From The White Pages

PS - Google

One of life’s ironical philosophies is – “If we
began believing and following all the philosophies, from the white pages, we
would be scholars by age 18”. Certain things in life come by experience, either
yours or another’s. I have mentioned this earlier in a piece posted in march 2017 on festival Holi.

Experience, in turn comes by our own intention and
attitude towards hard work, learning and growing.  Somewhere the attitude towards life is a mistaken truth. And truth is a bitch too. This world is a perplexing imperfect piece of puzzle and life a biggest wonder. While we have millions of aims in our life, zillions of goals,  most of us begin our win and lose in
life by competing!

Competing in life becomes healthy automatically
when we realize the priorities of the goals.

We human species are the most intelligent species yet we seldom treat ourselves with most social niceties.



My last week's break fast at the south Indian restaurant was a big pain. I was appalled witnessing behavior of  well dressed man in the next table, give out rude instructions and loud criticizes to the waiter. Had been a while since I witnessed such a scene. But no, we ought to prove with time we are truly fit to be labelled bloody Indians. We know that the waiters are fools and in order to show how strong we are we ought to shower all our strength on them for no reason at times!

Plentiful folks out on the streets are
still spitting on roads/walls, throw garbage on roads, having high-decibel mobile phone conversations but turn into
model citizens when under scrutiny of known folks. The bloody soul inside me wakes up when I see orange peels and milk tetra packs in the play pen for kids, and I start picking them immediately.

Heard from a friend here in Doha, how a person was fined for spitting out of his car. Not just a fine!! He was showed videos  about cleanliness in the police station, stranded for hours, chided by police saying he was embarrassed to collect fine from such shameless person. Am sure it is impossible in the big India yet one Rajanikanth episode was what I could imagine in the police uniform playing out hefty hyperbolic dialogues.

We are always in tremendous hurry to get anywhere. Be it a shopping, a holiday, a dinner or any outing. Yet, seldom on time. We are the ones that are obsessive about queues. Folks love performing jigs with their elbows in the queue. Jostling, mumbling and shaking all over. Somewhere, we have engulfed our etiquette with traits to be called that bloody Indian though we have all capability to be proud Indians only.

The moment our plane touches down for landing,
we spring out of our seats. yank down our baggage from overheard compartments and even before the aircraft
can come to a halt, we have started stretching our neck towards the exit. Disembarking the plane is such a pain. We would love to jump down like Akshay Kumar if we were allowed to.

Waiting anywhere is not our cup of tea at all. Be it anywhere. At any air port, moment we have to wait we forget to zip our lips.

Why, we are in absolute rush to provoke verbal hassles with airline staff everywhere hoping they go apeshit in no time. And finally when they are induced with our verbal venom, we can happily post several videos of them misbehaving with ordinary passengers and accuse them of bullying like a bloody Indian. Or, if it was the case of cricketer Harbhajan Singh who reportedly accused a White pilot who physically abused a handicapped man on board, then we have called the pilot a crook for he used the term bloody Indian. (Now I do not intend to endorse the behavior of airline staff at all. Only a possible side of the coin perhaps is what I tried to look at).



Who won the game here? It's atrocious on mankind. There is no competition. Being polite is a curse! We are all smart now with smart phones in hand. Too smart to even think with our first and second sense or the most common form of sense. 

 Again, in sarcastic hush, we are the true
spirited are we? Or at least with a hard-spine?  We are  pretty much short sighted in correcting our erroneous etiquette,
yet in a competition to turn best in life. Whatsoever is the field. What on earth are competing for? We have lost an attitude in the course. 

Attitude is an inner voice. It is just another word in dictionary
but a rulebook for life.

Things change when attitudes change. We ought to
know, where we are heading. Are we competing actually against nothing?



Being a perfect social animal is not a myth. This comes by practicing life
skills, gaining our experience , not by mere philosophy from the white pages!,

 – S0 says
the white pages nevertheless!

Happy Seventh

To all my dismay, my blog too has taken up roles of a spoilt husband. It can follow me anywhere to everywhere. The moment I am done with cooking 4 dishes, set table, do the chores and put lights off that the husband's taste buds  crave for that very thing that's not on my table. And these days the blog has taken up similar traits. The moment the laptop is closed, lights off and I step out of study, my sensory treat my cerebrum with creative juices in full.  Then I have to treat the blog secretly like how I would treat my Ex.



There's a reason for this madness.



