Am in India right now. Last few days had been hectic, with social obligations and shopping draining out my energy, and yesterday, I almost collapsed. Thank God for concerned sons! The emirates flight was equally exhausting... inflight food virtually sickening! I wish the airline would change their caterers. I didn't believe my sons when they had cribbed about the food served on their flight from Bangalore. But seeing, or eating here, is believing... and... it made me long for ( I used to think I'd never utter such a thing!) the Indian Airlines food. All that walking and shoppinng in the Duty Free at the Dubai airport had exhausted me and I had been ravenous... Now I know what it means when they say 'some people' cannot be choosers...!
Well, nothing can shadow the joy of landing in one's motherland, and I am in a state of euphoria. Tomorrow I leave for Bhadravathi early in the morning. Bhadravathi, with its old Mysore state atmosphere, THE sleepiest town I have ever been... but held close to the heart as my ' Appa and Amma' (as my call my in- laws) are there. The next month or so, I'll wake up listening to Sharada Aunty's carnatic music lessons to beginners... enjoy the sound of veenas and violins and vocalists echoing through the house. Life will be quieter, calmer, filled with sharing and caring.
Bhadravathi as my 'pukkaam' (sasural) deserves a full, separate post, and I shall do it at leisure.
Access to a PC may or may not be there, the internet centre nextdoor running either fullhouse or staying closed due to long lunch breaks and early nights. The charges are very fancy according to Appa, so I may not be very cyber-connected during the next 45 days. Let us see.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Saturday, December 09, 2006
WITHIN BORDERS ( OF A BIBLIOPHILE'S DREAMLAND )
Mall of the Emirates, 11.30 am. I go in search of Borders, the newly opened bookshop --for the inauguration of which, Jeffrey Archer had flown in...( Coincidence... coincidence... You can see Borders featuring throughout the movie, The Terminal.) What struck me about the outlet in MoE is the way books have been arranged. Genrewise, in alphabetical order and with a lot of elbowroom for browsers.
It is easier to locate your favourite author once you know the genre he/ she is slotted in. Such arrangement with alphabet of the writer's surname bordering the shelves I have seen only in one other place...at House of Prose, the secondhand bookshop in Jumeira Plaza, my favourite haunt in Dubai. Only, Borders is 10 times as big as HoP. One needs more than the one hour one spent there -- without an impatient husband snorting and sniffing behind one -- to do justice to the place. Maybe, some other time...
I liked the separate section for Indian publications. The comparatively inexpensive Rupa and Co publications. The full range of Wodehouse, Henry Cecil and Richard Gordon are available. Couldn't resist picking up 4 of Gordon's Doctor series. Cheaper look, bigger print, nothing glamorous compared to the old Penguin editions in my parents' collection, but I can make do with these. You can't judge a book by its cover or the publisher... or the price for that matter. I bought almost 10 Henry Cecils in India last June. Just a marginal difference in the prices here -- Dhs.11 as against Rs. 120 in Gangarams, Bangalore.
Got a small treat. Picked up 'Dead Poets Society'. Had seen the Robin Williams movie on Star Movies last year and realised how blatantly, Mohanlal has lifted the subplot for his 'Life is Beautiful'. Priced at Dhs.31, I felt it was worth adding to my collection of rare books. Must read it. Kiran Desai was there, adorning a special niche, but son told me she would be less expensive in India. Incidently, he got me an Indian edition (maybe pirated) of In the Line of Fire for Rs.100. When it comes to duplicating originals (books, I mean), we can outchinese the Chinese!
Saw many of Bill Bryson's but shall wait for a sale to pick up one or two. Not many Indian writers... Just Anita Desais and Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni and Vikram Seth, a couple of Khushwant Singhs and no Shashi Tharoor ( which means R may not visit Borders with me... heh..heh...). They have separate sections for horror, romance, thrillers, mysteries, travel, biographies etc etc.
One full corner for Chicken Soups, maybe season's attraction. But, my bookshelves are crowded with a liberal helping of Chicken Soup, so I barely spare them a glance. Couldn't help being disappointed about the absence of Nancy Farmer... been itching to get hold of her books for young adults for some time now.
