Weekly ritual

We have a weekly ritual on Saturdays – me and the kid. Around 3pm, just about when she is getting supremely irritating and when I’m at the end of my patience, we set out for our weekend adventure. This involves a very steady routine. Dress up, fight about peeing before leaving house – threaten  to cancel trip if pee is not attempted, shout amidst tears, make up, leave home, walk to the nearest bus-stop, take the first bus that goes into Kingston, get down at Brooks Road, take the short walk to Kingston Children’s library aiming to reach there by around 3.30pm.

I discovered the library as a means to keep my sanity once I was alone with the kid here. She enjoys being read to and they do have a superb collection. Sometimes it’s my eagerness to read the next Julia Donaldson which far outweighs her need to go to make the trip. None the less, she does enjoy the trip. She browses the books and picks ones she thinks she may like and brings them to them to me to be read aloud. We spend around an hour or so at the library and the end of which we decide which books to take home. Considering that a lot of kids books are hardcovers and hence heavy, we limit our selection to around 5-7 books per week depending on the strength of the plastic cover I’m carrying for the books, her liking for certain books and my violent dislike for others. We normally manage a decent compromise. Sometimes her choice of books does surprise me. It is no secret that the girl loves monsters and dinosaurs. So obviously books which seem to have either of these on the cover do make it home. But I did draw the line at bringing home books about dung licking monsters and creatures who liked spider sandwiches…. Yuck!

Then there are times when she picks up books from the multi-language section and follows me around begging me to read Bengali books or Korean books. I’m good and I’m her super hero.. but even I can’t read anything other than English and Hindi. So after coming to blows trying to explain that I genuinely can't read Korean and I’m not trying to be difficult or lazy (her allegations), we decide on languages that I can read. Sometimes when we bring home books and read them, I’m surprised that most books in the lot seem to have a theme. One week, we had books about cleanliness( 3/5 books), one week it was about treating “different” people well (4/7 books), this week it is manners (2/5 books). You may assume, like I wrongly did, that kids’ books anyway cover only a limited number or range of topics and hence such co-incidences are very likely. But when you have been exposed to the world of kids stories in UK (and believe me the range is much wider than what we as adults get to read) and she picks up these books at random without knowing how to read, it does strike me as astonishing.

Anyway, library closes at 5, so we make our way out by around 4.45 and cross the road and land on Kingston high street. Next stop McD’s. Next part of the ritual – 2 medium fries and a fruit shoot – 3.17 quid for a fine inhouse dining experience. A luxury once a week and more importantly, at least 30 minutes more of conflict free time between us. Once we are done, after fighting over the quantity of ketchup, we take the first bus available into Surbiton, get down at Maple Road and walk back home to reach around six-ish.

All in all a good three hours spend outside home, fresh air, no fights, good books, fatty fries and a fairly tired kid who is asleep by 7. All in all not a bad ritual.

A musical fix

I stumbled upon The sound of Music today. It was 15 minutes into the movie. The scene was when Maria was told by the Reverend Mother about her commission to the Von Trapp family and she was on her way. I was in my quest for an American crime drama, any American crime drama.. though I seem to have seen re-runs of re-runs so many times that I can narrate dialogues back in my sleep.  Anyway, my initial pull – the reason why I stopped channel surfing was to see how Julie Andrews looked when she was young. I had seen the movie a long time back and knew the story, remembered a couple of the songs – 16 going on 17 and favourite things, but didn’t remember the details. Then the song was over and she was at the Vonn Trapp residence and then I was hooked. I just couldn’t change the channel. I couldn’t get myself to stop watching. The beauty of the story telling, the innocence of the era, the charm of the hero – things which are so lost in todays movies. There is a scene where George professes his love to Maria and they sing (obviously) at the end of which their silhouettes frame the doorway against the moonlight. It is one of the most beautiful frames in a movie which I remember seeing. The underlying and understated sense of patriotism which is there but not there. The romance which is so subtle that it is painful but never overwhelming. Even the other lady who could easily have been a vamp, but is only a human woman. I am not an expert in old Hollywood movies. I think sound of music and maybe Benhur are the only old movies (pre-80’s I mean) which I recollect seeing. I have always thought of that era to be unrealistic, something that my generation cannot relate to, movies with actors singing at the drop of a hat and hamming along gloriously. I am not saying that I am wrong. I don’t think I can ever see a Western starring Mr. Eastwood. But seeing something like Sound of Music ticks all the boxes – hope, love, music, joy, fun, strength, life….People need fixes like these  once in a while to get them re-alined.