Have you heard of this myth where people believe, couples staying together for 7 years bind themselves in a "Common Law Marriage"?. This is not true yet supposedly believed in few states of the U.S. It's the evidence how and why we often bump into this  messages on social media which says, once a person is connected to you for 7 years then you are together forever. Well, I am apparently trying to connect and apply it to my blog. Because I am committed to my blog! 

Yes. Me and my blog complete 7 years of togetherness. If something called blog anniversary was a term more aptly applicable here.  Last few years I called it my Blog  birthday from time of it's conception. However, as we grow more number of years together, in full commitment, I found self-fascination for our mutual love and preferred to celebrate our 7th anniversary this month.



Now, how I end up taking kitchen-referring cases proves that we women are capable of  bringing out our culinary expertise and kitchen tales in any circumstances.

Because we women are possessively  obsessed with the kitchen.



Send us on a "ladies day out" and we  strike great conversations relating to  kitchen and food first, like offering prayers to our family deity.  Every time I train myself for marathon,  I wake up at 4AM on weekends and run up to 15 kilometers. Although, the main part of the brain is clogged with  strong signals warning me how I might reach my house with kitchen burnt down or flooded with spilled juice and sandwich remains. Now you see whey Ekta Kapoor fancied we women in silk sarees, seated on expensive couches grunting and smiling at family members, yet administering a full control over the kitchen.



There exists these traits why I announce ourselves  the Kitchen Queen. 

Damn the Kitchen King Masala. I protest, it should be renamed as "Kitchen Queen". Although the men can now treat the roosters with the right masala and devour it themselves, and even win master chef awards, we women,  have left no chance to actually give away the original supreme authority  of the kitchen. It is ours.  It belongs to we women of the homes.



Well, being my 7th blog anniversary, when I thought of kitchen tales to feed this post too, I was brainstormed by my self fancy for our kitchen awe.



In fact, what I must precisely be doing now is performing a thanksgiving day in my way. I must be thanking all my readers in my own way.



Yes, I began my journey of blogging 7 years ago in 2010 October-November  by writing little memoirs (Though most old posts are pulled off my blog, for a reason I shall announce early in 2018). I remember Satish and Seethakka's first  comments enjoying my first humour memoir. And there was Chowla Sir, who always showered praises saying I had a winners face and fueled  my attempts to stimulate my mind, creative skills to my fullest.

Soon I was introduced to blogger community called Indiblogger where more readers patiently survived all my writings. Not just that I went on to win a few blogging contests that further triggered  my desires to learn and do better with each piece I wrote.



My acknowledgments will be longish list though (excluding my lovely family), after the first few names mentioned above. Chandrika, Swetee, Manu, Rajesh Kamat, Sahana Madhyastha, Chaitra, Anupama Rao, Archna, Avinash, and ALL-Indiblogger peeps. There are more that I cant thank enough for their constant spirits of liking my writing and also congratulate them in return on surviving my every master piece, be it a poetry, travel memoir or humour posts.  Also, I thank the ones who have extended wishes for my continued journey too.



However there is one person, to whom I would dedicate my writing journey to. My Ajju. Grand -dad. He was indeed a GRANDeur of living, discipline, culture, values, so much full of life with his subtle humour.

He now resides across the rainbow bridge, right near the brightest cloud after the last ray of sun. There are no precise words to exclaim how he was  the first person to take my poetry seriously. Even when I laughed at myself while in my high school,  upon his comments "Baribeku magu (you must write child) " I did not attempt any writing even with he inspired me while being right on this earth.



However, returning promptly to my kitchen before I sign off. For that's our production shop. We produce cuisines, thoughts, blog posts, art work, gardening ideas, complete office projects and more.



If you need me anytime, you know where to find me.



All picture source- Our own google.

From Toon Times To Teen Times

An amazing cake, courtesy Just Bake Mangalore

And again, aren't we are all parasites of nostalgia? 

I was perturbed, recollecting how and when it was that, SHE outgrew my lap to be a owner of laptop,

from cartoon watching to reading books on politics and history, from world of barbies and Disney Land to a teenager with a guitar, from mamma papa girl to a new little own world with her own vision for her future.

My daughter turned 13 this year and please stop guessing my age.

Thirteen, is awesome? Troublesome? 

Whatever, it is, dear moms reading this,

You have a statutory warning,

Never ever prowl and sneak into your teenage daughter's room and flick those branded creams. And if you have, please don't try applying them immediately in sheer hurry without a proper glance into the mirror or the tube in your hands. You might end up smearing some meswak toothpaste instead of vicco-turmeric cream on your cheeks.

