Ammooma(Grandma), tell me a story...

I feel so helpless!

Ah...Am not sure if you can relate to my feeling, if I tell you the reason.

See, I don't have any nice colourful stories from my childhood and teen years to narrate to my grandchild! Does this sound too silly to you?

Well, let me try and tune you into my thought frequency. Ready?

On your mark, get set, goooooo...:-)

My mother stays with us. She was born and brought up in a small village (Champakulam) in Alapuzha District, Kerala, until marriage (un?) settled her in the state capital Thiruvananthapuram, a sleepy city. We have visited her birthplace only once.

But, I have such vivid images of her birthplace in my head, because of the innumerable stories she has told me, during my growing up years. Her home was in the middle of acres of fields, criss-crossed by a small river. They had two ponds, one of them dedicated for bathing and the other for washing. They had a family who would help them with the household chores which consisted of housemaid "Mary Pembala" (a typical Mallu slang meaning Christian Woman), her husband "Vakkan Mapila"(again, a slang meaning Christian Man) and her children GeorgeKutty and JoseKutty.

It seems her grandmother never allowed Mary to enter the main kitchen and cook because she was a "Pembala". Her mother, who was too lazy to do the cooking, used to find ways to sneak Mary in to do the cooking or give her the raw materials and ask her to cook in her kitchen and bring over to my mother's place!

Mary's specialty was "Indariappam"(Cake, made of rice, sugar and coconut in which you poured a little "Kallu" (local toddy) and baked it on banana leaf) that was made for Easter and Christmas. From her description, I can still feel the taste of that dish! Actually, as I am writing this, my mouth is watering, just remembering the description, though I have never tasted Mary's cooking. :-)

Whenever my mother had made this dish in my childhood, she used to always comment, “This does not taste as good as what Mary Pembala used to make. You know once, she made this Indariappam...." another story used to unfold before my eyes, and I used to savour the dish in front of me with the added flavours of the story she would narrate!

Then there was her dog Jimmy. He was a "Nadan Patti" (local Indian breed dog) He had a black body with a white vermilion like mark on his forehead. All four of his legs had white fur at their tips giving the impression that he was wearing white socks! It seems he used to jump into the water and fetch the coconuts that fell into the water. Since he used to get a lot of praise for doing this task, he used to jump and hunt in the water for mangoes too, that fell when they were over-ripe!But used to come back disappointed as mangoes didnot float in water like coconuts did!

Then there was the time they got electricity. It seems Jimmy went running round the house, with his head held up, barking at the new intruder into his home, electric bulbs! It was during that time that my mother's family discovered that Jimmy had a girl friend! It seems he used to make a show of eating his food when his bowl was filled, and leave half the food behind. He used to wait for these new "intruder-lights" to go off and everyone to go to their beds.

Then, he used to sneak out to a "Pulavante Veedu"(worker house-hold) where his girl friend would wait for him. He used to bring her to his home and give her the leftover food. One day when my mother's grandmother got up in the middle of the night to fetch herself a glass of water from the "Kooja"(mud-pot), she heard "soft coochy coochy sounding dog-talk", which made her suspicious enough to investigate and Jimmy was caught red-handed!

Then there was "Doctor Mamman" her neighbour...

Ah...such colourful stories I could go on and on...

"Is this 'Karimeem Pappas’ (a typical Kerala dish made with fish) you made as tasty as the one Mary Pembala's used to make, Amoomma (grandmother)?", my son asked my mother when we sat down for lunch an hour ago.

I watched with a de-ja-vu feeling as Amma started narrating a story revolving around 'Karimeem Pappas', the said dish. I watched as my son sat totally enthralled by the various by now familiar characters of the narrative, oblivious of the many "chor urulas"(rice balls) that Amma was popping into his mouth!

Sigh! How many times I have heard these stories. But, I am never bored and love hearing them again. I went and hugged my mother and opened my mouth too, and told her to pop a rice-ball into mine! To get a feeling of having pressed the time machine's rewind button, albeit for a moment, of me as a schoolgirl, sitting beside her at our home back in Thiruvanathapuram and savouring the taste of fish-curry with rice and the added flavours of "Champakulam" stories!

