How a simple act of baking has brought my family closer

We are well into the new year now and the festive air of the last few days has still not crept out. Perhaps it has been frozen to its feet by the austere treatment the cold has decided to mete out to us this year! Celebrations and parties still abound and with that come those sweet delicacies and desserts, handsomely propped up on the dinner table deviously mocking the hour-long workout I had that same morning. And then I hear my inner ‘divine’ self telling my outer ‘ravenous’ self- “just this once, just this once!” If a tiger tasted blood, I’m sure he would have the same predicament as me right now. I think of it as fait accompli and dig into my next bit of a decadent chocolate truffle cake.

As I munch and crunch through the cake, I can feel my thoughts meandering into my own childhood- into my mother’s kitchen, always smelling of something delicious. Beautifully kept, clean and organized- everything labelled and never moved from its place. The permanence of fixtures included our Labrador ‘Lancer’ who was found perennially parked at the door to the kitchen since he, with his usually muddy feet and perpetually drooling mouth, wasn’t allowed inside.

I wasn’t the nice child who helped her Mom with her cooking. I disliked it to say the least (I would still have someone cook for me if I could!). But baking! That is another story. If my mother, Mummy as we call her, can make finger licking food, she can make fanciful and scrumptious desserts and cakes that can catapult you into food heaven. I do not remember a single birthday where she did not bake a cake for us herself- no matter how preposterous the demand. Trains, butterflies, robots - if we wanted it, she made it.

Baking in India back in the 80’s was probably not as convenient as it is today. Everything was not easily available, especially in smaller towns. I remember Mummy getting her cake tins especially made from a welder and using plastic milk bags for icing! And the Indian summer. Oh! The cream would never fluff up because it was so hot, and she would have to put her bowls on ice cubes the entire time, just to keep the cream cold so it would whip.

Maybe watching my mother weave this magic with her ingredients is what made me fall in love with baking too. Spending cold winter mornings reading recipes together, measuring the flour and the sugar, adding just the right hint of vanilla, whisking the cream just to that perfect consistency (my mother ever so particular about the ‘peaks’ that whisked cream should make), adding a bit of this and a bit of that and carelessly eyeballing the chocolate because we loved it so much are the happiest memories of my childhood.

The most riveting thing about pleasant childhood memories is how we pass the experiences on, inadvertently or otherwise to our own children. Legacies are not made by instruction or are not intended to be made so. There is no manual. They are welded together by families doing what they love. Where there is love, there will be memories.

I’m no different. To get my children together, all at one go, the only thing I need to say is- ‘who wants to bake a cake today!’ and they come running down to the kitchen fighting over who will do what! The heated debate almost reminds me of the scramble for colonies by the European powers in the 19^th century, all wanting their own share of the riches.

There is a thrill in this madness though. Between fights over whose turn it is to mix and the spills that ensue to the umpteen ‘is it ready, yet?’ impatient tastings of the raw batter, there are memories that are slowly cajoling themselves into our home and right there, I know I have what I will remember most when I am with one leg in my grave.

Cake making may be an industry by itself now where it is now fashionable to spend big bucks on elaborate and huge cakes, tall enough to embarrass the tallest buildings in NYC, but there is truly no price for the love that goes into something made by hand and at home. They may not look picture perfect, but they do get the biggest smiles.

Pickling Tales

As I was walking through the supermarket the other day, in an otherwise mundane and rather blasé sort of day, with a mounting list of ‘to-do’s’ heaping up in my flustered mind, a sudden whiff of air infused with the syrupy aroma of fresh, juicy mangoes stopped me in my tracks, transfixed for no other smell inspires so much joy and awaken as many memories. Even now when I close my eyes, I can imagine my grandmother sitting on her charpaee in her courtyard- one foot nestled under her and the other dangling to the floor, her sari’s pallu meticulously tucked in place, cleaning, drying and cutting a whole bucketful of raw mangoes with such painstaking precision of size and studying their ‘readiness to pickle’. It was like watching a science project come to life- this much oil, and that much spice with just so much sunlight! Even the containers had to be of a special kind that ensured the mangoes pickled well. Pickle making could be an art, who would have guessed! And they came with very clear “do not touch until ready” instructions. But as Adam and Eve, we sinned too- the forbidden fruit was often sneaked up on, squeamishly opened, clandestinely tasted and cleverly capped back on! When lady luck smiled, some was smuggled out too!

