Gangavati too… while her husband travelled between

“Naanu ree, maaglu school bheji.” She declared with a sense of achievement, she had got her daughter to school. Of course the community was quite displeased that she was not getting her kids married at the right time, her in-laws were worried that if the kids were educated it would be difficult to find spouses for them. But Guggu stuck to her guns.

When the older son was to get married she told her future daughter-in-law you study whatever you want to study, I will tend the house for you. She told her younger daughter-in-law the same.

She told her daughter-in-law and daughter that have one account for yourself and put aside some of your earnings. She says the older daughter had felt very bad that she was not educated.

“naanure,masternige keli, avaru heli, tappal school madidlu noodi.’ That was an interesting way of summing, tappal is the kannada dialect for post, so what this lady did was she asked the local teacher who suggested correspondence course, the daughter would visit the mother each afternoon study for two hours, then pick her kid up and return to her in-laws. The girl completed a diploma in nursery teaching and teaches a nearby school. Older daughter-in-law is physiotherapy technician, the older son works for the govt, after completing diploma in electrical engineering, the younger daughter is certified nurse, so is the younger daughter-in-law while the younger son has a diploma in civil engineering and he works for the government too.

The family also helps in the furniture outlet that Guggu’s husband had set up.

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Now she was travelling to Bikaner to their family house. The lady had spoken to someone who would come in everyday for an hour and ensure that the grandson’s school work was done.

Walking in Guggu’s shoes humbled Neeru, so much we take for granted people have to struggle for,

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

 

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Serious Blogging? What do ya think?

#SeriousBlogging

Why do you blog?
A: Partly to make Butterflies and Wheels more frequently updated and more interactive (as well as that bit more interesting, I hope), but also because I think the world des-perately needs to hear my opinions, and I like to oblige.”
― Ophelia Benson

Has blogging reduced to meaningless activity? That’s for you to answer. For me my blogs are conversation with unknown person at a chaikhana.

Can bloggers make significant contribution to the society dealing with significant issues seriously?

What is a blog in the first place – a written material published on the web. If it is a verb then the action that creates the blog is also a blog while the person indulging in the activity is a blogger.

Why do most of us blog? Lets be honest we are doling out answers people don’t want to hear to questions they didn’t ask. Most of us advertise our opinion, some of us flaunt our language skills, what ever. Many of us who have voices and concerns that we would like to voice, but are reluctant to approach a publisher for whatever reasons, so blogs come to our rescue. Then are people who want information, then there are exhibitionists.

Each of us as bloggers are only as effective as our reader outreach.  Of course some of them in turn may have a greater range of influence. But as of now we just accept what www.Klout.com gives us just in case we are interested. Our readers connect to us depending on what they perceive as our credibility. If we are perceived as sincere despite the fact that people may disagree, our thoughts and our opinions get acknowledged, that in itself is a great achievement. Whether we can bring about a revolution ….I doubt… a change possibly. Just this morning I read Sucheta Dalal’s blog and took an appointment with my bank manager as I needed some answers.

What we write, is our choice, we can do it in all sincerity, with all conviction, its outcome depends on the reader and the attitude of the reader if the person is the kind to take to action they would, if the person is an armchair revolutionary then it would trigger debates, if you make someone uncomfortable, they could pelt stones at you, and if the person is an armchair delinquent then welcome to the world of internet trolling.

There are people who take on video-blogging, or podcasting, there are people who are working with language on the brink of extinction, to revive it they of course opt of Vblog or YouTube. If you are looking at the immediate revolution brewing in the backyard forget it, yes but we do influence people to an extent again instead of. Our arms circle, this time round we don’t know who we are influencing.

Well Tomichan Matheikal, it looks like you are bringing me back to introspection, and questioning. Thank You.

This blog is written for the 162nd Edition of Indispire.

Cinders.

Burning of Holika… happened when Hiranyankashapu wanted to destroy his son Prahalada the old wives give it a simple good wins over evil hue. There are people who give it profound philosophical depth about burning the negatives within us, and going to the “morally superior” plane. To the sceptic in me it occurs, that okay we collect all the winter dry debris and burn it, garbage gone, dull and dried out… and welcome spring which is all about procreation and energy.

