Coming Home

I am back home after my brief travels. And as usual I seem to have never gone away at all.

Was there a break? Did I not know all that was happening at home? The time the kids spent at play, in friends' houses, the disappointment over the delay due to the puncture on the way, the excitement over what mom's getting for them, the hours dh spent commuting on Bangalore roads - so had I missed anything?

But I did too- the way ds clambers on me monkey-like to perch on my head and KISS my hair till everybody around gets utterly disgusted. The way in which the kids and I horse around jumping shouting tickling giggling laughing kicking till we need to be pulled apart. And just before this gets too much like maternal paradise, this- the way dd can always bring me back to ground level by asking me to act my age! :p

And before I get down to getting down right complacent- there are things like the invasion of flying cockroaches in my vermicompost pit(!), the fact that the tomatoes are looking promising, but we shall be away for a couple of weeks from Sunday. The much awaited date on the calendar- Seventh May, when we begin our holiday to Australia. Arrangements need to be made for boarding things up, packing clothes, games, books and all the junk which never gets taken out of the suitcases but HAS to be packed in the interest of familial peace and bonhomie!

And the Chennai connection. On the first sector of my flight (via Chennai!) I met one of dh's friends- a person as literate and erudite as sensitive and kind. He gave me detailed accounts inter-alia, of the chicklit scene in post modern Indian English writing, being off-shore parents to what were a few years ago- their 'kid' sons, an exposition on Ramu G, a favourite author of mine - (I do adore this biography that Anita Nair has written of him). Somewhere in the midst of all this delightful talk, I brought up my rant about the lack of decent bookshops in Bangalore. And believe me, by the time I came back home, I had a parcel couriered to me via dh- with all of Kolatkar.

Fun to be back home! :)

Sylvia-n

Like Scott, I am busy too. Travelling in the 'fair' city of Hanover in Germany.

Meanwhile this morning I have Sylvia buzzing in my head - Insomniac, The Surgeon at 2 A.M., You're and of course Lady Lazarus. Go seek!

Delight

Delight decreed the Mamasaysom theme.

And delighted I am to share my delight (even if the theme now be more careworn!) ...

I have not much experience (or need) of sampling the wide array of mind altering substances that Nature - and the chemical factories have to offer. Not alcohol, no opiates, no uppers, no mixed-balls, no psychostimulants, no psychedelics, no cokes, no amphs. If I do swing wildly from the whizzing, dizzying highs to suicidal lows it is entirely my own hormonal factory at work. The hormones fuel me, brake me down, and have on the whole, kept me going. They respond to all manner of stimuli, - visual, aural, tactile and yes, extra-sensory. Much of the stimulation is auto-generated and intrinsic to the processes in the factory itself- bye-products and catalysts and all. But occasionally the over-stimulated self does rise from its dopey self-obsessed languor and take delight in and from external agents.

With that exposition on delight, let me share my most delightful moment of all.

I was in the throes of the worst torture I'd had to endure. I was hanging between life and death and no, my life did not flash by me in that moment. I was too busy trying to somehow live. I was fighting damn hard, but knew it was a tough fight. How depleted I was- unable to muster any of my reserves. Shouting, screaming, shrieking in the most undignified manner imaginable. Yes, I was aware of what a pathetic figure I presented as I lay there, ineffectually doing battle. Till someone suggested that I not try so hard. Not try so hard?- Then I'd surely die, I thought. But the tired thighs grasped that message even if the mind said No. And suddenly out it came- messy and all. The most delightful, unique fragrance hit me and ALL my hormones kicked right in. I laughed, I cried, I shouted, I whimpered, I whooped. The tiny perfectly formed purple heel indicated I was finally a mother!

Easter-ly

Well what does one know? Serendipity is me!- Given that I don?t be sitting watching TV suddenly out pops a box which informs me that I could have the pleasure of sharing Easter (eggs and all) with that chocolate-y dream boat hero of mine- John Abraham! Hmm, it was good. So how many of you caught him on CNN IBN last night? (the link is not up yet on the site- hope they do put it up for all you who'd drool too!) The poor man made such a pretty picture with his handsome visage and so much at a disadvantage too after his recent accident. And such an intelligent charmer- I could go on and on about him but shall stop here in deference to the sensibilities of the JA non lovers (can there be any such?)

I had a small errand to run at night. It had me running through the rain drenched cool streets - as usual I had no patience to slow down and was hurtling through when an uncertain but strangely familiar aroma wafted across. Wonder what breeze brought that on- was it an easterly? A 'purvaiya'?

What is it about the rain which releases these locked up scents and floods us with distant memories? There I was in a typically old-world Bangalore street and yet the trigger seemed to suggest I was in the tree lined avenues of dilli. The street- scape in the mind-scape was of large Neem trees spilling their sharp bitter fruits and the brilliant moon light streaming at nights on the dusty land through thorny acacia bushes.