Known by various names across the country – Uppinakaayi in Kannada, Pachadi in Telugu, Urukai in Tamil, Uppillittuthu in Malayalam, Loncha in Marathi, Athanu in Gujarati and Āchār in Hindi, India’s glorious affair with this lip smacking, mouthful of tartness has been long and strong. And something so irresistible was destined to travel far and wide- the Mesopotamians on their way back from India took with them cucumbers, native to India, brining and preserving them. Pickle making has been around for over 4000 years- it even has a mention in the Bible.

Fermented and pickled in salt or sugar, fruits and vegetables lasted much longer in times when refrigeration and canning were not luxuries as we know them today. This technique proved to be an effective way of saving food for a rainy day in areas and seasons where fresh produce was hard to come by. It is no wonder that every country in the world has its own version of the pickle- South Korea has kimchi made of cabbage and other vegetables, a dish quite popular around the world now, Germany gave us the sauerkraut, and pickled herrings are quite the delicacy in the Nordic countries. I’m sure travelers on long sea voyages with no access to fresh food at their whims swore by the piquant play of spices on their palate! It is also believed that Cleopatra, the epitome of beauty attributed her good looks to these very pickles. Surely, these are reasons sufficient to coax a non-believer to try them once at least!

And thus continued, a process that has been used not only on fruits and vegetables, but also on meats and fishes. North East India boasts of comprehensive recipes used for pickling pork, Parsis for pickling Bombay Duck and prawns, while Kerala and Karnataka have been using wild boar and beef for brining for years.

It will probably be an effort in vain to find a home that does not revel in the sweet and tangy smell of this delicacy, carefully crafted and mastered by the dexterous hands and discerning eyes of its creator. A dish that always magically stirs up the fondest memories from my childhood, a dish that takes my taste buds on a roller coaster ride.

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A Day with Artificial Intelligence in My Home!

My family and I are an antithesis of one another. While my husband and children are emissaries of technology and the various tools that spring up every fortnight as a result, I am more like the characteristic old woman- wrinkled, with a walking stick and out of breath, grappling with even the simplest of technologies that fall on me like aliens from space!

Recently, we had a guest at home. I had hoped the visit would be a short lived one, but unfortunately for me, it has decided to stay. It’s a tiny little thing, stout and sleek all at once. One is inclined to be amazed at the knowledge this little guy has. Personal questions are most politely declined. Our kids have taken such great fancy to it that it feels no one in the house is in want of any friends anymore. Before I start sounding rather uncharitable and brusque, let me introduce you to the new addition to my house for I am of the firm belief that it has tempted its way into our house for ever.  

Welcome the Google Homes and the Alexas of today. Even before we made our first acquaintance, I knew we were not going to be best friends. Imagine me, an old school traditionalist who still revels in the smell of ink and gets charged up with the crackling of each page being turned learning to coexist with a talking machine, professing to think and that threatens to take over my whole house!

And I don’t mean the physical space of my house. Barely a day together, and all of us have quite literally stopped using any of our mental faculties. Faculties already in a state of half rust if I may concede. Take this morning for instance, what a beautiful day- tiny drizzles of rain and slender wisps of wind. In my quest to cultivate the imagination in my child, I ask him, quite zealously I now realize in retrospect, to ‘describe what he sees’. And without a thought, I hear him say- ‘Google, what’s it like outside?’. And as expected, promptly comes the reply- eloquent and precise. Applause. Cheers of excitement! This petite device has, with one winning stroke sliced off the need for physical activity as humble as walking four steps to the window and finding out for ourselves. A laugh betrays my true emotion- a dagger through my chest wouldn’t have hurt as much (I catch myself feigning that just happened in perfect cinematic style- but only in my thoughts. Relief).

And this was just the first of many.

Amidst all the hullabaloo of how far we’ve come and the seamlessness of where we are going, is this really what we had foreseen while creating these carriers of Artificial Intelligence? It leaves me slightly unnerved knowing that there is a device near me recording and absorbing everything I say, continuously formulating a hypothesis about me- my likes, preferences, dislikes. The question is this- are we comfortable allowing a machine to decide and shape our decisions based on some data that it might have collected over a period? While it does make lot of things easier and is a work of wonder, should we throw ourselves completely into the hands of intelligence that we ourselves have created?