With age comes wisdom I heard. Never let it go whenever it comes. Hold it tight to cash it up. For you would face crisis of emotional bankruptcy at times.  You need it the most with the teen aged pair of eyes that keeps track your footsteps, analyzes your overall decibels,  masters the apprehensions how you will react or not before even you know about it. THEY know it better than you. Now this is the age, they understand parenting better than us. Mind it. Remember when we were in  high school and we were damn sure amma was actually wrong when she warned us not to wander alone with friends on the streets. 

Bingo. It's your turn. Now your teenage child knows how you could be a better mom or a better dad.

Mine had a sound advice for her dad in the Birthday card she presented him last week. My husband laughed his heart and then came running to me like a kindergarten child requesting me to actually explain all the words that were dancing in the card given to him. I advised him to take off from work and work on the advice given by his daughter. Why should I apprehend ideologies of a teenager and fall prey in the dad- daughter drama when I had more tasks in my basket.



Verbal combats with teenager and nuclear wars have one things in common. Destruction. Being wiser is to remain a smiling silent puppet till they return promptly to you once all cranky tantrums are thrown off. I recommend a new Nobel Prize being introduced for the moms of teenagers. It is for the best service in "Teenager handling, coping mechanism". And this reminded me of some funny meme a friend once posted on FaceBook. It said " It is sometimes better to keep a dog as company at home when you have a teenager".



Often, on several occasions we bump into discussions on how kids are faring at their academics and how many medals and trophies they have brought home. It is seldom that a discussion revolves around life skills. While a few of us are intellectually stubborn about raising children or culturally bound, we can still make room for some pampering, some luxury and those extra hours of fun. While most are busy arranging a book shelf to the kid, a few are happy with a new WhatsApp story telling App. Our world is changing. We grew up under granny's watchful eyes of how many television hours we got. Currently the trend is pretty much the same. Just the pair of eyes are changed. We are still under watchful eyes of teen aged children scrutinizing how many television hours we take while they can hog on that many number of hours on their gadgets too. Equality is the motto.



Please excuse me. I am such a dolt. But, I would love celebrating my child's birthdays with a handful of Orphanage kids where she would be monkeying around with them. I would not hesitate to take the teenager to a psychiatric ward visiting a relative where in she faces life's realities and not confine her to the pink and purple painted walls of her room decorated with stuff from Ikea. Life's education begins here and ends in books. It can not start and end with books alone.



Huh. Raising a teenager requires life skills indeed. But truly they are the real pets. Best companion for a parent. You bestow your gifts of values on them an you shall be surprised receiving some most unexpected return gifts from them. There is a child in them you  want to pamper. There is a adult in them that accompanies your thought process. You can dance with them, play with them or even quarrel with them.



And among all the hustle bustle, stomping, banging doors, the headphones plugged in the ears, our constant counselling and verbal lectures, agreeing to disagreeing, we grow together into our better selves. 

Key To Happiness

PS - Beloved friend- Google.

BE HAPPY

It  was yet another normal day. A compulsorily ordinary coffee-less morning for me. I came across this topic called Key To Happiness. 

The morning was already lazier and the topic that is nothing but a illusionary truth called irony that casts spells in our minds. Saying you are happy and if you want to be more..do this and do that. To top it up we have social media full of philosophy and gyaan that makes you supposedly happy. Some even have pictures of pretty dogs preforming jigs with catchy captions reading, like this if you want the puppy to be happy. Happiness these days is  available at the amazon festival too.  eh? Or the Flip Kart big festival. Find your dreams here, find your happiness here, is what they lure you with.

In order to possess more gyaan for myself I started meditating. What an profound discovery I started making. Take deep breath, think of you, your family, your actions. And I could see all were happy. Only I was looking for it somewhere in  closed room with eyes closed. My husband an workaholic is happy by himself. My kids were too happy with schools, play, painting, joining puzzles and book reading. And here I was, researching what is happiness? How does it look like. Is it resembling the big box from the Amazon bonanza festival. Does it have a key then?

Seriously seeing, we are so addictive as well as bored of our life and being our full self that at times in despair we fail to notice that the new green patch in our garden or the first bloom of marigold in the spring itself is such happier moment. 

We are always in dire need of things. Anything that pleases us. The new book in the market , or the new white Lingerie the lady wanted or the extra TV in the house, the man wants . And once we possess it we forget the euphoria too soon and aim at the next set of stuff we are supposed to want. The few breaths that we huffed in between went unnoticed by our scowl. And for God's sake, happiness is not confusion. The illusion of a fake rainbow in your backyard after the sunset is actually what you have to paint it yourself.  The need of material things are like the same. Luxury is a requirement not a happiness criteria. There is a key to the new refrigerator that made you happy. But if you are actually happy and content then please secure the keys in your pocket till the next model of refrigerator is introduced in the market.

