Tempered by fire; will not wilt under the sun

 Mathews was watching a live India-Pakistan match on TV when the power went off. It was just him and his older sister at home and it was already past dinner time. The hall was dark and he was never fond of being in the dark alone. He walked over to the wooden cupboard in the hallway  that was a storage space for all daily paraphernalia from staplers to sketch pens. He scavenged the big box with all the house essentials from band aids to 50 paisa coins and found a thin white wax candle along with the capless Reynold and cello pens. He then made his way to the kitchen and found a match box with just one  match stick left. He realized there was no room for error here. With extreme focus and meticulous hand eye coordination he  carefully lit the match stick, cupped his left hand to protect the flame  and  flawlessly transferred the yellow flame to the black candle wick. He was quite proud of himself; he had managed to stay calm in the face of adversity and accomplished his goal. Now he needed to find a candle stand. Holding the candle in one hand; he went back to the wooden cupboard and was a bit disappointed that there was no candle stand in there. He stared ahead into the emptiness looking for answers  and saw the big black box with the blank screen that he has been entertaining him for last several hours before power went off. This was where his neurons failed him. He was exhausted lighting the candle and the molten  wax had already begun to drip down and mercilessly coat his  fingers. He congratulated himself for finding the perfect impromptu candle stand. He thrust the candle on top of the television and slouched back on the couch to relax. He felt a bit bored after a while and thought he should go upstairs to check on his sister. He went to her room upstairs and settled himself on the wooden rocking chair. As he was updating her on the latest developments in 20-20 world cup series, the power came back. He was about to head back downstairs when he saw the latest edition of Balarama on her study table. His sister had skillfully smuggled it upstairs  early morning so she could  peacefully could read it before her pesky siblings laid hands on it. Mathews returned to his rocking chair again  to devour the Balarama following the systematic order that he had developed through years-  comics first followed by short stories without pictures and finally world trivia meant to improve general knowledge. He skimmed through the pages to find his favorite comic piece; Sutran and Sheru. He then went on to read the rest of the comics Mayavi and Kapish when his sister asked him if he wanted to have Maggi Noodles aka did he want to prepare food for both of them? Both of them finally decided to head  downstairs to the kitchen  to cook noodles together.  They realized something wasn't right when the burnt smell stimulated their olfactory receptors. Their vision was blurred as the stairway was blanketed in clouds of white smoke. The living room looked haunted as the white ceiling  was covered in black splotches of soot. The rectangular black television was now just a big black charred molten lump  bellowing fire. As the two of them were synthesizing all that was happening around them, Amma and Papa returned from their day trip to find the house they had worked hard to build in over two decades almost set to fire. Papa followed his usual carrot and stick approach in teaching Mathews the dangers from using a television as a candle stand. But is arson committed from stupidity really a crime?

Thinking of tiny hands

 I remember you as a tiny bean inside Amma’s belly. In the evening we used to take short strolls in the terrace of our Chevayur home, which was a single storey  house at that time. Deechechi came up with a fun game to guess the baby’s gender. We will knock on the Amma’s pregnant tummy and ask “ Boy or Girl?”  and if you (who was of course super- intelligent to understand the question) kicked once then you were a boy. Deechechi will go first and I will follow suit.

You have well narrated the story of your birth in your own words before; how Amma’s water broke and you swam out like a champion into the new world. I remember overhearing that Amma was taken to Baby Memorial Hospital that day. Anija aunty called that day to ask which Baby Memorial it was (was it the one next to the beach or the other one?). Even though I didn’t know the answer to the question, I confidently said it was the one next to the beach as it sounded more fun. I remember visiting the hospital to see you for the first time. I was more excited to see the doorknobs in the ward; looked very different from the door handles we had home. Ironically, I don’t have a lot of memories of seeing you or holding you that day; but I am sure I cuddled you with loads of hugs and kisses as I was always a dedicated older sister.