Of Prose and Poems

This past year I have been exposed to a lot of writers about whom I had never heard of before… some good, some very good and some passable.

First off, introduction to a whole range of British best-selling children’s writers was the biggest find of all for me.  Julia Donaldson, Tony Mitton, John Fardell and the American Dr. Suess… the simplicity of the prose and poems, the audacity of the imagination, the brilliance of the ideas, the sense of humour which appeals to a 30 year old as much as a to a three year old. Aliens love underpants, Stinkysauraus, Manfred the baddie, the Gruffalo and lots more are an exquisite delight to read. I look forward to my weekly visit to the childrens section of Kingston Library as much as my kid. The excitement of finding these gems, bringing them home and then reading them every night till the next weekend is something that find childishly innocent.

The other big discovery for me was Alexander McCall Smith. The No.1 ladies detective agency series has been one of the most enjoyable reads I’ve had in a long time. Botswana, a hitherto heard of but not retained in memory for any cause, country was suddenly the most desirable country in the world. I have always loved the ability of an individual to write from a perspective which is completely opposite of their self. Not that I claim to intimately know Mr. McCall Smith, but I would daresay he does look and read a lot different than Precious Ramostwe. Reading any one of this gentleman’s books has a therapeutic effect on me.

Then there are the horrible history series. I am not one for actually recollecting anything that I read in those books with any precision – in fact I am bound to get British history all muddled up adequately for them to throw me out of the country with immediate effect, but are they a riot to read. I have never read such callously funny renderings of gruesome killings in my life. One doesn’t know whether to laugh or be horrified after reading the series.

The Indian markets are flooded with American authors and thankfully a lot of indian ones. I do miss the Indian writers. I wonder if there is a new Vish Puri novel or if Mr. Robin Einstien Varghese has been able to mess something up again or if Mr.Ravi Subramaniam has exposed another underbelly of the Indian banking industry or Mr.Adiga has another delightfully realistic expression of Indian life. I agree I am not into heavy philosophical books, but historical or mythological interpretations like The Pregnant King, the Palace of Illusions are excellent reads.

 

So I have always been quite ignorant of British writers. Maybe other than the old timers (Dickens, Jane Austen et al.), I actually have not read any modern authors. I have obviously been an ardent worshipper of Frederick Forsyth and Jeffery Archer in their heydays, but their books are far too global to give you a feel for the real British life. So when I came across writers like Ann Cleeves, Anna Dean, Sue Townsend (all women, which I didn’t realise till I actually jotted their names down), I was pleasantly surprised. It is a very different depiction than what Indians reading Western fiction are used to. We are so used to the American way of things that to digest and then slowly enjoy the British way of things is a bit difficult. But when you’ve lived here for some time (at least through one glorious seasonal cycle), you understand the bleakness, the greyness, the propriety, the addiction to a cup of tea, the social structures, the conflict of the cultures – both within generations and within populations. And when you understand some of this, then you start enjoying their murder mysteries, novels penning their mundane daily affairs. I am not sure if I would yet extend this courtesy to British telly which I am staying steadfastly away from, but maybe I ought to give Downton Abbey and Dr. Who a chance at least J

Amongst all these, was a book called A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian. This is written by a migrant Ukrainian who is settled in UK and I don’t believe I have read anything so remotely funny in the near past.

I am sure there are many American writers who do good work and continue to churn good intelligent material for masses (and I do not include James Patterson as one of these writers), but for now, I am basking in glorious British literature (not sure if modern day novels are to be referred to as literature). In this country where telly is oh so rubbish, it’s these writers who keep my sanity intact.

 

 

 

Annual Wrapup

The last hour of 2014. As usual everything is left for the last moment.

I look back at the year and see more moments of desperation in this year than any other that I remember. Given that I have an extremely short memory span of any chronological event in my life, this is not a telling sign of any actual comparative desperation of 2014 over say 2002 or 2007 or 2011. It’s just recent events (and by recent I mean the past week) triggering this reaction.

