Happy new year then

This bit was written on Tuesday but not uploaded as baby started crying and couldn't manage any  time since: GAH. I had planned to put a post up in the morning sometime. What with Christmas baking, box-making, baby-handling and more baking, just have not been able to. I am trying real hard to get better organised but somehow the moment Mia hears the word 'organised', she decides she doesn't like the idea. Anyway. We will be leaving for the family holiday home on Friday and I don't know if I'll be able to put up anything till after the new year. In case I cannot -- most probably not -- here's wishing you all a very merry Christmas and an absolutelybrilliantbloody year ahead. Hope you've got some great plans ahead.

As far as I am concerned, my plans extend till March. Rather my only plan is to finish the manuscript by March. Though Partner would like me to think in terms of a 10-year plan -- "Where do you see yourself in 10 years" he asked the other day -- I have a huge problem doing that. Even hypothetical 10-year-planning is kind of impossible for me. So far whenever I have planned, I've had things going belly-up on me. In fact each time I plan, life and the situation goes so, so against the plans and often in ways that I couldn't have even imagined, I am bloody scared of long-term planning. Short term it is for me. The current short-term for me is the Christmas break. Here's my plan(s) for the holidays:



Phew. It's been a busy five days. My back is sore. Actually sore is an understatement, it's f*cked. Have a crazy desire to just sit down and finish the Book, but it will have to wait till new year. I AM going to get cracking after that. Desperately need a four-hour body massage while I sleep through it. Need to buy new clothes for Mia, that makes two of us with nothing to wear.

Whole lot of cooking/baking for the week ahead. Somewhat nervous if I'd be able to pull it off as Mia seems to be teething again. She has her front two teeth out but her cheeks are again a brilliant red, she's drooling more and she just had one of the worst crying fits ever. Just like the last time, she doesn't want to eat, wants to be constantly held and cannot sleep since she is hungry. Bonjela teething gel did not work at all and it was only once Partner suggested baby Panadol that the poor bub settled. I want to write but I'm very tired, stressed about the amount of hair I'm losing everyday -- molting worse than Billy -- and my back really, really hurts. When I stop thinking about my back hurting I remember that my right wrist has also now been really, really hurting for the last three months. Happy Monday eh? These are some of the pics of what I've been up to for the last five days...


tried and tasted: Red Velvet Cake

Late Xmas Cake, born 2pm, dead 2.05pm

I had planned to put this up in the morning, but things haven't gone exactly to plan today. Mia has been great, no tantrums, happily smiling and playing. The downside of a happy baby is that a happy baby usually happens when said baby gets a lot of attention from mum. Yours truly was also trying to keep the baby happy while baking a Christmas cake. This was to be my first attempt at a Christmas cake. It turned out beautifully. And then turned on to the floor. I also singed my arm with the very hot springform pan and now have two welts to show for it. But the destroyed cake hurt much more. Now I am trying to salvage the cake by smothering it in brandy and wrapping it in rolls of plastic wrap. They do say brandy heals everything, let's see.

I'd baked the red velvet cake a couple of weeks earlier and it was a heart-breaker for two reasons.


The Help

How many of you have maids at home? Or have had a plumber/electrician working in the house? Or hired farm hands? And how many times have you had a 'different' cup for them to drink tea/water from? 'Different' meaning not your for-regular-use cups, definitely not your special cups, but cups that are somewhat chipped, or discoloured, or with the handle missing. Cups you don't drink from. Cups with a lower social standing on your kitchen shelf.

I have always had a maid -- sometimes two -- when I was growing up. And I clearly remember there always being a designated 'maid's cup' in the house.


Company of women

Much as I love my baby, there are times when I've just had enough. Moments when I'm *this* close to wearing my pyjamas on my head and running around the house screaming. Or sprawled on the floor, kicking my heels and bawling my guts out; my pyjamas still on my head. While these moments have nothing to do with Mia, they have everything to do with babies. Rather 'talking' babies. All the time. Whenever I meet someone, anyone. I really cannot handle it anymore. I want a real conversation, something that doesn't involve saying "Whoozh ma bebbee gurl" or dancing to "Sippy cup, sippy cup" or "Whatta lotta potta yu haf dunnnn" or discussing said potta with various mothers. 