Thus, we became a family of five. Pappa’s bullet bike was our family’s official locomotive. It appalls me now picturing all of us sitting tight on that two-seater. I will be sitting in front of Pappa holding tight to the heavy steel lid that closes the fuel tank; Deechechi will be right behind Papa, arms wrapped around his waist and Amma will be behind Deechechi carrying you in her lap and simultaneously balancing her posture holding to the rear handle of the bike. I remember our ride on the bullet to  ‘Photoshop’   for our first family picture as five. You might wonder why I look cross-eyed in the picture. I was trying to look sideways to make sure you were looking at the camera; while looking straight at the same time.

 

Although I was always eager to hold you and carry you around, I was a bit disappointed that Appa and Papa seemed to trust Deechechi more than me (understandably I was only 5 years at that time). Deechechi would carry you around pretending to be a queen (wearing Amma’s vesti half saree; hair tied as a bun to one side). My role in this pretend play was as ‘Poothana’ the ghost who steals the baby from her. Since I was just a ghost, I didn’t need any fancy costumes. I still agreed to participate as stealing the baby meant I could hold you for some time. Deechechi would gracefully walk around singing a lullaby like in movies and finally put you to sleep when I can finally do my part of stealing the baby. However, as Deechechi is the script writer; the play would end right after I steal the baby. Of course, we never played the game after that day since I declined to be Poothana without any incentive.

I wanted you to have things that I didn’t have as a child. One of the items included a pet name. After much contemplation I came up with ‘Ikkilikuttan’ aka  ‘Tickle baby’-( better than the name you had chosen for the mall you were going to  build when you grow up-‘Hernia’). I called you by this name for a couple of days; however, Deechechi once overheard the name and condemned my poor choice. I was discouraged and told myself that you should stay as Mathews.

Having a baby brother means you could be my guinea pig to answer all the science questions that pops up in my inquisitive brain- What happens to a person’s eyes when sleeping? ( Are the eye balls up, down, or do they recede to secret cave inside your brain?). Like every other older sibling, I had to tell you the sad fact that we got you wrapped up in a blanket in the little creek behind our house and you don’t truly belong to our family.  Amma/Papa decided to keep you  only because we had no boys. My heart would swell up with sadistic satisfaction as your eyes welled with tears.

When you started kindergarten, I would rush to the nursery side of Presentation during every break to make sure you were doing ok. You would often burst out in tears and was rightfully nick named as “Kannuneerpainkili”. Being a responsible big sister meant that I had to judiciously scavenge your bag every day for any evidence of low test scores . You became a pro in discovering new hiding places ( I couldn’t use the Hindi answer paper  that I found a year later in our enormous Malayalam dictionary to black mail you).

I would often extensively talk to you about all I have don’t for you as a baby; from cuddling and feeding to changing your diaper and how it was time for you to pay me back for my hard work. You would sincerely bring part of the birthday treats that you get at school as my reward. I was so grateful to have a brother who disliked chocolates and ice creams. I still remember you excitedly running to my 9^th grade classroom with foreign chocolates that Rugbaz had shared with you (they were delicious).

 

I would often hold your little hand close to mine and ask myself “Will these tiny fingers ever grow? It will take ages!”.  You were secretly listening to me and in the last three decades you grew not just long fingers; but also over six feet tall. From pillow/blanket fights to sudoku races (you always won) I have countless warm memories to cherish with you. I feel blessed to have you in my life.

 

PS: This was written as a gratitude exercise on my birthday. What better way to feel grateful than reminisce my childhood memories with you!

Wishing you and Nitha a wonderful and blessed life ahead!                                                                                                                                                                       

 

 

 

 

Spectacles for Good Girls ( G lasses)

 

 

Just like Buddha had his enlightenment, I had a  revelation when I was around 11 years old on how to look smart. I realized all I needed to get that nerdish look and enhance my appearance to the next level was a pair of glasses. I would enviously watch my friends with glasses as they gracefully played with its frame and finely readjusted it during our casual conversations. However, there was one major dilemma- I had absolutely no problems with my vision. Still determined to win my prize, I consulted a few of my bespectacled friends and learned that chronic headaches can be an indication for prescribing glasses. This valuable piece of information awakened the amateur actor in me. I would religiously feign headaches every evening at home. Not only was I close to scoring my goal, Amma also let me go to bed an hour earlier than my usual bedtime. Killing two birds with one stone; I was so proud of myself!