Frankenstein or Marvel?

The selfie mania- what do we really know about it?

Long before Salman Khan gyrated to the selfie in his “le le le selfie le le re!” song in Bajrangi Bhaijan, the selfie was a world phenomenon. Anywhere and everywhere you look, you will find someone obsessing over their face, craning their neck or pouting their mouth posing for that ‘one perfect picture’. Don’t forget the ‘is this good enough stamp of self-approval’ and a million retakes that follow disapproval. The selfie has almost revolutionized the way we take photos. And how!

Although the smartphone has contributed immensely to the epidemic rise of the selfie, it is was actually first taken as early as 1839! Robert Cornelius, an American pioneer in photography took the first picture of man ever taken (so he claimed) when he took a picture of himself. A selfie. The process took much longer than what it takes now and so, he was able to uncover the lens, run into the frame (smile, I suppose!) and come back to replace the lens cap. And so was born ‘The First Light Picture Ever Taken’.  I’m quite certain Robert Cornelius is patting himself in the back this moment, gloating over what he gave the world!

Facebook, Instagram, you name it- pouts are everywhere! Narcissism in its digital avatar. Friendly reminder- we know what you look like, seeing the same you in ten different shades doesn’t make you any more exciting, my friend! And please don’t make me jealous with that picture of your delicious plate of grilled chops ‘#yummyinmytummy’ when I’m surviving with Maggi on my plate for dinner!

But, behind all this frenzy there is a cloud. Are we getting too full of ourselves in this selfie mania, drowning in vanity of what we look like, rather than what we truly are?

The American Psychiatric Association (APA) has linked excessive taking of selfies to mental disorders where the sufferers have an obsession about their personal appearance. The APA has categorized this in three levels- borderline (3 selfies a day), acute (posting at least 3 selfies a day) and chronic (posting up to 6 or more selfies a day).

Digital narcissism is an addiction, thriving on the need for praise and validation, when there is in fact, emptiness within. The APA observed that such people are often lonely, with low self-esteem resorting to projecting a picture of themselves to the world of what they might not really be.

Going out is gradually getting reduced to how many selfies we take of ourselves, the number of poses we strike, the food on our plate, hashtags. Real conversations slowly silenced in the rancor of that ‘ready to put on’ smile for the next perfect click.

And while the social media is full of such happy faces and enviable lifestyles, there have been noticeable instances of fatalities caused while taking these selfies. Some of us getting so caught up in the moment, recklessly throwing caution to the wind!

Priceonomics tabulated 49 deaths worldwide on account of selfies since 2014, and the numbers have grown since then. India accounts for a shocking 40% of the worlds percentage of selfie driven deaths forcing the Indian Government to declare 16 no-selfie zones!

In 2015, three Indian college students were trampled to death by a moving train while attempting to take a selfie with it! Recently, a Washington State man accidentally shot a bullet at himself while taking a selfie with his gun (source-Time)- just a few instances out of many. A little self-absorption, way too many unfortunate cases.

Not that anyone designs or predicts their own demise, but even the most unique selfie is definitely not worth a life. Taking selfies by itself is harmless, but being attentive can help prevent a mishap.

This way or that, selfies are here to stay. Gone are the days when poets longed for their muse, everyone is their own muse now- all you need is a selfie click and a Colgate smile!

 Oh! Mother!

Planted somewhat comfortably on my bed, I think I should feel fortunate that I am alone, undisturbed. Well, it HAS been 5 minutes at least! Alone in my own house, a place always buzzing with the giggles, questions and clamor of our 2 little children. And no, they are not away on a movie night with their dad or a sleepover with their friends. They are pretty much home and that is what makes this “alone” time rather special. Umm, there was this other “S” word that came to me first. Suspicious. Why is everyone so quite? What are they up to? Why hasn’t the 3^rd world war started yet? And while I allow this suspicion to feed my brain, I hear my motherly heart palpitating with the guilt of the ‘how could I think such’ and ‘should I go and see if all is well?’ hammering inside me.