It's like I don't know anything else anymore. Partner comes back from work, goes, "How was your day?" and I launch into the physics of how many cloth nappies/towels it takes to ensure baby projectile spew does not get onto the bedroom carpet or on our mattress. The answer is three towels with a whole lot of it on mummy. Or how I think it's after she has had one-third of the fourth bottle of formula that her poo gets "nuggety". Partner's description, not mine. I usually yell, "Oh no she's doing chickpeas again." Then I forget to ask him how his day was and instantly go on to, "Do you want to hold the baby or..." The "or" is left hanging for long enough to not be an "or" anymore.

Before the baby I used to dread talking to women/people because sooner or later it came to relationship talk. It's not always bad, relationship talk; but it's bloody tedious when someone just goes ON dissecting his/her relationship. Especially when you can see it's a no-brainer and a definite disaster but cannot tell the person. It's worse when you are the one doing it, you know you're doing it but cannot stop. It's a different matter when relationship talk is about ways of getting over the ex and it involves a lot of 'action'. ;)  It's somewhat the same with baby-talk. You hate it when (m)others have nothing else to talk but babies and yet you are very much a part of the same brigade.

I had been *this* close to completely losing my shit (would that still be called constipation?).Till thankfully two friends came to the rescue. Two women, different age groups, on two different days. I am so glad I got off my lazy bottom and met them. It was absolutely fantastic and very surprising because it was so fantastic. It always surprises me when I have a good time with another woman. There was a bit of baby-talk but there was a whole lot of talking about different things as well. Like Julian Assange. Or chauvinistic men and how they are the same in India and Australia. (Liberation my arse) And why we should sue people who dismiss us unfairly (all three of us had stories). About bringing up kids, how our parents brought us up, what we do well, what we don't, what we think about things. It was such a mental stimulation and *such* a relief.

And all the while we talked, Mia kept babbling right along. She likes a good conversation too. Who do you prefer as 'conversation company': men or women?

PS: This is the chocolate chiffon cake I made the other day -- the one where I ate the icing? -- with pictures from before and after the chocolate-butter filling and ganache. I'm in love with it. Recipe to follow soon.



Passionfruit flowers in full bloom is like having Pandora in my front courtyard. Once the fruits come -- and hopefully if they aren't all devoured by critters -- I'll try some recipes using passionfruit. Yum.


Tag: Fashion disaster, am I?

I was tagged for this list on Facebook but I'm completing it here because it makes for a fun post. Despite now owning anything from any of the 'must-have' brands, I don't feel like a fashion disaster. As in, I am a fashion disaster in many ways (another post, another time), but not because I don't do brands. I do own a Dior perfume (J'adore, luuuurve it) but that was a gift from Partner and not something I purchased. Strangely, Partner buys me 'better' stuff -- if you believe that anything branded is better in quality than non-branded stuff -- than I buy for myself. The reasons for this are



Today I baked a chocolate chiffon cake with a filling of chocolate butter icing and frosted with chocolate ganache. I baked it to celebrate the birthday of one of the mum's in my mothers' group. The girls came home, there were six of us and there's a quarter of the cake left. I am very glad that they liked the cake, that everyone had two servings and we had a relaxed time.

:P What is absolutely sickening though is that once I finished piping the icing and before I washed out the icing gun...


JB's easy chicken curry

I love a dish that can be whipped up with whatever I have lying around. Well, not literally lying around (what does she feed her family?), but more like what's in the fridge. I love such a dish more so on a day when I'm lazy to go to the supermarket. The stores are pretty close to my house and not much of a walk but packing the baby up etc. takes longer than it would take to shop.

Anyway, I particularly enjoy making something up when the whip-up turns out really tasty and does not require me to prepare a side dish/salad. This chicken curry recipe is a modification of a typical Indian chicken curry.