Happiness lies in the most under utilized tense- the Present Tense. Rather it's searched in the past tense or chased in the future tense. Pity we are like the asphalt roller, that rolls back and forth and repeat on the same spread. We fail to insist upon ourselves, that happiness is not a milestone.  It is endless. How dreadfully or how enjoyably you take your journey there makes you happy.



And if there's ever  a key to it, then it is you. Do what pleases you. But for gods sake don't ridicule your neighbor if he is laughing to himself. He may be seeing things you don't. 

If at all there is a key to happiness, we are experts in misplacing the sets. Because we are too busy fixing the nuts bolts and the screws of life.

Naughty At 40 Or No-Tea At 40?

Woman at 40 can't be more mad than this -Getty Images 

One fine morning, I admired myself in the mirror - “mirror mirror on the wall”..... Mirror stops me. Sshh. "you are touching 40 and not eligible to complete the question". But, err I was aghast.  But I am just touching 40. Yeah, my buts finally redirected my attention to the "Butt". Most problems begin with butt and continue on the but. Especially for we women.



We women have mastered the  fabulous art of how to get fat. At 40, anybody can get fat.  "But" I was beginning to plot a master plan, something unique apart from discarding my roly-poly figure like an effigy.  Why not attempt being naughty at 40. I must date a boy friend. I would surely find some "cool dude" in my very own Manipal. It was demanding task though. For that I should start looking like Dimple Kapadia or Karishma Kapoor at least. I couldn't possibly think  of Deepika Padukone. I am a vintage model though.  What a treacherous pain it was. I ended my search long before it even began.

These Fairy tales dupe you. Neither do all dreams come true nor does a Cinderella miracle happen.  I can’t see a boy friend! Any way, I do not have the right to even see at all! I can barely find my misplaced spectacles without wearing one.  And my  teeth! - Every year, I see the dentist more than my family.  Who could possibly understand my state of shock when the  young dentist  addressed me as “auntie”. She just nuked my marvelous plans throwing them into smoke.



Last month, I tried para gliding on sea-shore. My husband is such a down to earth person, he dint join me. As the guide gave me lessons on safety before he sent me flying high up in the air, he instructed ”auntie don’t bend back, bend towards the front, for balance”. Auntie?  This was heights. The ghostly vocabulary our folks use for such glamorous sweet women haunted me everywhere.



I decided to abandon my naughty at 40 mantra. It is not my cup of coffee. Please do not mind my hijacking the English language and the idioms to the South India. I am a filter kaapi (Coffee in native kannada language) lover forever. Honestly, it was time to say no-tea/coffee after my blood and cholesterol reports came in. Also reading the big report full of graphs and different types of lines produced at the cardiologist at Manipal KM Hospital was beyond my understanding. I took a few seconds to hold it right way. I needed to come back to reality and pinch myself.



In fact it is not a ideal time to get naughty but the time ticks on with more of NO for you. Especially for a woman, a mother, wife, a housekeeper that multitask juggling a number of tasks, who hardly has any time for a long shower, or even a morning coffee sitting on a couch. That's a luxury because you are all around the kitchen packing dozens of multicoloured Tupper-ware boxes full of food for the husband and kids. It consists of a whole meal in south Indian style. Starting from Idlis and sambar to lunch that includes pickle to desserts and not to forget a big box of fruits.



Have any of you felt this, when we were in school and our parents turned forty, they looked so old. Huh. Surely we were silly then? Because when the reality draws up on you have started noticing the creases on your face in the mirror. And soon they would turn into groves too. No, shouts your mind. Not every commercial of any colourful tubes of creams have ever satisfied an aging woman. Mind you. I have tried several. Each time someone exclaims you "Hey don't look old" only I know, what a rut it created in my dream way.  And my mirror tells me the truth. You stretch yourself close to the mirror, yank your cheeks and you know the bitter truth. Yeah.



If you have a teenager at home. That's another mirror for you. She will steal and rob your tops from your wardrobe, even the lipsticks and gels and end of the day be a lovely critic with sweet suggestion pills like "amma you should try that blue gown, that ones suit YOU more". There was so much mystery in that YOU here. I am the same. So why shouldn't I wear those attires that I wore five years ago?