Well, such is a typical day for every mother I can assure you. Every morning we begin our day promising ourselves to be the epitome of patience and tolerance, a spiritual guru that no one and nothing can rattle. Om chants fill our serene hearts and then, the bomb drops. We come back to the reality. The promise breaks and the mother on the alarm clock schedule awakens and takes over!

Forget being the guru, you’re the boss!! Err, that’s what we like to believe anyway! Between the ‘wake up, brush your teeth, get dressed and at least eat a morsel of that delicious breakfast I made for you (while half in my sleep, thank you!), the computer that motherhood has programmed your mind to be sizzles with the stuff to accomplish in that small window called Twenty-Four Hours.

Pat your back there, ladies- we achieve almost everything on that list. Don’t we? I wonder how we do it, but we do. Even as I write this, I see my two little ones pretending the world is ending and apocalypse knocking at our door just so that they can have me play with them and not ‘waste’ time (yes, the alone time didn’t last long).

Sometimes we wish the apocalypse were really coming- seems a pretty easy thing to handle given what we manage through the day. But, if it did come, there is one place I would never hide. And that is the Restroom. Believe me, there is no rest in that room! Forget the days you read the newspaper for hours parked on that throne of yours. Press the delete button. Not happening. The moment you enter the bathroom, and are yet to even begin whatever you went in there for, there will be a frantic call for help- ‘Mommy! Come out! I need to go!! Hurry! I can’t wait!’. With time Mommies, we all learn to control everything. Even our bowels.

Growing up we are taught to eat slow and chew well. Savor every flavor, feel the goodness of every bite. One lesson we teach ourselves- the art of ‘feeding’ the kids which essentially translates into terrorizing, threatening and almost invariably playing the “I worked so hard to make dinner for you all” card (I’ve played it so often, I can deliver my monologue with theatrical eloquence even Shakespeare would be envious of). The problem there is- you worked hard to make healthy veggies and it is Mac n Cheese that they want!

After this dramatic exchange, we get down to feeding ourselves- gobbling and swallowing through fixing conflicts of gargantuan proportions of ‘he did this and she did that’ or ‘I need to go to the bathroom-now!!’ or ‘I’m suddenly feeling so sleepy, put me to bed!!’. Wonder woman is certainly an understatement.

Life is simmering with so much to enjoy and completely whacky all at the same time- each day just the tip of the ice berg. And just as our day begins with a resolution of tranquility, the day ends with one too. And a warm snuggle from my little roller coasters the icing worth doing it all over again for.  

What we should know about Bullying

Bullying- an act that is either vociferously fought against, or sometimes ignored and overlooked by hesitant bystanders or sufferers alike. Like many of us, I had been on the fringes of such a conduct, always aware of its ugliness, but never really soiled by its dirt. Until recently. A friend suffered at the hands of some teen agers who thought it was their right to call him names, rebuke his family and embarrass him. And suddenly I realized, it doesn’t take a minute for us to turn from mere observers, or opinion holders to people on the receiving end of such malicious behavior.

Awareness about bullying on why it happens and how we can respond, whether directly affected or not is key to softening the stronghold this has on our youth.

Currently, there is no federal law that directly addresses the act of bullying. It does, sometime overlap with discriminatory harassment covered by the federal civil rights enforced by the U.S Department of Education and the U.S Department of Justice.

Often used interchangeably with words like hazing, teasing or bullying, such acts are severe, persistent, or pervasive and create such a hostile environment that it hinders the student’s ability to participate in activities at school. It may be based on race, color, national origin, sex, disability or religion.

We are all, commonly, attuned to calling the parties either “the bully” or “the victim”. I was guilty of this charge too, until I learned that branding the children such can only be counter- productive. Calling a child ‘bully’ reinforces the idea that their position cannot be altered, or bettered and out-rightly ignores the reasons leading to such behavior- things like peer influence, abuse, troubled environment at school or at home. Labelling a child is never a solution, and it is an act that we all so callously indulge in. Calling them ‘the child that bullied’ and ‘the child bullied’ instead takes away the irreparability of their acts.