On the whole, a very satisfying sojourn for me, and my sons who seemed to have fun browsing... unlike my better half who was trying to hide his impatience... in vain! Bookshops and RP don't go very well together! Anyway, it takes all sorts to make this world and he is stuck with me, a pedigreed bibliophile for life!
Next on agenda is the Sharjah Book Exibhition. For the first time in 6 years, the Book Expo has been going on for 4 days without my visiting it. Not today, definitely... Maybe tomorrow, or on Monday. Let us see.
It is easier to locate your favourite author once you know the genre he/ she is slotted in. Such arrangement with alphabet of the writer's surname bordering the shelves I have seen only in one other place...at House of Prose, the secondhand bookshop in Jumeira Plaza, my favourite haunt in Dubai. Only, Borders is 10 times as big as HoP. One needs more than the one hour one spent there -- without an impatient husband snorting and sniffing behind one -- to do justice to the place. Maybe, some other time...
I liked the separate section for Indian publications. The comparatively inexpensive Rupa and Co publications. The full range of Wodehouse, Henry Cecil and Richard Gordon are available. Couldn't resist picking up 4 of Gordon's Doctor series. Cheaper look, bigger print, nothing glamorous compared to the old Penguin editions in my parents' collection, but I can make do with these. You can't judge a book by its cover or the publisher... or the price for that matter. I bought almost 10 Henry Cecils in India last June. Just a marginal difference in the prices here -- Dhs.11 as against Rs. 120 in Gangarams, Bangalore.
Got a small treat. Picked up 'Dead Poets Society'. Had seen the Robin Williams movie on Star Movies last year and realised how blatantly, Mohanlal has lifted the subplot for his 'Life is Beautiful'. Priced at Dhs.31, I felt it was worth adding to my collection of rare books. Must read it. Kiran Desai was there, adorning a special niche, but son told me she would be less expensive in India. Incidently, he got me an Indian edition (maybe pirated) of In the Line of Fire for Rs.100. When it comes to duplicating originals (books, I mean), we can outchinese the Chinese!
Saw many of Bill Bryson's but shall wait for a sale to pick up one or two. Not many Indian writers... Just Anita Desais and Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni and Vikram Seth, a couple of Khushwant Singhs and no Shashi Tharoor ( which means R may not visit Borders with me... heh..heh...). They have separate sections for horror, romance, thrillers, mysteries, travel, biographies etc etc.
One full corner for Chicken Soups, maybe season's attraction. But, my bookshelves are crowded with a liberal helping of Chicken Soup, so I barely spare them a glance. Couldn't help being disappointed about the absence of Nancy Farmer... been itching to get hold of her books for young adults for some time now.
On the whole, a very satisfying sojourn for me, and my sons who seemed to have fun browsing... unlike my better half who was trying to hide his impatience... in vain! Bookshops and RP don't go very well together! Anyway, it takes all sorts to make this world and he is stuck with me, a pedigreed bibliophile for life!
Next on agenda is the Sharjah Book Exibhition. For the first time in 6 years, the Book Expo has been going on for 4 days without my visiting it. Not today, definitely... Maybe tomorrow, or on Monday. Let us see.
Friday, December 08, 2006
OUT IN DUBAI
We are going to the Mall of the Emirates this morning. Want to go to the Virgin Mega Store and Borders. K1 wants Malcom in the Middle... says he watched it in the Emirates and wants more of it! Hope we get it there. As for the rest, we shall cross the bridge, when we come to it. Looking forward to my babies' day out! ( They'll kill me for this ;-) ...)
Thursday, December 07, 2006
ALL ( ABOUT) MY SONS!
Today, I watched The Terminal with my twin sons. We started at lunch and finished around 3.45.Another wonderful memory to cherish. My cup of joy is on a perpetual overflow these days. After 8 years, I am able to give quality time to my holidaying sons. we relish watching MASH, A Team or Everybody Loves Raymond, chatting about their life in the engineering college, their dreams, their frustrations etc, etc... There are jokes, chuckles, hugs, smooches, a lot of teasing and a lot of loving... As I run my fingers through the hair of my strapping 21 year old son leaning against my knees as I snuggle upto another strapping young man next to me on the sofa, I think -- realize-- God has been kind to me! Oh, so kind. The umbilical cords that were snipped 21 years have been replaced by some other invisible threads. I guess they are called heartstrings. Nothing simple about these. They are full of knots, each representing a joyous memory or a cherished event in our lives. When tugged, they trigger a sweet pain all over my heart.