Its been four months since I went to Dilli. While I do manage to talk to a couple of people- family or friends or both, its not the same as being there. I get daily weather reports and am updated hourly as it were on local gossip, new places opening, new things to be done there but I am losing the power to join the dots and complete the picture it all without the visual (and other sensory) inputs. The weather there would not be the same now as it was in January. The laburnums and jacarandas would have performed their grand show and retreated only to bloom after another year. Gulmohurs would still be surving. The mango trees (the few trees there) would be still bearing flowers while here there are young tart unripe mangoes to be had. And most of all, this is the season in Delhi of the small sweet-sour berry called phalsa. I doubt if anyone of my folk there who see it don't remember my fondness for that fruit. And, a dear friend rang up and pleaded with me inviting me to his wedding this week-end. If not for the reception, come for the sangeet, he said- alas, dilli door ast!

Pro choice

I am under seige again- much like this lovely idiotic city I'm living in. I am getting frantic yet furtive calls from all manner of folk who periodically pop out of my woodwork. Whats up? Just called to say Hi. So whats happening, yaar?- And plenty of such inane talk. But wise dh saw it coming much earlier- 'Whats with all this womyny stuff? Too many womyny posts and the Great Indian Unwashed Masses would give up on you', he warned. Another signs that my friends are geting more worried than ever for my residuary sanity and so on. So I'm likely go easy on those kinda themes but, please, pretty please, could I do this one?

Reading this here, had me worrying- about the choice and access to medication and treatments. But why do I worry my already cluttered up head about access to medications? Usually, I have been one to shun most medicines preferring to grin and bear it (and then to wear my woes and attitude as my badge of long suffering!). Feeling miserable comes so easily to me- sigh! Gather around, ye sisters, we shall celebrate our woes- seems to be the refrain.

While I may or not always volunteer to try out the latest in pharmacological advances, while the prospect of using all the state of the art drugs, micro administered carefully in their respective hotly debated dosages may not be my idea of bliss, would I like to be deprived of the biological benefits, if needed, of Nitric Oxide, would I forgo the choice to exercise my option on whether or not to use RU 486 (again, the earlier post!), even therapy like ECMO, for all its complications? No, most certainly not. But then would I hook up to life support systems to let life live itself through me??? A lot of choices there- not all the same for all.

I definitely would not have made past the previous year but for some timely and well dosed administration of ALA and other such micronutrients. The effect that an antioxidant can have on everything from mood to hair to health and a feeling of well being- and to think that I chose for long not to avail of such help, chose not to make a choice, to reach out, to get out of my misery. Once I got help, I did immediately reach out and let my charmed circle know of these choices (of course, many of my friends are similarly placed), but then its all about our own choices huhn?

A womans gotto ... do it all

Breezy, quick, the carefully casual chic
Plastic bra-strap, pert message on tank top
Some gentle ab stretches, violet-ly golden keds
Hope I'm OK soon, in a husky whisper to hunky trainer,
Off, leaving a trail of adrenaline pumping no-brainers

A blast! A cold shower at home,
Hair pampered, dried and brushed
Abs and pecs encased in corset of absolute power,
breast pads on, with spares for the day,
thick dark tee to cover all, yet look sexy

Guzzle water, munch crunchy salad, down Parlodel*
Hope it kicks in, stems the messy leak
Dizzy head, faint, yet tummy so lax,
When will it regain its muscle tone
Amidst the folds of flabby fat?

Buzzz! When are you coming
I'm bored, asks the nth SMS
I'’ll be there in a gif :-)
And sends a carefully shot pic

A final make-sure make-up look
Her hair just so her face perfect
Tummy sucked in, Hell! why does that
Baby wail so?

Clip clop clip ready to be '’viewed
Chauffeur looking respectful and smart
He must be a slick production dude
If even the driver looks a part

O you look better in person, he coos
And umm, your CV does attract
He takes her in like meat on a rack
Just well rounded, no, not fat

She wants to talk of the contract
Her role in the project team
Just lets him come around to that
Gives time to warm to the theme

At times she's so sharp, his nerves
Grate. Yet she has all he needs
And more. The CV was bait
He feels fate is so kind of late

She scored over all the others
Was definitely the best
How to show her to his advantage
Make an offer and test?

A graceful long waltz of a delicate negotiation
Already he is prey to her persuasion
Talking of bonuses, the trips and the tours
Over nibbles of exquisite hors d'oeuvres

Stay on for lunch, the guys are coming
O not this time, gotta be running
Rushing in a fink to the nearest sink
Change of pads and the Tee doesn't stink

Happier quieter in a more peaceful mood
Gets back to pick up her freshly hatched brood
Pillows pillows and now the latch is on
A full feed now, next three hours I'’d be gone.

*Parlodel or Bromocriptine works by stimulating dopamine receptors in the brain. Stimulating dopamine receptors causes a decrease in the production of the hormone prolactin from the pituitary gland in the brain, which is also the hormone which stimulates production of breast milk. Some people may experience dizziness caused by low blood pressure in the first few days of taking this medicine. The blood pressure of lactating women who have recently had a baby should be carefully monitored, especially during the first few days of treatment.

NOTE: *All ye ladies, this is not me- I let my babies wean themselves.*