So, when this behavior touched us this time, we couldn’t help but wonder what could the bystanders have done to stall it and why they did not. It is often that friends and bystanders ‘contribute’ to the bullyish behavior, rather than avert it. They can do so either by openly encouraging the child bullying, or reinforce it by laughing, applauding - inspiring the child bullying to go on, sometimes even worsen his conduct. And then, there are a lot of us who watch outraged, but do nothing. Doing nothing is probably as bad as abetting a behavior because it gives the child a green from people around him.

Staying silent should never be an alternative. Not in a case of bullying, not in any other act of infringement or violation of self. The question screaming itself out is this- what can we do? What should we do? I asked myself the same question, and while I wanted to believe that If I were there I would have lashed out and stopped the act before it even started, I knew I was misleading myself. Chivalry was all fine, but wasn’t I worried about what retaliation the child bullied would face later with an intervention- they do come in contact every day! What effect would it have on the psyche of the child bullied? Would it lead to depression or a feeling of being powerless?

Well, there are many ways of responding. Prompt and proper response to bullying is important. Timely intervention and separating the kids prevents further altercation. Do not question or reprimand the children together or in front of others. Deal with them individually. It’s easy to become confrontational in such a situation, but remaining calm and modelling respectful behavior will only make things better. It’s often a clever idea to gather support of other adults. Comfort the child bullied that you are with him/her and ask for medical help if necessary.

Act wisely. With proper guidance and approach, bullying can stop with time.

(ref: stopbullying.gov)

 The Rich Flavors of Rajasthan

Rajasthan- a state in India, literally translating as “the land of the kings”, is every bit that- kingly, rich and oozing with vivacity and the never give in, or up attitude of its people. If a place I have longed to visit and now wish my children to experience is this- a place that conjures up on the one hand, images of palaces teeming with the plentiful raj-gharanas, and men and women, adorned in garbs and jewelry so colorful and vibrant working out their livelihood in the hot, scorching sun on the other.

Nestled in the arid Thar Desert, it hardly sees much rain and the past droughts have not helped either. Yet, Rajasthan is home to one of the country’s finest cuisine. The locals have weaved such a delicious blend of flavors and spices with whatever resources are available to them, I can’t help but marvel at the ingenuity of it all!

A fantastic example of the beauty of human resilience- if life gives you lemons, don’t complain. Make lemonade instead!!

The Khejri tree, standing tall and lonesome in the otherwise barren landscape is a lifeline for the people here. Every part of is used- the leaves to feed the goats, who in turn provide milk, curd and ghee to the families. One can’t even think of the traditional Rajasthani cuisine without a mention of ‘Kair sangri’ a dish made from the fruit (sangri) of this tree- another way the tree, as if almost single handedly supports life here.

And it has history behind it. With all the virtues, the Khejri tree is akin to the sacred ‘tulsi’ in the region. Legend goes that in 1730 AD, Amrita Devi of Khejarli village and her three daughters sacrificed their lives to protect these trees when Maharaja Abhay Singh ordered cutting them so he could build a palace in their stead. We know the Chipko Movement of the 1970’s. Well, this could be the precedent and inspiration behind it! Back in 1730 AD, it is said 363 people of the Bishnoi community hugged the Khejri tree and fell to their death before their revered tree could be touched!

An integral element of their cuisine is use of ghee and spice, and the rampant use of bajra (millet) and besan (chick pea flour). And yes, necessity and not a whim bred and massaged these tastes. Its captivating how every food, every cuisine, every habit rises, almost like the phoenix from what can be salvaged in the circumstances. With not enough water available for cooking, locals use ghee instead- rich in taste (how we all crave for that extra spoon on our chapatti or daal!), nutritious and perfect for the hot, exhausting weather!

Chilies! Yes, there can be no Rajasthani food without it- even the aroma around it smells of the Mathani Mirch, as if cautioning the uninitiated! Laal Maas, introduced by the Rajputs and now a signature dish of the state is so spicy- it’s not considered cooked to perfection till it is Red (laal) with the chilies! Chilies are believed to act as thinning agents for the blood, and important in conditions of a hot state like Rajasthan. I begin to wonder, in amazement, if there is anything that is there without a reason, a purpose!