After recovering from 40% burns, through sheer willpower and grit, reference to three things I would like to burn seems like flagging a red cape before the bull. But maybe so, because the colour red exciting the bull is all bullshit..

Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, palak paneer in the pot nine days old… the young shop assistant looks at me aghast …I possibly could not confess that i left this cooker on a burning stove and went out to the market!!

Hey interesting isn’t it when stove burns it contains the fire; it uses fuel, gives out heat, that is another usage of the word burns. I definitely think twice something that consumes fuel and gives off heat… after all resources are not squandered. .

Burn is also combustion… like the engines of various vehicles, well would I want to do that I do not have the technical knowhow, and having dealt with my own personal spontaneous combustion I think I rather give it a skip,  think about this lingering bottled up anger… it never reveals the true colours of an individual then it slowly gets all mixed up, rotten, confused, and becomes, very volatile unstable and combustible then one small ignition and boom the explosion occurs totally foreign and different to the natural self… yes we definitely skip it.

When the stove burns it contains the fire, this helps to cook, to keep warm whatever, we are all born with the fire within us, do,  should we contain it like the stove or do we let it out free for all… containing it would mean experiencing discomfort like burning with jealousy, shame or whatever we choose to call the cinders, or we could burn with ambition, give it fuel, let the light and heat out and accelerate to action, so that the human doing will manifest as the powerful human being.

It’s okay  if the burn down as occurred like a burnt down houses, it’s not a burn sentence on an electric chair, one can rise from the ashes like the phoenix and fly to different vista’s at different altitudes.

The Kabala has a beautiful philosophy, which is each week comes with its own unique opportunities for transformation. When we do connect with the energy of the week then we transformed, we are empowered and the major shift occurs. Maybe the belief that transformation happens when we are ready for it has been burnt too deep into me, so I think this musing over three things which would burn… flags the connect. However the bottom line, things I would burn

  • The stove to cook the food that nourishes.
  • Incense that cleanses and takes the staleness away.
  • Body fat to make myself more aesthetic.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

 

 

Life Sentenced

Describing my in 10 sentences….

Just a minute I need to contact my junior Jeevan Rego who was asked to write five sentences on his mother in the 2nd standard here is what he wrote with the numbers in place.

  • My mother is my mother her name is Amma.
  • My mother is also my brother Santosh’s mother.
  • My mother is very pretty and she has many sarees.
  • My mother is studying in fislogy (physiology for you and me) department.
  • Then my mother married my father.

This was shared by our teacher. As for my life, I have been writing… stories since the age of five,as most people could not comprehend my spelling I earned first academic gold star.. it was in story telling… what I did before that i am clueless but I like to pass it off as research. During my teenage years appropriately educated by the Marx and Groucho’s I went about life,rather purposefully looking for the leak in the gas pipe with a lighted candle.

My sainted aunt the ryder is story  in 10 sentences… do I pronounce a judgement on the criminal activities I have done like hanging a picture or killing time or massacring language…I think I will stick to the conclusions I have come to after deliberately not deliberating…  the story of my life in ten sentences as decreed

  1. I was born on the precise date I was to parents who loved me.
  2. I am not dead, so I can have my coffee in peace.
  3. Physiologically a little fatigued but fit and fine… no sentences of hypertension, or diabetes as yet.
  4. . well a little unstable fond of adventures sentenced to periodic evaluation by Sir Roderick Glossop.
  5. Pathology hidden sentenced to excavation.
  6. Socially contradictory has the potential to absolutely crazy if the right catalyst present but by and large tends to be a wet blanket…sentenced to a ten minutes happiness tracking therapy every day.
  7. Spiritually uplifted… with steady feni flow.
  8. Intellectually challenged by the constant company of Lord Emworth’s sister I have just enough intelligence to open mouth when I have to eat.
  9. Everything I like and is fun to do is immoral, illegal or just fattening.
  10. Once I thought I heard the call of love, fortunately for me, it was the wrong number.