So overall how was 2014? Well I’m alive, I still have a job, still have parents who love me unconditionally, am still married, still have a fairly undamaged kid, have money in my bank, had soup for dinner and am having Choco chip cookies for dessert as I write this. So, overall nothing to complain about. Well, I have been cooped up at home for the past 7 days with my 3 year old with a visit to Hyde Park, the day after Boxing Day being the highlight of the “vacation”. Didn’t get to see the magical mile at Kew or roam around in Central London looking at the Christmas lighting or check out the Boxing Day sales or see fireworks at New Year’s…. But if you compare that to the unfortunate people that are shown on the charities on British telly – the kids in Africa without clean water, the mistreated girls in Asia, the homeless young people in UK, the cold and freezing children in Syria… then my little woes do seem a tad selfish and frivolous. But by far this has been one of the most unsatisfactory years of my life – personally and professional with each having a huge negative impact on the other.

Things were ok till around mid of the year. New role, excitement of kid arriving, of husband arriving, of dreams of a quiet British family life, of having my parents’ hitherto unused passports being stamped at London and Amsterdam…. It was finally coming together. And then in classic life style, it all stopped coming together.. in fact it all fell apart so fast that the memories of the good half of the year seem extremely far away. Husband left as he didn’t get a job, parents followed upon visa expiry, kid actually wanted to live with me and refused to go with grandparents and so I was left with my kid alone for the first time in life. Feelings of abandonment, of being taken for granted, of having my wings clipped, of being angry at not being able to take care of the kid in the manner that I thought would be ideal and appropriate, of being stuck with a client from whom escape seemed indeterminable, of missing targets at work, of being unable to travel as part of the job, of having seniors quit………all sorts of negative feelings overshadowed every minute of the day. Now, truth be told, the true headwinds struck only mid Sept onwards when parents left. But the last 16 weeks of my life (including 3 that I spent in India) have been the most emotionally draining ones ever – maybe postpartum weeks aside.

The “kid” – she has become the only thing governing most things in life. I am still not sure if that is good or bad or whether it is supposed to be that way. Sometimes, no.. most of the times, I feel sorry for the little one.. She is stuck with me for a mother – no mollycoddling, no patience, and no cooking skills. I am trying the best I can, but at times I know I can do better, if I tried a bit harder. With the amount of admonishments that I shower on her, poor thing, the only reason for her still wanting to live with me (and I keep rechecking every few days, if that is still the case) is Stockholm syndrome. I really can’t think of any other reason! I just hope that I don’t end up doing irreparable damage to her personality, mind and soul in my attempts to balance my life as an individual with my life as a member of a family.

However, it’s not always doom and gloom – there are moments of sunshine and pure joy. Moments which make me realise that there is a bigger picture here and everything is for a reason and all that philosophical crap… but such moments are fleeting and rare. I have taken to enjoying what I get – the weekly trips to Sainsbury’s for groceries, the weekly trips to McD for chips, the time spent (infrequently, but nonetheless) playing with blocks or colours, the weekly trips to Kingston Library, the days when there is no shouting and raving and ranting and tantrums and crying, the days when I get 5-6 hours of sleep. I guess the kid makes me realize on a daily basis what is important and valuable in life. There is immense clarity in some of the decisions that I take – refusing client meetings after 4.30 – the reason being that kid doesn’t like babysitters – for whatever reason… and I need to leave at 4.30 to pick her up from playschool before 6, pushing back on “extra” work as I need every single moment either for the kid of for myself and I zealously guard that time. 

These past few weeks have also shown me a few good friends. Mandu has always been there – in the first week of my “being mom” experiment when I thought I had lost it – I couldn’t speak to anyone but her.. two hours of Mandu therapy and I started feeling human again. My old old friend from Kerala whom I was re-acquainted with when I came to London… when he and his partner offered to pick us up from the airport upon our return to London, opened their hearts and doors to us on Christmas day lest we spend the day alone, call on us every week to ask after us… it made me say that silent prayer that someone is indeed watching over me. A couple of colleagues also surprised me. One of them invited us for a Netherlands trip over the holidays – this inspite of knowing how limiting a trip can be with a 3 year old in tow. Another one made joint plans to go to Scotland. I backed out from both plans at the last moment – for good reason and am glad that I did, but it again made me realize that I am not totally alone. There are people who care. And I guess that is much more than most people have in life.

So here is thanking the good people in my life – personal and professional for being there for me and thanking my kid for not giving up on me (though she does occasionally say that she doesn’t like my behaviour and is very disappointed in me – silly parrot)….. here is wishing that the year to come (which is another 10 minutes away and so well withing deadline :-)) brings me peace, stability, good night’s sleep, health and good thoughts.. I hope you also have these in your life…

Welcome 2015!