Remember, being forty has a horrifying beauty in its own as you feel you have added experience with wisdom but with additional package of wrinkles and permanent crinkle.

There are horrid times when I have age spirit cast spell on me. Wherein I almost forget names of people or places. It lasts for few seconds. My sister who is a doctor convinced me it's because of age. "Age". This went echoing in my heart so badly. What does it mean, that I am already aged? Or am I aging?  or wait I'm growing too old?



Now that I am aged, I will definitely stop scowling and furrowing my brows. Wait, folks, then there is so much life left. Who is bothered about the mirrors after all. When life offers your lemons grab some tequila. 40 or 60. Go get your backpack, go hiking, running marathon or paragliding. What's in a age? Just some wrinkles. We can get over it and plan a Madhuri Dixit number after this Dandiya of the Navaratri. "Ek Do Teen...aja sanam aja bahar"..



Your external beauty was only a illusion that lifted your spirits up. Feeling beautiful was the duty of your knowledge hungry brains and your love hungry heart.

Falling in love with your inner self, falling in love with life is all that makes our journey from this earth to the portion below it, a really worthy one. Let's rock even at for-tea.

Sevagram - Exploring The Less Explored Historical Site

Neither am I a photographer  nor a traveler. But I do both. When I travel for pleasure, I share lots of pictures and then blog, because I am only a blogger. My travel experiences that I share here are my memoir. Now,  it's not everyday that I introduce myself in my posts. Am a simple town girl from Manipal and there are three things I love in this world. My blog, my blog and my blog.

Well, and so it happened, that one  morning not long ago we landed in this place called "Sevagram'. So getting to the point, Sevagram is a small village, renamed from originally "Segaon". Sevagram is about 5 km from Wardha town and 50 kilometers plus from Nagpur in the state of Maharashtra.

The picturesque roads with faint smell of dust and dung; Beautiful Prussian blue buffaloes that consume more space on the roads than your SUV; The vegetable vendor squatted by the roads sides with hand towels wet scrubbing the  sweat even in the monsoons; Driving in rural areas has its own bumpy charm.

Now, we had reviews about this place about being historically popular for M.K.Gandhi last resided here before his march to the strike for Independence. He had decided to make this his headquarters until his struggle for independence succeeded. Shortly after his untimely unfortunate demise, this place started turning into a historical place, a museum reflecting the aura of  activities of this freedom fighter. He had used this place as office too and the place was supposed to have spiritual vibe. That was not all, I was told about the finger licking food, the Maharashtra thali (meal)  that was served in the canteen of the museum in this place and the  exotic collection of hand-woven Khadi cloth.

BAPU KUTI

"Punyadham Sevagram" reads the board at the entrance

You get to walk inside a path with no asphalt, covered on both side with gigantic trees, a few shops lined near the gate that sell the authentic Khadi cloth,  into a wide compound. The various "Kuti" or the Katcha houses  with hay thatch here and there mark the rural beauty, showcase the scenes of the great freedom fighter's habitats. The house that he lived in with his wife . Kasturba Gandhi with its uneven mud flooring, the bathtub that blended with luxury for that era; the office space with a now antique wooden table, the neatly kept glass shelf with few bits of paper clippings and an honest letter of love he wrote to his wife when she was ill;  and telegrams of those times are the main attraction here. One can definitely get the feeling of waiting at the door as if for an appointment with Gandhi himself.

This model Gandhi with shining scalp is my sonny, too excited, unable to understand if this was a house we wanted to buy and stay in!! Accordingly he inspected the bathrooms and other rooms and declared the place was nice.

---

THE MUSEUM

It is beautifully constructed new concrete building that exhibits master pieces from life and habitats of  Bapu times. The display is well polished and well-kept. As for me, I felt like a revisit to the class 10 history lessons and as for my kids, older one was busy studying details of each and every exhibit. She was first introduced to Bapu by  "Lage raho Munna Bhai "and my little one hopping like a happy rabbit unknowing why the hell were we busy watching old tables, chairs, lamps and stuff like these while there was the smell of food and sight of ice cream right outside the building.

The most important thing to do is to visit the canteen with beautiful ambience , cane furniture, and the authentic Maharashtra food with the ghee smeared "Puranpolis," Kokam kadi"  and 14 other delicacies served in lovely steel  plates that come in "family size". A super example of best quality and most quantity at a time.

Any travel includes food and more food but this one includes food and rich and best food!

A historian or a would be historian would love to explore this place. Nevertheless any nature lover too will end up exiting the place with a happy smile.  Our Nagpur visit got a lovely touch touring the serene interiors of Sevagram village.