Watching a movie with them is only an extension of what we used to do while they were growing up. Whoever heard of kids being sung to sleep with ragamalikai like 'Karpagavalli nin' or Raj Kapoor hits like 'Pyar hua, ikraar hua'? Telling them endless stories -- 'Kuruvi kathai' to ' Ali Baba' , going through the family albums, picture dictionaries and junior encyclopaedias again and again, watching cartoons with them and reading to them Russian books like 'When Daddy Was A Little Boy' and reading with them Tin Tins, Asterixes and these days the paperbacks, The Week and watching football -- tolerating funny hairdos or lack thereof of their favourite sportsmen... 21 years...
Nope! Not 21 fully. I lost out on the last 8 years. The most crucial years of their development as young men when they were sent to a residential school in Mysore and the Engg. College in Coimbatore. During these 8 years, the few weeks of vacation turned out to be so precious. For 7 years, they never complained when as a working mom, I'd be too busy correcting endless notes and test papers. They'd offer to do the household chores for me -- washing dishes, drying clothes and vacuuming so that I can finish fast and spend some time with them. They have never lost their temper with me. Never once disobeyed or defied me. I am scared...at times.
All their secrets, fears and doubts, I share. I have tried my best to never to say 'I told you so' or 'Why did you...' I have been very frank and open with them as they have been to me. Their respect for their father, their love for us both, their friendliness and self control... I hope all these continue for a long, long time.
They are anything but goody- goodies. I know all the scrapes they get into. But there is some basic goodness in them... certain pride in their heritage, their sense of right and wrong, their indianness, their familial bonding that ought to see them through safely in this world. Another six months and they start working...earning, spending, making big decisions about their lives. And RP and I... we shall stand side by side and smile at them and at each other. May be we'll pat each other's back. And thank God for having blessed the two of us with two premature scrawny twins 21 years back.
Watching a movie with them is only an extension of what we used to do while they were growing up. Whoever heard of kids being sung to sleep with ragamalikai like 'Karpagavalli nin' or Raj Kapoor hits like 'Pyar hua, ikraar hua'? Telling them endless stories -- 'Kuruvi kathai' to ' Ali Baba' , going through the family albums, picture dictionaries and junior encyclopaedias again and again, watching cartoons with them and reading to them Russian books like 'When Daddy Was A Little Boy' and reading with them Tin Tins, Asterixes and these days the paperbacks, The Week and watching football -- tolerating funny hairdos or lack thereof of their favourite sportsmen... 21 years...
Nope! Not 21 fully. I lost out on the last 8 years. The most crucial years of their development as young men when they were sent to a residential school in Mysore and the Engg. College in Coimbatore. During these 8 years, the few weeks of vacation turned out to be so precious. For 7 years, they never complained when as a working mom, I'd be too busy correcting endless notes and test papers. They'd offer to do the household chores for me -- washing dishes, drying clothes and vacuuming so that I can finish fast and spend some time with them. They have never lost their temper with me. Never once disobeyed or defied me. I am scared...at times.
All their secrets, fears and doubts, I share. I have tried my best to never to say 'I told you so' or 'Why did you...' I have been very frank and open with them as they have been to me. Their respect for their father, their love for us both, their friendliness and self control... I hope all these continue for a long, long time.
They are anything but goody- goodies. I know all the scrapes they get into. But there is some basic goodness in them... certain pride in their heritage, their sense of right and wrong, their indianness, their familial bonding that ought to see them through safely in this world. Another six months and they start working...earning, spending, making big decisions about their lives. And RP and I... we shall stand side by side and smile at them and at each other. May be we'll pat each other's back. And thank God for having blessed the two of us with two premature scrawny twins 21 years back.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
SOMETHING SMELLS FISHY!
Like billions of people all over the world, I start the day with a mug of coffee and the newspaper. Today, I huddle over the news paper spread on the dining table, too sleepy and lazy to get my 'pick me up after a late night' cup of coffee. What do I see?