Harlequin bug aka fire bug
This is what is happening in my courtyard. Everywhere I look these bloody bugs are running around, their bums stuck together,  producing baby bugs. I absolutely hate them because a) They are destroying my plants and b) they are having blatant sex in my courtyard while I'm not having any and definitely not any in the courtyard.



Mia in her Bjorn bouncer, napping
It's 2pm and I'm very nervous. Typing this out is also taking a while because I'm hitting the keys very, very gently. I've put the cellphone on silent and have killed two flies who were inside my house and buzzing too loudly. I even ran to the other room when I had a minor sneeze attack. I am dying to have some cold milk but dreading opening the fridge door lest it's too noisy. All this tiptoeing has been going on for the last 40 minutes. Mia is finally asleep and I'm terrified of doing anything that might wake her up. And the only place she'd sleep is in her Bjorn bouncing-chair (I'm in love with it).


Touch of a...

I was supposed to meet a uni-mate for lunch today. I just cancelled because Mia spewed -- third time in three days -- and is now sleeping. Last night she went to bed about 7pm and slept till 4.30am this morning. She's already done three hours of sleeping (5.30-8.30am) today. Despite all that sleeping, she still spewed. What could it mean?


Weather for aloo kheema

It's really bizarre weather for almost-approaching-summer. Nature is such a funny thing. For years and years farmers in Australia have cried for rain and there has been none. While this year the rain has been good, now it's raining when the farmers need to be harvesting. The result is spoiled crops, damaged hay and losses. Partner comes from a farming family and it's heartbreaking to see someone work so, so hard and then it all going belly-up. How do farmers do it, whether here or in India? How do they go to work each day, not knowing the outcome? It's such an important job, feeding people, and we think so little about it and about those who do it. Till I met Partner, I had never really thought about 'where' my food comes from or who's responsible for it.

I do love my food though. And when the day is grey and wet like today and has the potential to really depress you, I simply LOVE a good, spicy curry. The mince-potato curry is one of my favourites. It's uncomplicated, quick to cook and always, always satisfies. It's also great for bulk cooking. Got 10 people coming over for dinner? Make this, you won't be disappointed.

Diwali with roses

How many times have you had someone do you a good turn out of the blue? And how often have you wondered if there was a selfish motive behind the deed?

If you've never doubted the motive, lordie, you must be really naive. Or a genuinely nice person (who thinks nice of others as well). I'm neither naive nor nice and usually view good deeds and their doers with some suspicion. I am, however, trying to believe in people more. And sometimes, thankfully, there is reason to.


You gotta mo it

I've been making cupcakes. Some for my mums' group, some for my friend Hannah (also my sometime-beautician) and some for Partner so he could take them to office for Movember. That's November with a mo. Partner took 22 cupcakes and earned AUD $40 from them. The money went to charity, for spreading awareness about prostate cancer. That's the idea behind Movember, when men grow a moustache in November. You can read all about it here. And you should. Because I know three men, very dear to me, who've had it. One man is in his 80s and two in their 60s. It's horrible, it's the second greatest cause of cancer deaths in men and it can get any man above the age of 50 (above 40 if there's family history). I've asked my dad to go for a check-up, you ask yours.

Partner also grew a moustache through November and despite the good cause it was for, thankfully he's shaved it off. No, no, I think he looks hot with a mo, just that I think he looks hotter without one. ;) Here's Partner, or rather his chin with the mo. That's Partner's grrrrrrrrrrrowl-baby look, it often leaves me speechless. Please don't say bad things about it. :P

Controlled crying?

Controlled crying: behaviour management strategy often employed by babies whereby they control their parents by timely (and sometimes untimely) crying. Anyone who tells you that 'controlled crying' is a way of blablablah is bullshitting.

Mia, 4-months-2-weeks-old has developed this habit of sleeping "at the boob". Or rather at the teat since I bottle-feed her. In other words, she will feed right till the moment she falls asleep. There was perhaps one week when I managed to put her in the cot and pat her to sleep. I think that was only because she was deciding if she liked it. Along with sleeping at the teat, Mia will only go to sleep if it's me putting her to bed. Each time Partner has tried, I've come back to find her wide-awake and staring at him, while he has nodded off. When asked what-does-he-think-he's-doing, Partner has said, "But honestly, she makes me sleepy!" (?) So it's always me. Mostly I don't mind, but sometimes it sucks. 'It' being the situation and not the baby.


