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Showing posts from December, 2008

A quick tale 220

Everyday Christmas

The Santa sitting next to the till looked cute. His head bobbed whenever a customer placed their shopping bag on the counter. Shop, shop, he seemed to say, shop till you drop. Is that for sale?, she asked of the shop assistant. Sorry, that’s just for display. There are others in aisle number...18.

The Santa doll would look good on her golu steps. He would sit next to Chettiar and Chettichi dolls. Sort of like a strange cross-cultural exchange in the toy world. The two bulls which she inherited from her mother would go on either end of the step. She wondered if she could get her mother-in-law to ship Lakshmi-Saraswathi dolls. They would have to be packed well though. Otherwise they would end up with chipped noses. And no matter how mach PVC glue you applied, it would never quite look the same. There’s still time for all that, she thought, it’s only December yet. There’s almost 10 months between now and Navarathri.

Soon it will be Pongal. Then Maha Sivarathri. In April, …

A quick tale 219

Ananya, Arushi, Advait, Ankit, Aryan

In class she was C. Geetha. There were two other other girls with the same name. R. Geetha and L. Geetha (whom she recently discovered on Facebook. Only now she was Geetha L Narayan). It would annoy her immensely whenever her name was called out and several heads turned to answer. It was back in school that she resolved never to answer when she heard her name but instead to wait until she was tapped on the shoulder. A habit which continues to date despite the fact that she is the only Geetha in her household.

It’s funny how she now has her own house and family. Just recently she was still her father’s daughter. A third daughter born after much beseeching to the gods for a male offspring. Even as a child she knew what an intense disappointment she was to her parents. Why else would they give her a name that was as commonplace as salt? In fact, she was uncannily right. Because it was not her parents who chose her name. They were still blaming the gods …

A very tempting resignation letter

I, So-and-so, do hereby resign from my post as mother, food provider, eternal comforter, lost sock finder, homework helper, nappy changer, 2 am feeder, bed time story reader, Boochandi monster fighter and from my countless other avatars. I also surrender my title of ‘Best Mummy in the World’ which was so graciously handed to me this morning after a particularly hideous tantrum from my part.

My reasons of resignation are various. But the chief among them is my desperate need to regain what remains of my earlier life before the onslaught of children. It was a life filled with deliciously slothful behaviour. I could have leisurely lie-ins on Sunday mornings. I could leave home at a moment’s notice without having to pack for an apocalypse. I could hold long conversations on economics without regular and frequent interruptions from a child demanding to know if he could have credit crunch for pudding. In short, it was a golden period. And I want it back.

I am deeply aware that I have been ver…

Write with me

Following on from my earlier attempts at understanding poetry, I've decided to try my hand at writing them (ha!). Please join me in my pitiful attempts at rhyme and meter and all that.

Today Jikku's year 1 class had a visitor - a poet called Coral Rumble (I like her already!). And here's an exercise she devised to write poetry.

POEM POT EXERCISE
Take one poem-making kit (a pot, lined A4, plain A4, scissors and a pen)
Fold the plain paper 4 times, creating 16 rectangles.
Cut along the lines until you have 16 slips of paper.
Decide on a subject you would really like to write a poem about, and write all your ideas - words, lines, phrases, similes - on the slips of paper. Use a new slip of paper for every idea and collect them all in your pot.
When your pot is full, empty out your ideas and treat the slips of paper like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Put your ideas in the order you'd like them to appear in your poem. Play around with the pieces until you are happy with your ordering.

A quick tale 218

Cutcheri at 8

Jayalakshmi decided that she would sing Shanmugapriya for her ragam-thaanam-pallavi. It was sashti –the sixth day from Amavasai and Lord Murugan would approve of her choice of ragam.

Sa..ree…ga…maa…

Jayalakshmi sang the notes in the ragam, her voice echoing around the tiny bathroom. It was a miracle that her voice still retained its youthful ring. She sounded only mildly different from how she did 33 years ago when she gave her first kutcheri. Today people queued up to listen to Jayalakshmi Nagarajan. But how many days had she spent singing to the reflection in the bathroom mirror and wishing that the echo she heard was the resounding applause of her audience.

…saa…nee…dha…pa…

She let the notes slide into each other luxuriously as easily as if they had been greased with rich coconut oil. One did not get to her level by pure chance. It was all hardwork and struggle all the way. She has earned every bit of fame that she now wore so proudly around her shoulders. There was a time…