This set me wondering what stories will I tell my grandchildren? Amma's stories were all her own childhood memories, true and real. I don't have any such wonderful stories to narrate about my childhood as we lived in a city with its mechanical routine of a 9-5 schedule, school, homework, exams etc with no spice, unpredictability and range of incidents, things, people and places that were inherent and unique in Amma's narratives.

I have to preserve my memories of Amma's narratives. Maybe write a series of stories, dividing them into parts and share them with you! :-) If only I knew how to draw or sketch. I could have added a few pictures to spice up the stories, of course after getting them reviewed / validated by my mother!

Maybe next time Amma ventures into one of her narratives video-record. But these won't be the same as hearing them fresh from Amma herself, who has experienced whatever she is narrating.

This is why I feel so helpless...:-(

Are you safe, my friend?

I have a whirl of thoughts in my head. Just feel like venting them out.

Unlike the usual way I write where I know at least what and how I want my blog to sound, I haven’t organized my thoughts. Don't have the time to do that "arranging the jigsaw of thought process" that I do before tapping on the keyboard, as I have to finish a chunk of work at office and leave early.

But, I have to drain out what I have to say. Can't find a human being around who will match my thought frequency, enough to lend me his or her human ears without looking at me with the expression --"Don't you have any better work?"

So, hoping these "Cyber-Ears" would provide me solace!

Well, I can't seem to get this question out of my mind. "Why do we loose touch with people whom we know and care about?”

The standard answer is "We are all busy". But is that **really true**?

Last week, I was waiting for my husband to pick me up from work. Bangalore traffic being the way it is, he was late. I got bored staring at the unknown human faces passing by in various forms of locomotives and shooing away the perpetually hungry/starved stray dog that came sniffing at my knees much to my horror!

So I took out my mobile and stared at it wondering whom to call and speak to. Scrolling down found a friend's contact whom I knew many years back and with whom I have completely lost touch. So dialed her number only to get a response that the 'Number is out of service'.

Pressed the end button with much more force than what was required because I was irritated, as I really felt like talking to her. Did not have any other contact number or contacts of any other common friends, as she was basically an introvert and kept her distance socially.

I went back home and my son told me that he has to make a chart matching the new words he learnt with pictures that were relevant to the words and take it to school in a couple of days. Set about "hunting" for pictures in the magazines haphazardly stacked in various cupborards, some of which were untouched for a very long time.

Found a novel which my friend, mentioned above, gifted me, a few years back in which was written in her characteristic roly-poly handwriting ---" This note is to remind you, my dear friend, to smile and not get angry with me, if I don't respond to your e-mail. Please understand that you will always be in my thoughts and I will think of you, however far apart we are."

I remembered the day when we were parting. We used to work together, but her husband got a huge break in a Mumbai based company and they decided to shift out of Bangalore. We exchanged novels as parting gifts with promises to be in touch, via email and phone.

And we did, during the initial few months, as long as she had access to the Internet at work and we could e-mail. Later she had to quit her job and I started getting mailer-daemons indicating her e-mail id was invalid/unused. She had called me last year to tell me that her number has changed as she was moving to a new locality in Mumbai.

Told me she was in a hurry and will call me up when she shifts to her new home. She did not call.

No, neither did I attempt calling her up, not until last week, the day after July 11, Mumbai attacks, when I suddenly remembered her, while scrolling down my contact lists wondering whom to call and speak to kill the time waiting for my husband.

Now Iam scared. Was she or any of her close family members in those ill-fated trains?

Is she alive? Is she ok?

God, I have this immense pang of guilt for not having kept in touch!

Why is her number not valid? Why had I not tried getting in touch with her since she last called? Must be close to 20 months ago. Was I so busy during that time that I couldn't spend those 10 minutes to dial her new number see if it’s valid and speak to her?

Why does this happen?

Don’t we all know that we live in such uncertain times that the shadow of ill health and death is omnipresent?