Awesomeness of carrot cake

I never really warmed to the carrot-eating Brer Rabbit. But I do remember Pankaj Kapoor munching a carrot and solving cases in the serial Karamchand. "Lily, don't be silly" was one of the most-memorable catch-phrases for a long time. Perhaps the memory is so vivid because choice was limited, Doordarshan was the only television channel in India in the 1980s. Or perhaps because I was a kid and enthralled by TV. Or maybe because the programmes were more interesting back then. It beats me how despite the choice we have today -- 1400 channels, three remote controls, Internet tv etc. -- there are days when there's absolutelybloodynothing to watch.


No work, no pay

I can't find my glasses. It's the most irritating thing I do to myself. How myopic does one have to be to misplace glasses that one needs to wear constantly? And I do it everybloodyday. Now I remember taking them off before cuddling Mia --  learnt my lesson when I nearly took her right eye out -- but I can't recall where I've placed them. There are days when I can find them pretty quickly, often lying under the doona^ or hiding under diapers. But sometimes I just need to wait for them to turn up. Just the other day for instance. I started searching (at 8am), failed, gave up and then when I was picking washing off the line (around 4pm), I found them sitting in my rosemary pot. Why? How?
^Aussie for duvet, another word that I need to use to be understood here, more on that some other day


Hello, vagina?

Will my real vagina please stand up? The visual that could go with that phrase is quite alarming. It would be apt though, the situation is quite alarming. Exactly four-months-and-a-week (today) since delivering Mia, it's like I have a stranger down there. A scary, intimidating stranger. Had I been warned that my relationship with V would drastically change after having a baby, I would've done something about it. Perhaps I'd have spend more time with her. Now it's too late.


Divinely orange

Spring in Melbourne means many things: the green and gold lushness of wattle, the breath-taking beauty of blossom trees, the cheery daisies and daffodils and the sight of many a gardener mowing, sowing and weeding away on sunny afternoons. Unless of course it is grey and drizzly. Or so windy it could blow the hair off your scalp. Or it might hail. That too is part 'n' parcel of Melbourne spring. This time of the year is also when families and friends are seen across the city's parks and gardens, having barbeques, playing with their dogs and kids and sometimes just snoozing. It's also time for fresh, seasonal fruits and veggies and what you can cook with them.


Orange almond cake

Orange Almond Cake
Serves: 6-8
Prep time: 50 minutes
Cooking time: 55-60 minutes
Garnish: Tangy orange sauce and/or heavy cream


Orange cake
Eggs 6 large
Oranges* 2
Almond meal* 180 g
Caster/castor sugar* 250 g
Baking powder* 1 1/2 tsp
Vanilla essence* 1 tsp
Orange syrup
Rind of 1 orange
Juice of 1 orange
1/2 cup castor/caster sugar


Went where that month?

So Mia is already a month old. In fact, she is already two weeks short of being two months old. And not kidding folks, I don't know who, what, when, how it all happened. From one poo to another, time's just gone by.

Given I had several other women popping out kids here, I had been wondering about some of the new-mom cliches. (That's before I joined that particular club) Y'know like, I-am-sleep-deprived. Or, I-don't-have-time-for-a-shower. Or, I-sometimes-forget-to-eat.
Now that I am one-month-been-there-etc, is all that true?


Cuz you're a whale you stupid bat.

Right. I’ve had it with women, especially other mothers. Particularly absolute strangers who take one look at Mia and instantly go (on and on), “Ah, but she is very small, isn’t she?”

I don’t hold anything against moms who forget that their babies were equally small at birth. I DO understand that compared to their babies – who could now be two or ten months old – Mia does look small. Comments from them are all right because I know there is no stupid comparison-shit happening there.