The favourite items of Gandhi that is a must in display

'

The famous "Salt Satygraha"

Prayer Ground In Sevagram

And then, it all ended there.

Mug Printing On The Sonny Day

You and I may have different experiences, but definitely the same jubilant emotions, very same euphoric moments.

Those few minutes of midnight that I spent in the  singing van with multicoloured lights called "Ambulance" brought a new light of life inside me; I did not know I was changing to be a new person in those few minutes.; I lost my voice for a minute; My closed eyes saw images of my mom and dad smiling; Only some tinkling noise of a glass bottle twined up with pipes to my arms, woke me up to catch a faint glimpse of the royal hospital exteriors; Yes the government hospital of Doha, Qatar, was nothing less than a royal palace. 

THIS MONTH MY LITTLE FELLOW TURNED 3

Happy Birth-days are not like the other 364 days. That's one day where we feel extremely special and want to pamper ourselves and celebrate the day we came into existence on this earth. The joys multiply when all our near and dear ones too join in to sing some notes.

We all have a perspective towards birthday celebrations. Quietly slip off to a gateway destination, make some noisy party in our residences, or a quiet dinner with family and friends. Well, we would have tried almost all types. 



This month my little fellow turned 3. We decided to simply celebrate it in his Nursery with his buddies. The enthusiasm was not allowing us to fade it out into a simple one. And hence the preparation began. Goodies to all little children, the grand pink rose cake from Opera House (pink is my son's favourite colour) his new pink attire and a coat. Ah, now this idea of the mug printing for his loving teachers. When all preparations were at our finger tips, finally the mugs were done too and  arrived to be placed in the middle of a table in our drawing-room.


That night, as I finished my chores and duties, and was about to put off the last pole of lamp light, I took a glance at those mugs shining on the table. The time of night triggered me to dive into some time capsule, reach out to those moments again. Those, of exact three years ago when he was born. 


One night three years ago, he was just expected yet. With a heavy baby bump when I had just pushed myself into a slumber did I wake up abruptly at witching hour of 2 AM. I knew, I just knew it was that time for him to arrive. I acted as quickly as like any chemical reaction,  pinched my better half that was snoring softly on the other side of the bed. The ambulance arrived in like an instant "abracadabra". 7th minute I was inside the big multicoloured van with a singing siren,  huffing, puffing and managing myself onto the smell of the liquids and other medicated stuff inside. Immediately I took to admiring the interiors of the ambulance. It was my first time. The nurse beside me asked several questions, took notes and offered some additional oxygen too. 


Those 12 minutes I spent inside the ambulance were a characteristic fair bit of an experience what I term as a perfect mixed feel times. The royal palatial hospital had a neatly manicured lawn and five-star facility. I was overwhelmed to see an Indian doctor on duty and gleefully sat up on the stretcher till the lady doctor sweetly ushered me back on stretcher and to a beautiful room but covered with huge heavy curtain from all sides of the bed. 


After an entire 18 hours of monitoring and my toiling up and down the hospital corridors with labour, finally the hard work paid off. I reminded the nurse with full confidence when it was time to rush to maternity ward and get the baby out. It was a first experience again to be on a bed completely surrounded by heavy curtains as is custom in Doha. 

The arrival of the bundle of joy lasted for few minutes till he was taken away for his wash and I lay staring at the ceiling and the tubes and pipes twined onto my arms. Just as I waited to ask the next staff when would the baby arrive to me, I witnessed it was almost 12 midnight and the mark of first day of holy month of Ramadan, and everybody got busy hugging each other and wishing "Ramadan Kareem". 


It was then, I took a chance to look at my coffee coloured maternity gown the hospital gave me. Intoxicated by the smell of medicine and the ticks of the big dirty wall clock, angrily I turned my face towards those heavy monstrous curtain, when I heard Usha Auntie run in like a happy puppy with a bundle in her hands. Look he looks just like his dad.. 

Enough, after all this labour and wait, and now at least I deserved to be told see how he resembles me. But too sweet that auntie was, I nodded a positive with her.


Now as I arrived in to my private room, it was midnight and exactly a day after I had left home in the multicoloured singing van. And world had changed for us. There was an additional birth certificate added onto our family documents and one more passport to be done.

Isn't birth of a human a joyful miracle coupled with emotions, changes and lots of memories for a lifetime's treasury?