Is it too much to ask for to make a phone call to our friends, whom we once knew quite well and still care about, at least once in a year in the pretext of wishing each other New Year? Or set a few Birthday Alarm reminders and try and wish on our birthdays, so we know they are safe and in good health?

She is an immensely private person, so unlike me, and would not like it if I write her name in this blog. Otherwise, I was thinking of putting her name in this blog title, in the hope that she or her husband or someone who knows her would respond and tell me how she is.

My only hope now is "Telepathy". Since I have been thinking about her a lot these past few days, I hope my thought waves would reach her somehow and she manages to get hold of my correct contact number and call me.

Whenever my phone rings at home, these days, I wish with all my heart that it were her phone...

Are you safe, my friend? Please tell me you are...

Ok to be an over-grown kid?

Well, I am not too sure of the answer. Lets try and come to a conclusion together, may be at the end of this blog!

First of all let me tell you, I am a married lady with an 8-year-old school going son.

By profession, I am an Engineer. Was earlier in the typical "IT rat-race" rose up the ladder to be Project Manager in an IT firm. Hated the ever-extended official timings eating up personal time and space, quit, and is now working as a Lecturer in an Engineering college and is currently pursuing my research studies.

Why did I have to blabber about myself so much?

Wanted to make you tune into my thought frequency for this blog. Hmm... where do I begin? Ok, what kind of books do you expect me to enjoy reading?

Yes, I confess I am a voracious reader and read fiction, novel and philosophy like any other person of my age. But that's not the point.

Would you be able to digest if I tell you that I love the "Noddy" stories of Enid Blyton? Also her dolls stories about Golliwog doll and the baby stories written by Dr.Suez?

Just yesterday, my son and me were fighting to read "Five Run Away Together"!




I love playing Bay-Blade, Pokemon, and Spiderman board games with my son. I love helping him with all the activity homework he brings from school. Recently he had to draw a dwarf, colour it and stick it in his class workbook. When my son drew the dwarf it seemed to have Pinocchio’s nose and Dracula-like fingers! I really enjoyed spinning stories with my son, as to why our dwarf could be like this in DwarfLand. May be he was a perpetual liar, maybe he had put nail accessories on his fingers to appear savvy as Dracula nails were the "in thing" in Dwarf Land...Our imaginations kept soaring. We both had a nice couple of hours of fun and laughter.


When my husband gets a bar of Kit-Kat or a packet of Cheetos, for my son, we again fight over it, as both my kiddo and me want these! When a movie such as 'Superman Returns' or 'Krrish' releases, more than my kid, I make plans for all of us to see the movie!

We enjoy playing imaginative games like 'Hercules and Ghost' where the treasure to be fetched could be a powder tin!

I also love guffawing at the silliest sardar joke SMS that I get. I really enjoy interacting with my students, listening to their lamenting about a tough question paper, their fears about what kind of viva questions will be asked, their complaints about various things in life--parents, teachers, friends, the class trip they went for, the funny incidents etc. Feel overjoyed when a friend forwards an e-mail or SMS. Would feel happy and contended today, as I was able to create a blog of this question I was having in my mind for a long time!

Is this normal? I tried introspecting to find out. Realized that I feel I am re-living my lost childhood when I do these kiddish things.

Does every mother go through this phase? Asked my colleagues at work. Got mixed reactions as some don't have time to "enjoy" their child's homework as they treat it as another "irritating" job that has to be done. Some find me strange for wanting to read Famous Five at my age and perceive me as a creature they are better away from because my tastes are "immature".

The most common reaction is they don't "have time" to think of "enjoying kiddish things" because they are caught up with their daily routine jobs!

Do we really have to set aside time to enjoy life? Can't we take pleasure in the small small daily things we do and still find enjoyment?

What do you think of me? Don't you think I am an over-grown kid? Chronologically mature but kiddish mentally?

Or do you think am I slightly "off tangent" / "wacky"?

Or does most of you go through these emotions but like my friends mentioned above never had the time to "realize", "think" that you too enjoy being an over-grown kid?

Looking forward to your comments on my blog. I am really interested in knowing -- "Is it ok to be an over-grown kid”?