PS    i am not always good and noble, but since I am the hero of this piece , I get to hide my off moments.

Now that the sentences have been delivered, after conclusions drawn… Merriam Webster has the third interpretation for the word sentence – which I think is obscenely tedious any way let me share it –as sentencea word , clause, or phrase or group of clauses or phrases forming a syntactic unit which expresses an assertataion, a question, a command, a wish, an exclamation, or the performance of an action, that in writing usually begins with a capital letter and includes with appropriate end punctuations and in speaking is distinguished by characteristic patters of stress, pitch and pauses.

‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

 

With Thanks to 2016

Dear Universe,

Looking Back on 2016 thank you for a wonderful year that I had.

This is one of the most disliked topics I have, it actually reminds of our clinical pathology posting, where we have to do stool examination. Essentially that is what the past is about, experienced digested, some assimilated and some thrown out. Part it we forcefully hold on to, through photographs and memorabilia.

The past could be beautiful or painful, but it is done finished and gone, it is like a ruin. I have been visiting lot of these ruins through in clinic, not mine but others. This time round I decided to let flow.

I loved travel, and 2016, was definitely an year of travel, Jamnagar, Hyderabad, Bangalore, Kolad, Kocchi, Delhi, Bombay  modes of travel differed too, road trips, bus travel, train travel flight travel. I discovered that the Delhi airport was the dirtiest, and the most lax when it came security. I discovered food on tracks which was great fun. People, culture food everything was great. I also learnt at the end of the day I needed by Mosaranna. (Curd rice)

Kolad and Karwar outdoors really brought home the fact that I was quite fond of outdoor physical activity needed to connect to that side of me.

By and large I do not look back, as I do not intend going that way. So 2016 I just decided to write a gratitude journal, instead of journaling and writing morning pages. With the morning pages I realized how much I was clinging to the past, with journaling and the gratitude journal brought a whole shift.

I really had a lot to thank for, wonderful daughters who actually my spirit guardians, the insights they give and the support they give me is amazing. A supermom, who backs me. Friends who stand by me unconditionally.

2016 also put  Jan Sky Mehak Sethi and Vandana Shah into space. Vandana particularly it was as if the universe told me, enough of this “abla naari syndrome” pick butt and move on. Conversation with Vandana was like; okay we all have similar narratives, it is mandatory to be us, the person who we were meant to be. I am reminded of Indu Sundaresan’s epithet of Jahanara… she did not rebel, or fight the system. She was a woman and she achieved all that she had despite the restriction of the zananna she just grew, beyond it, despite being rooted deeply within.

The final epiphany for 2016 was the demonetization. Not to be judgemental… somewhere we got so caught up with the problem we didn’t share solutions. Yes, it is a bad move, inconsiderate, deep down I do think it is a diversion tactic. But when we worked from the space of scarcity we landed with lack.

2016 has also been a great year of personalization, with my Friend Sadhana helping me with reinventing my wardrobe, to make me look and feel good, Zivame consultation of lifestyle, body structure and picking up clothing, or Tea-box  counselling me to the kind of tea that is customized for my taste. Finally having the courage to get my personalized domain. The biggest surprise was my daughter analyzing fragrances and helping me to choose the appropriate one.

At the end of the year, 2016 has been about adventures, and discoveries, be it the Free Money Day, the Rafting at Kolad, the event presentation at Kocchi(which was disastrous) experimenting with Bhuta kola for Hayavadhana  each has been great.

 

 ‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

 

 

 

 

Growing up with Santa

I wonder if Santa will remember me this year, I am adult to receive gifts, and kids have left home.

November 27th the beginning of advent, this year the feeling of advent was different, there was a huge emptiness. Call it the empty nest; suddenly carol singing and Santa Claus seem too dropped out of the radar.