1 2 3 Pico

Those coded cognitive toddler stories; Bubbly gestures; Lively imaginations: Their sparkling eyes, innocent charm; Inquisitive and persistent questionnaire - Children



We are all stories in the end. But those unending stories our children paint in their own words,  fill up the blanks of our life to be some of  the finest chapters. Isn't it?

Little fella in action- weaving stories about space characters 

It was last week, a cloudy evening 7pm. I walked in my backyard with my cranky little son, a toddler. And he had so much to express how the moon had finished dinner too early and slept off (hidden) inside the clouds. How it will pee and we all will get rains! I was astonished and added fuel to fire encouraging him to continue. He then told me the sun and the moon do fight a lot too to reach "his house"! Wildest imagination eh?

Some opportunities hit your door right on time. This time it was BlogAdda which introduced me to the complete activity set to foster creativity in such kids. The "Magical Space Adventure" special pack for kids by Colgate-Palmolive. 

It was easy to grab one set for myself. Thanks to super fast BloagAdda. This pack first reached my little nephew. Little "V" let's call him. Just 3 and he's that same fellow who persuaded me, how the little water heater fitted on top of his bathroom wall WAS the "Humpty Dumpty" and apparently I started visualizing it like one too! I was now keen to know what stories waited for me when V lay his hands on these space characters. Hoping none of them resembled me at least!



The box opening ritual, with non stop chatters and valiant efforts seemed to fill his day with lot of energy. All I can say is that I simply relished watching those moments in videos as he opened the box, piled up all the characters. Eagerness overloaded, with his best possible gestures, coded fumblers  and few giggles in between, we managed to get to what V kept saying.

In action

Oh!  What a marvelous time, there was a full cinema in V's  stuttering words though. 



"Those characters really act too smart you know. Do you see the one wearing hoola hoop like didi, is he jelly fish? May be...how will he ever sit in the rocket and go up? And that fellow (Saturn for us) with dabba (box in kannada) is fastest, because he has the dabba with him. zooooo...Night...yeah they all come in night and go in the rocket in the morning. Only the sun is wearing the pappa's sunglasses and he will come in morning. See angie (V named a character!) , he sat on the blue helicopter and went off to see the rocket".

Non stop tales by V filled the entire weekend with unique fun and enthusiasm.

Now that, V is so fond of a TV cartoon character called Shiva, he thinks these space characters borrowed Shiva's helmet. And what exactly do you think they are trying to do? Wait to understand what the 3 year old had to tell. They all sat in the merry go round (the space ship becomes a merry-go-round) and say 123 pico and fly into the sky. Upon asking what the pico thing was about, pat came the answer- "it comes in TV don't you know it"?. Well, my bad. Missed it, but had to google, scratch my head and find this video( the one below) on YouTube to finally understand him and hack his fumbled code. 1 2 3 take off! So much fun. Pico indeed.



See, this is where the children are innocent and intelligent. He connected to the TV commercial he saw, soon after opening the pack of this space characters.

Do you know there is no food  box in the sky. So when debie (another space character named by V) is hungry he behaves just like this".

These little toddler tales can fill all corners of your mind with so much laughter and freshness.

We adults try reading stories from books for our children. But have we ever wondered how much they have to say? How much they have to express on their own? Imagination is the door to possibilities. It is where creativity, ingenuity, and thinking outside the box begin and foster creative problem solving in children. Love them, pamper them and talk loads to them. Who knows, one day few of them would be traveling in the space too.

I’m blogging my #ColgateMagicalstories at BlogAdda in association with Colgate

Pinnawala Sri Lanka - Elephant Orphanage And Their Poop To Paper Affair

Tea Estates En route Colombo-Nuwar Eliya

An unfathomable saga of my Sri Lanka vacation gala is still fresh in my mind and I can throb even  four years after it. Probably the encounter with the loving pachyderms, icon of Sri Lankan tourism, the elephant family was quite an experience. Or playing with the pythons made it different, or greens and sun forming myriad colours in the wide ocean. Or that, this was holiday where we did not make serious agenda. Holidays should be flexible. This one was. Especially after an affair with these elephants and knowing even that their dung was used to make paper, we got hooked onto the place.

Ocean View from balcony of Hotel Mount Lavinia

Here is the link to the old brief travelogue I had written. - A Week At Ravan's Place. Exploring Sri Lanka.

Pinnawala -Elephant Orphanage



A Place that was originally was found in 1975 for holding best disposition of ex-situ animal care. In 25 acre coconut plantation jungle, adjacent to "Maha Oya " river, elephants are bred and well taken care of. Just as name holds, the set up was founded to care for abandoned elephants. Those that strayed away, or fell in mining pits or who ended up spoiling farmers crops . A splendid encounter it is in such close quarters with these jumbos and little jumbos.