Bizarreness of babies

Despite reading some of the best books on bringing up babies, you (read me) just cannot be prepared for some things.

1. Babies fart louder than adults. Mia beats Partner in the sound and smell department. Baap par gayi hai (scowl). The first time I was soooo shocked; t'was bloody hard correlating the angelic face with THAT sound and the stench.

2. Babies have perfect timing when it comes to spoiling a photograph. One moment perfect photo pose and the next the weirdest expression possible.

3. Babies love contemplating with a tit in their mouth. Mia can do it for 10 minutes at a stretch. Usually at 2 am.


Mia, my new baby girl

...is finally here. Born two weeks early according to the calendar but not a day earlier if you ask me. All that begging to my belly and imploring to meet her seems to have worked. And no, despite it looking staged, the pose was her own doing.

I don't have words to describe what I am feeling. Fatigued to the bone could be apt but somehow that's not it. It's almost 7am here, I've been up since 5am, fed her, cleaned second round of yellow potty (I now know five different shades) in the night, put her back to bed and then couldn't sleep.

Despite all advice that says "sleep when the baby sleeps", it ain't that easy. For one, when everyone else is sleeping -- Mia included -- is about the only time I get to cuddle-cuddle her, as against cuddle-to-calm or cuddle-to-feed. Everyone else seems to get heaps of time just doing nothing with her. On the other hand, I seem to only feed, clean, repeat the same and then put her to bed because "You NEED to sleep JB". I even get scolded for not sleeping enough.


Anti-nesting feelings

There's state of mind and then there's a state your mind's in. Or moments when I am so cranky it irritates me. Or I am so irritated I really want to cry. My belly is HUGE. Correction: The thing under my boobs with red streaks and spider veins running all over -- that can sometimes change shape on its own -- is HUGE. I also projectile puked yesterday because the body felt like it.

I am terrified of the night. It usually means I will have tremendous tummy ache after dinner and will not feel good till I puke. Then I will feel worse for making myself puke. I am terrified of going to bed because I know I won't get any sleep. And because I will be hungry all night because I puked out my dinner. Then next morning it will be a repeat of the cranky-weepy-weepy-therefore-cranky phase. *whimper*


Retail therapy

It’s become such a problem, writing anything at all. In desperate need to get my writing juices flowing – all other juices freely flowing, thank you – I shall try the simple mantra of ‘Even if the shit you write kills you, (try and) write every day’. So be warned, everyone. Due to my complete apathy towards writing anything that could change lives (rolls eyes), I shall take a leaf out of Mad Momma’s blog and write about some of my recent purchases (!).

While browsing through MM’s post, I realised I’m really not into buying jewellery, or for that matter wearing much of it. I love wearing toe rings and my favourite anklets. I can also comfortably wear ear rings but beyond that, I find it very hard to deck up. I don’t wear bracelets and even if I try a necklace, I end up taking it off before stepping out. I wear two very simple, silver rings but cannot get myself to wear the nice-looking, big, fancy ones that are so in vogue today. I do love looking at them though.



Spent some really good hours with a friend and her 9 month old son today. The boy is absolutely adorable -- will be really handsome -- and it was so, so nice to see mother and son doing their thing. I loved the way he would just throw himself at her, completely trusting that she wouldn't let him fall. Of how she lifted him over her head and he simply stretched his arms out and shrieked with delight. Or how each time she left the room, he would crane his neck to see her or to hear her footsteps. Mostly I really cherished watching the exchange of touches between them.

When I was little -- as in not five feet 'little' but a kid! -- and I'd hurt myself or fall down or bump into things (which was usual and has not changed), Papa would rub wherever it was that I'd hurt myself and say, "There, it would now be all right." It didn't 'do' anything to the injury as such, but I would feel much better instantly. Or how when my period cramps would get really bad, Ma would fuss around me, stroke my hair and get me a hot water bottle. The bottle helped heaps, but it was the gentle touching that helped much more.