Oh! I could smell the Daal Baati, churma, the gatte ki sabzi even in my dreams! One is again left to wonder how a place with barely any water in its wells feeds its people such satisfying delicacies! Enter the gallant Bajra- a crop requiring little water to grow, it blossoms in the sun- something that Rajasthan has plenty of. Finding its way from Africa, it is now a staple here.

One can never have enough of Rajasthan. Its magnetic charm will someday, I am sure, bring me to it. And that day, I shall await!

Watching a bunch of boys play basketball today left me reeling from within. I'm not sure if it was aversion that crept in me or just the hopelessness of the generation we are bringing up. It wasn't anything that they did, it was what they said, or rather did not say. Imagine a group of boys, all in their teens, apparently going to the best schools in America having a conversation. Having a conversation that used the four letter with such profanity and fluency (if I may use the word!), it made me cringe. It was disconcerting to see such an abject depravity of language. Why has it become to difficult for us  to speak a sentence without adding an expletive to it?

It is well past midnight and we just got back after seeing Kapoor and Sons. That it is a Dharma Productions movie was sufficient to pique a desire to watch and 2 weeks into its release, we finally managed to wrest some time out for it! The fact that we always need to factor in two kids under the age of 6 and whether they are in mood good enough to sit through ten minutes of a movie without the 'why are we even here?!' moans and remonstrances is a tale for another day. Well, but, being fair to my little ones, they were most generous today. As planned and as hoped, they were both asleep after the mandatory box of popcorn (that was most promptly dropped into their laps!), nuzzled up nice and cosy in the warmth of our arms! A quick sigh of relief and a sincere prayer of continued slumber for the next 120 mins, we began.

So, now for the movie! A very welcome change indeed. After the dissapointment of some past new releases that were probably just a flash in the pan, this one came across as both invigorating and introspective. Its a story of, obviously, the senior Kapoor and his sons and grandsons. A family strung together with a fine grained and dainty thread, vulnerable to the slighest tug, but resolute in its desire to be together. 

But, fortunately for us, the Director has spared us the discourses and melodrama that a movie of such intent could easily be! I usually refrain from reading any reviews of a movie that I want to see, so Rishi Kapoor, as a 90 year bastion of the Kapoor household came an interesting surprise to me. He is of course, impeccable. Rajat Kapoor and Ratna Pathak Shah are irreplaceable too. Umm, Alia Bhatt is not very important to the plot, but definitely not irrelevent. Had it not been for her and the rollicking Dadu (Rishi Kapoor), the family travails could have been a little irksome. But, the star of the movie and the biggest reason I've heard women are going to see the movie ( I was'nt earlier, but am now!) is Fawad Khan. A dapper no doubt, but what screen presence! The other hero just fades away in oblivion when they share screen space.

The movie is very well crafted. It is essentially a reminder to us that no matter how harmed we might consider ourselves to be, we all have our own dark alleys. Life is too uncertain and unforseeable to while away in futile brawls and bickering. It will slowly melt away like a block of ice, and all we will be left with is repentence, remorse and self reproach. Accept and forgive. That is what keeps the heart happy and family together.

( Finishing up, why do I have a feeling like I just wrote a scene for a Karan Johar movie?!)

I am a mother of two. And a mother of two very active and vivacious children at that. There is not a minute in the day that one of them is not calling out - "Mummy! I need this! and - Mummy! I can't do this, can you help me! or just plain and simple- " Mummy sit with me!". In all of this I see the mess the house is in, the toys that are strewn in every corner of the house, the dishes that I need to do and Oh! The dinner that is not ready yet Amidst all this, I see myself, almost everyday, scurrying and scampering to get the daily chores done, to get the kids fed in time, finish their homework and quite often stop the squabbling that the two indulge in now. Sometimes I just have to forget about the couple of minutes I had thought I would take out to read that book or to start a new painting.

Yesterday was no different. Amidst all the commotion that a mothers life is witness to everyday, I managed to squeeze out time to pamper my nails a bit. My 18 month daughter looked at my newly done nails and held my hands tenderly, nestling them between her own. And then she hugged them and planted a gentle little kiss on them. It was my hands that she held, but it was my heart that she melted. Filled with emotion I squeezed her in an overwhelmed embrace. We had a little mother daughter moment. It was beautiful. She stretched her hands coaxing me to apply some nail polish on her too. Really? Already? Where was I when she was growing up and what was I doing? Oh Yes! I was fussing over the dinner and fuming over the mess.