Despite of being a small town Udupi in a very conservative family my mother had made us believe in Easter bunny, and tooth fairy, of Santa Claus was a community affair, a way of declaring that we were progressive… but since we were children we only appreciated Santa and lot of energy he brought. It is funny the things we get our children to believe, first Santa a magic mythical person who performed the improbable that is handing gifts round the world, then the Easter bunny, from magic we go animal, the reward from toys become chocolate, then as the milk teeth drop we bring in the gossamer winged tooth fairy and reward the child with a coin…asking the child to believe in the currency of the land. Of course in today’s scenario it might dicey.

I realized one really does not out grow Santa…when my daughters were born, we had a mothers group we kept an advent calendar from the onset of advent we put in small gifts for the child till Nativity. Then of course on Christmas Eve Santa visited the houses and gave the kids their goodies. We had the local courier boy help us out. But the excitement the joy we got in putting this whole act together was just as much as it was for kids receiving goodies from Santa.

At the end of the that is what is what Santa is all about, to remind us that it okay to laugh and sing. It is okay to celebrate… there are things we can celebrate each day no matter where we are and how we are it is not the plum cake that he brings or the new hoodie Santa to me is about appreciating little things in everyday life, and celebrating it.

I know a group of lonely women, some divorced, some widowed some for some reason who did not fall into the box, they are a sorority and what they did was each put in a gift for the others and had Santa deliver it to them, it was not just gift, the gift had to be appreciating a specific quality, like when I put in a gift to my friend sunita I say, this is for sunita for being the unconditional support she is to her friends. Whatever, so that is what Santa is about, about appreciation, about acknowledgement,

From being the person who handed out the merit cards, to being my partner in crime in dealing with my kids, Santa has evolved with me, but now I wonder maybe he will forget me, or maybe he will re-invent himself and I won’t recognize him …Well there is only one way to know… let me put my stockings out.

‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

Call for my Wishes three

Old king cole

Was a merry old soul

And a merry old soul was he

He called for his pipe and he for his flute

And he called for his wishes three

“Wish on everything. Pink cars are good, especially old ones. And stars of course, first stars and shooting stars. Planes will do if they are the first light in the sky and look like stars. Wish in tunnels, holding your breath and lifting your feet off the ground. Birthday candles. Baby teeth.”
― Francesca Lia Block

The magic of three, the wishes from a genie to Aladdin or any fairy tale. The magic number emerges here.  The intention that I set out with is to state my three wishes ,that is so simple… chocolate…chocolate and more chocolate yet I realize this transitive verb has greater scope, and I needed to ponder

Am I expressing my deep desires to the universe am giving something way to someone.. By wishing them well on some occasion or the other,

or am I wishing someone or something away?

Or am I creating an order form called a wish list… What is that I am looking at? – just take a deep breath, as you exhale ensure your shoulders relax, take a deep breath as you exhale ensure your limbs relax, now take a deep breath and breathe out through your eyelids, letting the muscles between your brows relax, now that you are centered just travelled back and relieve the excitement of crossing your finger and wishing desperately for something and when your wish is granted the exhilaration that follows.

  • Can you remember your sitting out in the open during the night and falling star and how we wished on it.
  • The eyelash that dropped on the cheek, is believed to have the power of translating a wish to reality.

Today when I think back it more about getting connected to the universe and placing a request, actually making a wish is like a prayer to the universe without fixing the energy exchange and the universe indulges.

Let’s look at the wishes…knowing fully  Que sara sara… what will be will be…

My three wishes, on top of the head a quiet evening, a bottle of wine and a good friend to dine with.

Three wishes to give away — peace, harmony and wisdom.

I wish away – this is a tough one I have head-ache, running nose, and period cramps on one hand and  Arnab Goswami, “ubiquitous nighty” and draconian teachers on the other, I guess I shall stick to the first three they are personal pangas. Actually the shoppers in the ubiquitous “housecoat/nightgown” are quite dangerous, they trigger nightmares and nightmares disturb sleep which in turn causes a sleep debt which in turn causes anger issues. On the other hand Arnab Goswami triggers a depression as for the draconian teachers they adorn the monster hall of fame.

My wish-list – chocolates, books and a hunky guy who is not gay.