Abe, normal

Still don't have the internet at home, which is probably a good thing in hindsight. If I had had (easy) access to Wikipedia last week, I probably would have gone into pre-term labour due to mouse-induced stress. So I went for my routine 28-week checkup, it coincided with my birthday (May 6). Along with all the great news the doc gave me -- vitamin and iron levels sweeping bottom etc -- she also told me she was sending me to a cancer specialist for another colposcopy.

I had my PAP smear (abnormal) followed by the first colposcopy (abnormal) in Jan/Feb 2010. Back then the doc told me that some cells in my cervix looked suspicious but that she would wait a couple of months before further action. Those couple of months passed pretty quickly and now she was sending me to a C-specialist. The appointment was in four days in which I was convinced I had only two more years to live (full blown cervical cancer) and that my doc was not telling me everything. Very routine check up that and a great 31st birthday. I refused to do anything and spent the evening wondering if my baby would be motherless and if eventually s/he would have a white or a dark-skinned step mom. Partner was very loving, which made it even worse.


Quick update

Don't have access to the internet yet, shifted home four days back. Sorry about not putting up the Mother's Day post, should be up once I am connected.

Had routine prenatal check recently, baby doing fine, touch wood. Other than that... kind of zapped. Low on Vit D, iron levels dismal. Maybe gestational diabetes. And, cervical cancer scare. Pre-cancerous cells, awaiting results and operation dates. Shocked. Still.

It's not cancer yet. But somehow, just the word is very scary. More details later.


India shining?

Top 5 stories on ibnlive.com are about the IPL.
BCCI-Modi 'divorce' is top story on timesofindia.com, with other stories including Gilchrist's drive, something about Payal Rohatgi and Priyanka Chopra.
More cricket, one item on the PM's stand on naxals and er, Beckham learning rapping from Snoop Dog on hindustantimes.com.
Absolute IPL overkill on ndtv.com as well.

And all this while a disabled Dalit girl and her father were burnt alive in Haryana. The police sketch of the prime suspect in the Bangalore blast is hidden somewhere inside.

When I log in from Australia to read about what's happening back home, nothing and no news website gives me ANY idea. Is this news?



I yearn for you and in yearning realise
I have never felt anything like this before.
The fear, the love, the passion,
The overwhelming sense I have been waiting for this.

For so long.

I am dying to touch you, to hold you, to smell you, to cuddle you.
Even to have you puke and dribble on me.
I won’t say I am overjoyed at the thought of,
Ballistic baby potty…

But if it means you have good bowel movement,
I will be enthralled at the efficiency of your li’l bowels.
And your little hands, little toes, round little bottom
And the eyes that I so imagine now.

Eyes like mine, eyes like his.

The eyes that I will look into
And behold the wonder at what you see.
To wonder at what you think
And what or who you will grow up to be.

I cannot wait to have our first argument,
When I will know that you are expressing your will
And despite wanting it my way, an old habit
I will revel in the fact that you have your own opinions.

And moan at how stubborn you can be. (I know it)

I am terrified sometimes that you might not be
But then I banish those thoughts as easily as they come
For you have my will and your father’s strength of being
And I believe you shall be and be all that you can be.

You are the epitome of my hopes, my dreams, all the love I can possibly have.

I know there will be times when you will think I am silly
When perhaps I will not be as cool, calm or smart as other moms
But I hope you will see that I am trying for you
And that at times I will seek your help in being all I can be.

For I do believe there will be things you will know better than me.

I am dying to dress you up, to marvel at the beauty I know you are.
To relive everything I could not be, am not.
I know that soon you will not want to wear what I decide
And I hope that perhaps then you will pick out what I should wear instead

And think that I am the prettiest mom you have ever laid eyes on.

I love you. Already. Totally. Irrevocably.
And I desperately hope you will love me.
It’s not fair, I know, to want so much from you.
But I am weak and I have my faults

And I hope that just like your father, you will love me despite my faults…

I hope you will enjoy head massages and give them to me as well
I want to see you swim even if you laugh at how scared I can be in water
I want to see you dive and hold my hand and teach me how.
I want to see you play and teach me new tricks…

And new words, even though I fear they might be slangs.