After a couple of weeks of daily headaches, my worried parents scheduled an urgent appointment with an Ophthalmologist. I was excited and nervous realizing I was inching towards my treasure.  Now, I don’t exactly remember how our conversation went; but I did outline a genuine history of a nagging headache that disrupted my life. Also, I demonstrated considerable difficulty in reading some alphabet rows in his vision chart (of course, I was a polished actor by this time). However, to my utter disappointment, his final assessment after the evaluation was that my vision was perfectly fine and all I needed to do was eat vegetables rich in Vitamin A daily to maintain my eyesight. I was in shock; could he deliver such a terrible advice to a little girl who had strong anti-vegetable traits since infancy!

My parents were obviously happy to learn that I had no major health issues. Amma religiously followed the doctor’s advice since then and served me sliced raw carrots every day. Now I hated vegetables in general; but I detested carrot in particular as it always made me feel nauseous. So I would pretend to eat the carrot; but as soon as Amma was out of my sight, I would quickly hide it in the side pocket of a luggage bag kept under my bed for storing old clothes (perfect hiding place in my mind!). I stopped my headache drama immediately so Amma would forget her daily vegetable routine. My yearning to join the bespectacled league waned off soon as well.

Weeks later, one day when I was back home from school, I walked into this strange sight of my parents deep cleaning a familiar luggage bag outside our house (Amma was holding the bag wide open while Papa was ejecting a strong water jet into it with a hose). I innocently enquired what the matter was. Amma told me that they noted a terrible smell in my room and traced its source to the luggage bag. They hypothesized that a house gecko possibly got trapped inside the bag and its rotten remains resulted in the deadly stench. Halleluzah for the narrow escape, I said to myself.

PS 1: The title of the story is a cross word puzzle that always reminds me of this incident!

PS 2: Now that I am older (and wiser) my vision has certainly regressed, and I need to wear glasses every day and hate it! (Simple ironies of life.)

 

Dearborn Days

Apartment moving- Cooking food- organizing stuff- beginning of a new life- waves of change taking me in an unknown direction- scared/nervous/excited and still lazy and disoriented- sums up my life.

First day of the month :-)

Today is June first, beginning of a new month. Time to turn the resolution wheel for the umpteenth time. So I woke up today at 7:00 am which was my target. I made My bed, took bath, prayed, prepared tea for every one and I am now back in my room and it is almost 9:00 am, the time I usually used to get up in the last few months :-)

Hope the energy and motivation lasts forever:-)

Lesson learned - Always follow the recipe

Although I am not a cooking aficionado,  I love virtually gratifying my palate by browsing through the culinary blogs and looking at the captivating pictures of all those gastronomic delights. Also, my favorite TV show during college was MasterChef Australia in Star world, where amateur cooks create marvelous mouth watering dishes that fill me with a strong drive to get into the kitchen and start cooking at the very moment. It was at the peak of the motivation to be an expert in culinary crafts that I created a blog named 'Platter Express' two years ago  to compile all my cooking experiences. As the great chef in the movie 'Ratatoullie' says "Anyone can cook!" then why not me? But, unfortunately I have not taken another step  forward in the direction to fulfill my dream. So, the blog still remains in a state of  hibernation without even a single post to its credit.