Let’s be honest,  to be truly happy what one could wish for in this world, is something to do, someone to love and something to hope.

‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

 

 

 

 

Good Job Done

My first Job,

When I saw the prompt my response was to write about my stint as teacher at the nursery school, when I was all of seventeen. But as usual, thought I should look up the dictionary to see what exactly the word meant… we talk of a Shilpa Shetty and her nose job, we talk of Job’s trail, we talk of Jobbing between semesters and so many things,  so here is what the Merriam-Webster has to say about Job

That Job is a  piece of work, especially small taken on order on which work is done….In that case my first job would be drying the papads, made by grand-mom, out in the sun with remuneration being zilch and the president awarded himself…in this case yours sincerely a papad popped into my mouth when I thought no one was seeing.

Then there is the context of something done for a private advantage… usually a criminal enterprise that could be damaging or destructive bit of work… well I guess some things better kept under wraps we shall not confess about the stolen gulab jamoons or the pepper in Aunt Agatha’s curry.

Then there are undertakings that require unusual exertion with a regular remuneration This is rather interesting, I had finished my 12th standard and was awaiting the opening of the medical college there was a good 4 months gap between the two.  When the campus decided to start a nursery school within the campus so that it would be convenient for everyone. As the school was new, and funds were low there were two teachers for a group of forty kids and they needed teacher helpers, here I was sitting at home, and I volunteered.

The kids thought it was rather fun, to have a teacher who wore skirts as those days teachers draped saree’s formal wear or wear to work was never the ubiquitous salwar-kameez that the Indian woman wears from the bathroom to the ballroom, but it the era of the Kota and Organdie saree’s. it was also the era of tied hair, so had a high ponytail like Veronica and Betty from the Archies.

The day would begin at 9 am and the kids would be all over after all they were preschoolers someone would howl, the other would decide to climb the window, one kid found the washing machine interesting, she would dump everything she found into the washing machine and command,”Washy-Washy”.

Part of the job was to teach them song and dance… the same Mary had a little lamb and god knows what, until a Oriya teacher joined in, she told the teacher in charge, since you are teaching them English, let the kids have a variety  I shall tell teach them Oriya songs and tell them stories from Oriya folklore.

That was the time I realized that the children’s rhymes and the folk stories were the knowledge imparting tools of civilization.

The four months were amazing and exhausting all for a princely amount of  500/Rs. In today’s scenario my remuneration would have no value because 500/- is demonetized!!

 

‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’

 

Adventure Takes the cake

Early years of my life were in a joint family then we shifted to a medical college campus which was extended family. Manipal more or less still works on the same principle. Everyone knows everyone still worse anyone’s business is everyone’s business. Privacy was an unheard of word except in the dictionary. Mind you all in the guise of being concerned well wishers.

It is not really as bad as I make it out we had great adventures sometimes I wish these kids could have an adventure like that. Stealing mangoes, swimming in the river when parents were napping, peeking to the “adult books” were minor thrills.  There were slightly more injurious ones little setting the crackers off at Rama teacher’s class, or running the tape recorder at M.R.Bhat class this were a little more risky as it meant if we were caught then sitting down with pain would a matter of history.

There were also some community learning which we had, like one day we decided to bake a cake… I think we started off with marble cake and then shifted to sponge cake and eventually we were willing to settle for whatever emerged. Now baking a cake was a delicate operation as it meant there would be hovering eye of the cook, or the mother even if did circumvent these hurdles there was the maid next door and the auntie across the road all lurking as potential threats.

But when we only had to take a decision and universe would deliver it, Nirmala’s house was the last one in the enclave, she had no neighbours, the auntie in front was recluse, and the maid in her house was a willing accomplice and this particular instance she was out of town, oh! Yes her mother was a gynaecologist that meant she was busy too. Somehow we did not consider the Fathers as threat.

Anyway we got the recipe down, we were to use 2 cups of flour if I am not mistaken we did pick up the two cups, recipe said all purpose flour, and this was the flour that Nirmala’s cook Rajamma used to make chapatti’s, puries  and she also dumped into the dosa batter if the batter got too thin, so we knew we were on the right track.