I am dying to touch you, to hold you, to smell you, to cuddle you.
To have you and be blessed that you are mine.
Ours. To love.


Stranger danger

One of my earliest random memories is from when I was 9-years-old. I had just won a prize for a dance performance (on Jahan chaar yaar mil jaaye from Sharaabi!) at an army function and was being pretty much adored by everyone around. ‘Everyone’ then included lots of army ‘uncles’ and ‘aunties’ and particulary a large number of ‘young’ uncles. Young uncles in the army are unmarried lieutenants and captains who are (or were back then at least) usually treated as the kids at a cantonment.

What I clearly remember is not the dancing or the prize but of some young uncle picking me up in his arms and throwing me in the air while the others cheered and applauded my (excellent) dance moves… and later, of Papa growling at Ma for ‘letting’ that officer pick me up, Ma whining her helplessness and Papa finishing off with, “You don’t let any bastard touch my daughter”. I remember feeling bad for Ma and being confused at Papa’s reaction (didn’t he like my dance?) and yet understanding then (and for the rest of my life) that Papa did not want me picked up or cuddled – even as a 9 year old – by other men, even nice young uncles.


kaise ho?

There's really no point in me apologising for vanishing acts since I know I could (and would) be doing it again. Lots has been happening.

For one, Bub is kicking around, not very hard and you still cannot feel it from the top (as in if you place your hand on tummy etc) but I sure can feel the flutters. Doesn't seem to like spicy food since it kicks more after curries. Hrmph. I am determined that Bub shall like curries -- and all Indian food -- as much as its mum does; though I shall compromise and feed it vegemite as well. Personally I can't stand the damn thing.



Oh well. I had some stuff I wanted to write about but then this turned out to be a much quicker post. Thanks to Chandni for giving me this award. Big truth: I am very self-conscious about accepting blog awards, especially tags. First self-conscious bit is the award and second would be the answering the tag thing that makes me either avoid acceptance or procrastinate the writing!

I think I'm honest most of the times, and more than honest at most other times. *evil grin* So according to "rules", here are 10 more honest things...though how relevant to anyone/anything, I take no responsibility for!!

1. I cannot understand when people (on Facebook) tag me on notes when they haven't said hello for ages. I always remove the tag.

2. Sometimes I think I'm too low maintenance. :/ Like my comfort food is khichuri (for crying out loud) and most animation movies make me really happy.

3. I am never happy with the bras I buy. Never. And now that I officially have udders, it's getting even tougher.

4. Though I have a baby bump, I have to confess that my doctor said, ''A lot of your bump is in fact belly,'' which kind of had me a bit glum. :/ But then rather a doc who's easy to talk to then overly bloody maternal.

5. I am scared of driving cars and can't believe I am being forced to er, learn. However, before you laugh, I have no fears about hopping on a motorcycle and riding around. Parents and Partner have forbidden it.
(And I thought I'd get to make my own decisions once I was 30)

6. I secretly (well not anymore) fear that someday I will stop being attractive for Partner. (However if any woman EVER thinks of using my sometimes low self-confidence as a weakness and tries any moves-shoves on my territory, oh boy, she better be bloody prepared for my real nastiness. Evil laugh)

7. Yet I find it very tough to use the above as enough motivation to really exercise. I mean what's the point if affection is only physical eh? Bring on the chocolates.

8. I am always a bit apprehensive discussing what's bothering me with people -- even really close ones -- because I can't stand the expectation that I am expected to follow their advice!
(I mean it's fair though, I make them listen for hours and then get pissed off when they give me all-knowing advice.)

9. I am very jealous of women who can sing (they always behave like divas) and women who say they "play a lot of sport". I can do neither...though I am darned good at some video games. I demand video games be declared sport.
(Er, if you sing or play sport, it totally does not mean you, thik-hai?)

10. I SUCK at shooting games/war games, especially on the Xbox. I always get my head blown up in 2 seconds (usually Partner) and completely hate it. I am VERY competitive in video games... I also insist that all double/multiplayer video games should ALWAYS have a default female character. WHY should I play Modern Warcraft 2 when I always have to be a man?