It is Anant's third day at school today and I still can't believe how fast time has flown. My little one who has always been wrapped up the warmth and security of our embrace is now out there, alone, with neither his mother nor father to clutch him when he cries. It is overwhelming. While on the one hand I feel excited about the idea of Anant going to school all by himself, learning new things, making new friends and  becoming a confident young boy, the mother in me is nervous and anxious. I know he will cry, bawl and look for his Papa and me every second he is there. Everything so new, not a face that he knows.

But all our apprehensions get assuaged by watching him prepare for school! He is in complete love with his new backpack, his new 'tiffin' and all the paraphernalia associated with going to school! The whole time he's home, he just has to have his bag on his shoulders all the time, with the tiffin and sippy cup in it! Not for a second can you dare to take that off him! He's even filled some crayons in it! And then there are the narratives of what happened in school, what he did, how his "new friends" are, what the teacher said to him. The most proudly told and spirited account is of how he ate his tiffin all by himself, without anybody's help! The exuberance on his face and the glint in his eyes are a tell all and so comforting for the jittery, twitchy me! Is my little baby getting older already?

Its a new phase in our lives and just like a new pair of shoes, its going to pinch a little, leave us slightly edgy at first, and then, I know its going to be all hunky dory. I will be a less nervous version of me and Anant will not want to leave school and come back home! (Oops! I think that will make me even more anxious!! :D)

Dadi passed away today. I will not say she left us, because she will always be with us- forever. She will be with us in all the things she taught us, big or small. She will be in the legacy that she has left for us to uphold and carry.

Like all grandchildren, my brother Aniruddha and I were very fond of and loved our Dadi. We always will. Now that she is physically not with us, all the memories that we shared with her and that have shaped our lives come cascading down to me. Dadi was an excellent story teller. Sitting cozily around her, we could never have enough of her stories, kisse and kahanian. I can't even fathom how she had the patience to repeat them day after day, year after year! I want to now bequeath these to my son too and keep her memories alive, always. Dadi was fond of singing and kept an age old diary of hand written songs and poems and would clap and sing bhajans and songs from it everyday, almost till the very day she breathed her last. We will yearn for that resounding and discernible voice emanating from her immaculate memory. I wish I had learnt some from her.

She even taught me how to braid my hair. Barely 10 or 12, I would insist- "Dadi, aapki choti main banaongi!". She knew the hazards of letting me do it but never said no. Needless to say, she always had her plait crooked! The one thing I cannot forget about her are her hands- those small, soft hands that held ours whenever we sat next to her. Her gradually faltering vision was a casualty of old age, and as we sat next to her, she would lean forward and listen intently to us, holding our hands, patting them once in a while. She liked us to tell her the story of the movie we went for, or the TV serial we saw. She and my Nani would then discuss it as a matter of national importance for hours, discerning the right from the wrong, good from the bad! It made for some excellent overhearing! I shall miss all of that now.

This time when I go back home, nothing will be the same. The hug and the kiss on my forehead with an affectionate 'bitiya rani aa gayi' will be missing, the radio with bhakti songs wont be playing and there will be no eye drops to be administered. But, Dadi will still be there in the good memories that she has left for us, in the virtues she has imbibed in my parents and in the strength and fortitude with which she led her life.

As I was walking back from the dry cleaners close to my house today, it began to rain. It drizzled down bit by bit, and my speed became slower and slower. I love love love rain, but there is nothing I love more than getting totally drenched under it, down to the bone is more like it! What a feeling it is, is'nt it...to stand under the clear blue sky suddenly held captive to the beautiful, dancing grey hues....the vibrant sun swathed with pearly clouds ready to explode? As splashes of rain drops dashed on to my face, for a second I almost forgot where I was. I was suddenly oblivious to the world around me, to the sundry onlookers, to the screeching cars flashing by -totally unmindful of everything. I smiled to myself, and all I could feel was the rain cascading down my cheeks and the moist wind ruffling through my hair. I wished I could just soak up every bit of this liquid sunshine. I wished I could walk forever.