Elephant was a friend always. For me from Udupi the temple town. There was always this mammoth friend with it's fascinating trunk  in the Sri Krishna Temple premises whom I talked to as child. This brief interaction in SriLanka was a delight. Kissing another being felt like being human.

Bottle milk feeding activity to keep tourists engaged! Pinnawala mahouts feed the baby elephants less than 3 yr of age with bottle milk. Also encourage the friendly visitors too to indulge in feeding activity. As for my experience this little jumbo gulped up the bottle before we could have our camera shutter buzz. Timing maintained are for thirty minutes twice a day. 9.15A.M and 1.30 noon.

Baby elephants are left in their play pen for few hours, especially as exhibit for visitors too! With the their favorite veggies hanging on the rails the babies stay there for few hours of the morning after their bath. The lactating mothers are generally very very compassionate toward their calves and nurture them lovingly in their presence.

While most elephants march in herds to the river for their daily bathing ritual, a few are isolated. Either the wounded ones or the aggressive ones and trained with hose of water to bathe themselves. Spectators are welcomed too to view and accompany them. A few naughty ones would splash some water on you too.

Every morning bathing sessions are regimen essential. So, the jumbos stay hale and hearty. They are guided by security personnel and the mahouts and march towards river at 10 AM only to return by 12 noon. A pleasurable scene, the brown pachyderm march to the river. Alongside the street are laid those small vendors who sell souvenirs. All the types that we can expect. Clothes, caps, mugs with the jumbo picture on it.

Poop to paper -

Have you ever had any idea seeing the elephant's rear end, that it's dung could be a raw material while paper the finished product?

I was drowned in poop heap thoughts.



While millions of trees are chopped down in the world, few environmental enthusiasts have found eco-friendly solutions. The elephant dung to make paper indeed! "Fibre" is the keyword, as their diet and dung both are rich in it.

• Collecting the dung - is collected from various elephant stables. 


• The cleaning of the dung - Dung is washed thoroughly with water in large tanks. At the end, all what is left is the fibre. 


• Cooking the poo - To get the fibre ready for the next stage of pulping, it is cooked in water for over 4-5 hours with salt and then washed with hydrogen peroxide to complete the first stage of making the paper bacteria free.


• Sorting - The water is drained out and the dung is left to dry out in the sun. Once its dry, it is sorted and any non-usable fibre is removed.


• Pulping- After the fibre has been softened and sorted, it goes into the Hollander Beater, to be beaten to pulp. This process takes about 4 hours. The fibre goes through the process of being beaten into very fine pulp and also being washed again.


• Lifting Up - The pulp is then taken to cement/ wooden vats filled with water. Depending on the weight of the paper to be made, the required amount of pulp is mixed with the water. A flat sieve-like mould is used to lift a layer of pulp out of water. A sheet of paper is made.


• Moulding -The sheet is then placed on a muslin cloth by applying gentle pressure onto the mould. This process continues till there is a heap of about 100 sheets.


• Drying - The heap of interleaved sheets is then placed in a hydraulic press and compressed to drain out as much water as possible. The paper is then dried on lines, in a shady area. Direct sunlight is not good for drying the sheets unless they’re white as the colour fades under the sun.


• 
  Rolling -Paper sheets are then rolled in d to make them smoother and writable. 
  
  
  
  The sheets are then cut to the specified size, packed and sent to their required destinations.
  
  

Products range includes books, flip-flops, hand bags, picture albums, tags, gift bags, photo frames, and whole lot of funky stuff. 

You have a big range of products available on various sellers, most popular being -One of the seller on Amazon

Few called me daring, then a few called the python daring!!

At the exterior gate of the Orphanage we encountered these slithering friends. First time ever, I held this spineless yet creepy python in my hands. Bit squeamish, but overtaken by confidence of excitement.





Few Key Notes: -

1. Pinnawala Elephant Orphanage is open to public on all days between 8Am to 6 PM


2. A huge place to explore, so remember to tie your shoes tight.


3. About 2 hours drive from Colombo city.  


4. Other places of interest around colombo are -Nuwar Eliya, Kandy ,The Seetha Temple, The Ramboda, Few national parks, tea estates and much more.


5. A suggested place to stay  would be Hotel Mount Lavinia in Colombo. See their website for information - http://www.mountlaviniahotel.com/


6. The Auto Rickshaws there are called "tuk tuk" and are a pleasurable rides like the ones in India!