As Mummy/Papa left for India two weeks back, the ownership of the kitchen was temporarily transferred to me and it has been my mini-experiment lab for the last few days. The most valuable lesson I learned is never improvise and stream in my naive ideas into the recipe and spoil the dish. I must wait until I learn the basic lessons of cooking,the fine art of  balancing salt,spice and the rest of the ingredients  before I try out my own twists to the recipe. I followed this principle to the very end when I cooked the Kadala curry yesterday. The dish turned out to be  quite okay until towards the end when I got this splendid idea to make the dish even more outstanding. I took the left over Coconut Chutney from the fridge and poured it into the curry. I was strongly convinced  that this would elevate the status of the dish from a mediocre one to something smashing and superior, a Thai-South Indian hybrid, I told myself. Alas,that was the brutal end to a palatable,innocent curry. It tasted really bad, I tried saving it by adding more coriander and chilly powder which unfortunately didn't bring any remarkable change. I  was really hungry as I was planning to have my breakfast after preparing the curry and hence I somehow managed to gulp  it down along with the puttu. The pangs of hunger masked the horrible taste. Today morning the dish landed in the trash because not only did it taste bad, but it also seemed to be spoiled, maybe because of the left over secret ingredient that was added to it in the end.

Lesson reinforced -Always stick to the recipe :-)

A wish list to begin with...

I remember the seven year old me standing in front of the framed photo of  Jesus kept  in the hallway of our home and asking in the politest way possible "Eeshoye,enikku oru apple tharaamo?" (Jesus,Can you please give me an apple?). I was putting to test the novel and most exciting fact I learned at Sunday School that day. Miss.Clara, our Catechism teacher told us that whatever we ask Jesus would be granted to us, under one condition that we do it with utmost belief and sincerity. Now, belief is a tricky thing, she continued to explain, with a story. Once upon a time there was a very old lady who lived alone in her cottage. There was a huge mango tree in front of her house and every morning she would wake up to find her courtyard blanketed by a thick layer of deep-yellow fallen mango leaves. The old lady would  pick up her broom and would begin cleaning the mess, muttering to herself on how unfortunate she was to begin everyday of her life with such a laborious and unpleasant chore. So one fine day she was enlightened, she remembered how Jesus has said in the Bible that even a mountain could be moved from its place if requested faithfully. If a mountain can change positions why can't a mango tree do the same, she thought to herself. So she began praying earnestly to God that the mango tree be moved to the backyard so that she could start her day doing something more enjoyable,maybe sip her morning coffee reading the newspaper sitting on the long arm chair in the verandah. Each day morning she would get out of her bed with great hope, expecting to see the tree having miraculously moved to the backyard. But unfortunately nothing strange or unusual happened. At the end of three days, the old lady lost her hope and became really agitated. She told God "Anyway, I knew that nothing magical was going to happen. But I just wanted to try in case it works!". The moral of the story is when we ask stuff from God it shouldn't be with the attitude the old lady showed, but with full confidence that however improbable it is it would be granted,Miss. Clara concluded.

 I can't imagine why I asked specifically for an apple that day, maybe I decided to use the apple as a starter and later follow it up with my grand demands. But when I asked for it, I would say I had full faith, I expected an apple to pop up from the bare, scarlet, heart of Jesus right into my hands. But then faith is not a quantitatively measurable entity, so I can never tell whether I had enough of it. Anyway, I am now mature enough to understand that apples won't pop out of portraits like from a wending machine.

Is it because we don't have enough faith that our desires sometimes go unfulfilled? I definitely don't think so, although I don't have a logical answer to the question.

I had thought about updating my blog earlier this month on my birthday (when I turned 26, still getting adapted to the transition from 'Chechy' to 'Aunty') with a wish list and a side menu of resolutions needed to fulfill them. But as the genes of procrastination are impregnated in my genome in its extreme malignant form, it didn't happen until today. I get an occasional urge to write down my wish list coupled with revolutionary resolutions. It gives me a transient, false sense of happiness, as if all my dreams have been fulfilled, a virtual journey to the point of  complete accomplishment. The motivation evoked by the resolutions also wanes off in a few days when I am back to my usual lazy self. But for me it is a way to boost up my low spirits, to bring some order and a sense of direction to my disorganized life.

1) To learn swimming by June 2014 before my residency begins.

2) To be half way through the process of learning a foreign language by June 2014 (Spanish being the chosen one right now).

3) To update my blog weekly.

4) To pick up the habit of reading books.

5) To be regular, systematic and organized.

6) To build up a happy family.

7) To be the pediatrician I dream to be.

8) To travel

9) To utilize time productively

Hope the energy drive lasts longer this time :-)