Some Aussie researchers have discovered a link between a declining sense of smell and disorders such as schizofrenia and obsessive compulsive disorder... 81 young subjects at risk of becoming psychotic were shown a series of 40 cards, whose smell they had to match up with a list of four odours such as coffee, roses, oranges and petrol. The researchers found those who later went on to develop a mental illness had difficulty identifying more than half the odours. Oh...my! This triggers an alarm bell somewhere in me. Time to start sniffing out the truth of the matter... rather, my mental condition! I recall with growing alarm that last week while RP signed his petrol card at the filling station, I didn't sniff in petorl smell as I used to all these years...and, I don't salivate on smelling coffee in the mornings as I used to. Is it because I am half asleep early in the mornings these days and my sense of smell is still asleep till the rest of me wakes fully up? Or is it that my frontal lobe is getting affected?
Ahh! c'mon, my good sense tells me. Those 81 chumps must have gone bonkers smelling 40 cards. I mean, you go to the perfume counter and try out 5 or 6 brands and you don't even know which is what, do you? Any average person -- you mean, 'average' like me? yes... like 'you' -- would be confused. Nothing wrong with your frontal lobe.
Assured by my common sense that I am not losing my marbles, I scan the news item again. An abnormal sense of smell may indicate problems in this thinking area of of the brain, says the researcher. Sound of alarm bell again! Recently, I've started enjoying the smell of boiled cabbage, stopped being nauseous when my neighbours fry fish and do not react publicly to BO and MO... Am I turning schizofrenic? Or is it the onset of Obsessive compulsive disorder? Is it? Is it? Is it? Sniff...sniff... sniff... do I smell a rat? Am I wacko? Loco? Getting unhinged? Going bonkers?
Don't be delirious, my good sense prevails upon me a shade too roughly. Last week you were synaesthetic, remember? Don't get carried away by what you read early in the morning. Yes, yes, you are right. I brew myself a cup of nescafe and take a whiff of it. Mmmmmm! Smells like... coffee...divine! All's well with my frontal lobe. And I can sniff in disdain at such fishy tales!
Some Aussie researchers have discovered a link between a declining sense of smell and disorders such as schizofrenia and obsessive compulsive disorder... 81 young subjects at risk of becoming psychotic were shown a series of 40 cards, whose smell they had to match up with a list of four odours such as coffee, roses, oranges and petrol. The researchers found those who later went on to develop a mental illness had difficulty identifying more than half the odours. Oh...my! This triggers an alarm bell somewhere in me. Time to start sniffing out the truth of the matter... rather, my mental condition! I recall with growing alarm that last week while RP signed his petrol card at the filling station, I didn't sniff in petorl smell as I used to all these years...and, I don't salivate on smelling coffee in the mornings as I used to. Is it because I am half asleep early in the mornings these days and my sense of smell is still asleep till the rest of me wakes fully up? Or is it that my frontal lobe is getting affected?
Ahh! c'mon, my good sense tells me. Those 81 chumps must have gone bonkers smelling 40 cards. I mean, you go to the perfume counter and try out 5 or 6 brands and you don't even know which is what, do you? Any average person -- you mean, 'average' like me? yes... like 'you' -- would be confused. Nothing wrong with your frontal lobe.
Assured by my common sense that I am not losing my marbles, I scan the news item again. An abnormal sense of smell may indicate problems in this thinking area of of the brain, says the researcher. Sound of alarm bell again! Recently, I've started enjoying the smell of boiled cabbage, stopped being nauseous when my neighbours fry fish and do not react publicly to BO and MO... Am I turning schizofrenic? Or is it the onset of Obsessive compulsive disorder? Is it? Is it? Is it? Sniff...sniff... sniff... do I smell a rat? Am I wacko? Loco? Getting unhinged? Going bonkers?
Don't be delirious, my good sense prevails upon me a shade too roughly. Last week you were synaesthetic, remember? Don't get carried away by what you read early in the morning. Yes, yes, you are right. I brew myself a cup of nescafe and take a whiff of it. Mmmmmm! Smells like... coffee...divine! All's well with my frontal lobe. And I can sniff in disdain at such fishy tales!
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