Then there was egg to be added 3- egg whites to whisk. We cracked the eggs which all over expertise that we were cracking the eggs for the first time, we managed to spread the egg in uniform quantity into the mixing bowl, the kitchen platform and the floor, now came the sugar, we ran out sugar so we decided to add Jaggery, the baking powder had to be added and the recipe said 1 ½ tsp. We looked around and found this nice clean spoon which was quite okay, as it was the soup spoon… we added 1 and a ½ teaspoon of the baking powder we had forgotten to pre heat the oven so we decided we will leave the cake in the oven and let cook for twenty minutes longer.

Just as we were jubilantly taking out the cake which was still beautifully three layered, brown, charred on top, the crisp edible middle and gooey, uncooked centre, still with all excitement we were on the verge of checking out, and the door bell buzzed, in walked Rajamma, one look at the kitchen our rear end had the forbearing of a future where there was would gross inability to sit on a surface that had no cushion.

Our offence other than messing up the kitchen, well, we had used up the wheat flour and not Maida… the wheat flour incidentally salted. The egg had not only got on the floor, and kitchen platform it had also invaded the jaggery container. The oven well it had become so involved with the cake baking that it burnt itself in the process not to mention the three days worth of dishwashing that we had created.

Fortunately our rear end was not abused, but we were made to take baking classes for the next three months every Saturday at Auntie Amla’s house…Auntie Amla by the way is the inspiration for Miss Sourface.

this post is a part of the write over weekend intiative for indian bloggers by BlogAdda.

Imaginem Terribilis

I remember this particular Asterix comic where the fearless Vikings on a world rampage to discover the meaning of fear, they kidnap Justforkix the son the a Gaul chief, so off go our gallant Gaul’s Asterix and Obelix to rescue him. But the Vikings are reluctant to release him, until they learn the meaning of fear so that they can conqueror it. this definitely needed to fixed so in comes Getafix the druid who calls for Cacophonix the bard and suggests that Cacophonix sings for the Vikings as the bard begins his ballad, the Vikings eyes get glazed, their knees shake and they are inspired to run, Getafix tells them that now they were experiencing fear. To this profound experience add an involuntary vibration of the vocal cords, you can call it whimpering, I call it the Oculo-phonic connect, and the entire manifestation in me is me morphing as Image-a-fearsome.
The transformation to Imagafearsoma comes with its own incantations, and visual offering, like the needle…no not the needle pulling thread kind, this is the kind that comes with a syringe and it threatens to penetrate the skin and enter the subcutaneous region…can you imagine how profoundly moving the scenario is think of the possibilities the needle could snap then it will flow through the venous blood till it reaches the appropriate Atria and somewhere between the journey from the Atria to the ventricle it embeds itself into the muscles of the heart…. and this minute piercing could kill you do you understand the danger of it all it infinitely more dangerous than crossing the road at peak hour. The only way to overcome this is to master the needle so here I am a surgeon now I get to wield the syringe.
Some minor triggers also help the manifestation of Imagafearsoma… like the epidural injection, well that easily overcome, not my circus not my monkey the anaesthetic worries about it.
Another popular invocation for Imagafearsoma is called the Writebyrotalis… who is goes by the popular name examinaxuns.. is identified by the need to commit everything to memory and write in out on the papyrus sheets without using back-up information. When this particular invocation is used then Imagafearsoma appears with an challenged intestine and hypothermia next exams when your body turns cold you know who you have invited… there is no known strategy to overcome this except quit college.
There are also not so powerful invocations, like the loud noise from behind the door, the oncoming drunken driver so on so forth… here is what I tell myself each time, I must not fear, fear is the mind killer.. fear is little death that brings total obliteration, I will face my fear… I will permit it to pass over me and through me…when it has gone I shall trace its path with my inner… and walk right in the opposite direction.
The most effective incantation again fear that I have heard is from JK Rowlings while facing Boggart which is actually the fear of fear turn towards it and say…”Ridikulus.”
‘This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.’
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