I pass this on to:
Silvara (who is very honest about (failure) with weight loss attempts)
Goofy Mumma (who writes so sweetly about shifting to a new country)
Pirate of the Arabian (who writes one bloody post a year, should bloody well be writing more)
DewDropDream (who I have not seen in aaaaaages)
Sree (who is so honest...it hurts. And I wish it would stop hurting)



I didn't know her in college. But I saw a picture where she had the kind of waist-line I could kill for. And had I known her then, perhaps would have hated her for it. I got to know her -- not really -- through her blog. Even went to her house for dinner once with Partner. And I remember her Brat. He had that smile that makes you want to smile. No matter how pissed off you are. Sometimes her posts piss me off. I will not go into reasons now. Sometimes they echo what I think. Sometimes they make me wonder about the starkness with which she writes. I don't think she is perfect, but if there's someone flawed doing a damn good job of things -- fumbling, learning, screaming, loving -- perhaps it's her. Especially since we are the same age and she has two children. I loved this post. Not because of the happy ending but because it scared me to bits.


It's not me it's the baby

IF I see one more Bollywood movie with divinely pregnant women practicing lullabies the moment their bloody ovum is fertilised...
Or any more filmi sequences where hero-heroine burst into "the moon of our eye and the apple of your womb" type romantic number when they discover they/she are/is pregnant.
Or any references to how life is going to change (completely, drastically, horrendously) because tum maa banne waali ho*. (All Hindi translations given at the end of this post, and if some are missing, I can't be f*cked.)
I swear I WILL kill.


We are pregnant

Why am I writing this, writing here? That’s the question I’ve asked the umpteen times I’ve tried blogging and haven’t. Each time I haven’t been certain of the answer and so haven’t bothered to write. I’ve sat and played game after game of online monopoly (pogo.com), tried the same campaign on Age of Empires at various difficulty levels, surfed through various websites…Done everything but blog. Either I’ve not known why I want to write – not what, never what – or someone else has said it better than I would, could. There’s no dearth of opinions, I’ve always had them by the truckloads, there’s just a sense of… Can’t-be-bothered. There’s so much that’s happened. It made the last year go by so fast, it seems I went straight from 2008 to 2010. Perhaps my not wanting to write was a way of dealing with so many new things, adjustments, changes. Perhaps. So many remember-it-lifelong events, moments. So many that at times you (and I) forgot them in an instant unless it had a Facebook album dedicated to it.


stuff that hides

(Republished without permission, please go here for more such)

Tears and stuff

Things got a bit intense last evening.

I walked in on my daughter watching a re-run of Jungle Book 2 on television. You know it. Mowgli rediscovers his old friends in the jungle, after discovering hormones in the man-village. My daughter was crying because Mowgli knew he had to return to mankind, and Baloo the bear was giving him a hug to make it easier.

‘Why aren’t you crying?’ My daughter asked me. She was pouring tears. ‘It’s so sad and happy at the same time.’

So I cried a little. I was surprised at how easily the tears came.

We sat there, sniffling, pre-teen daughter and middle-aged father, as the credits rolled up. It felt good to know that in her eyes I wasn’t a wimp.



"The human race would have died out if it was left to men to have babies."
--- Colleague at work when discussing a picture of a woman in labour that appeared in the Sunday Age newspaper. She believes, and we all agreed, that men cannot tolerate pain as well as women do. They (men) just don't have any pain threshold level.
Pic courtesy: theage.com


aao, khao

What better way to start 2010 than by completely feeding my face? In the year and half of my being in Melbourne, I've made no pretenses about missing Indian food. Especially when it comes down to chaat and sweets and the other goodies we take for granted back home.

It was a random chat with one of the dude's at the Indian store at Moonee Ponds that lead to my best discovery in Melbourne yet. Ironic though that it should be Partner asking about "Where can we get authentic gulab jamuns?" instead of me. Perhaps because Partner has been quite sick of the disintegrating gulab jamuns I've tried making. They taste almost the same except they are not round or any other shape.Add Image
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...