So Long, Farewell...

It's hard to say goodbye.....
But if we must, it should be with parties like these.
Snapshots from Tripta and Tarun's bash to remember at Marrakesh - the cool chill out place with a Middle-Eastern twist at Clarke Quay.
Add it to your destination Singapore list, if you haven't been there already...
Here are the pictures that say it all....

Take a break to say cheese....


Neerja holds fort....
It must be some point coz she sure has my attention - if my back's to be believed....


With Blair's Mum....


Swinging along with Tripta....


A couple of drinks down, the world does seem topsy turvy.....
For the person who took this shot, I mean...

It Gets Harder....

To make friends as you grow older. Unlike fine wine, others interest in you wanes. Or you end up being more discerning or the family takes over. Some folks can perfectly fathom why you need to cancel the lunch appointment at the very last minute, why you can't make it for a show after having made plans for it all week, why you work insane hours, why you go into hiding when the exams are around or why you refuse to stir out of your home during the weekend.

Tripta Singh understood all of that and a whole lot more. For those of you, who've followed my other blog, you probably know this story. We met close to two years ago. It was through work. Then we ended up bumping into each other at a couple of social events. One thing led to another. We discovered we were both Army brats, we'd been to pretty much the same parts of India, we were both in the media, we liked pretty much the same things. The plot thickened when I invited her to my birthday and realised we were born on the same day. Over the months, that have passed all too quickly, we went shopping together, went on movie marathons, occassionally hung out at malls, exchanged notes on the books we were reading, our travel tales (oh well, more often they were her travel tales).... to cut a long story short - our good days and our equally bad ones.

She'd be the first one I'd call if I needed help with anything - right from food for my party to what's the propah outfit to wear. We even ended up buying the same white Payal Jain kurti you see in this picture from Mumbai Se. Lesson learnt, if shop we must, we must do it together.

As our friendship evolved, so did the friendship with her husband Tarun. Nothing could get keep Dhruv and Aneesha at home if they knew Uncle Tarun and Aunty Tripta were coming home. They would look at the clock, time their arrival, wait near the carpark, then resort to phone calls if they handn't made it on time. Aneesha would even insist on accompanying me for some of our shopping expeditions and patiently last from noon to evening.

When I told both of them they were going to Hong Kong, their initial reaction was:
"So good, we can go to Hong Kong Disneyland."

As the days passed, realisation struck that they will be gone for good.
"You mean we can't go out with Aunty Tripta?" Aneesha asked the other day. She was imagining some of her fun weekends fizzling away.

True, they might be in and out of town, but it just won't be the same thing.

I guess it was thinking of the imminent departure that took Aneesha went back to her drawing board yesterday. She took a mini-study break to indulge in what she does most passionately - her art.


She took her time over this. Adding the colours, the dots then the words to the drawing to pass it on Tripta who's grown to be her "favourite Aunt."

And with that, it's time to pull out the Kleenex and wish both Tripta and Tarun the absolute best for what's bound to be another exciting adventure in their packed lives.

Trust in an age of....

This was written when Aneesha was about three and it was published in the papers. This was the picture that went with it. Since there's a bona fide kids blog, this seemed worth repeating.

Among the zillions of other things that I'm getting wrong as a first time mother - like not sending kid for music class, dance class, ballet class, swimming class, phonics class..... let me add another one - I've wittingly or unwittingly - taught her to be nice to strangers.

So people look at me rather strangely when she says hi to the person who steps into the lift.

And the bus drivers, I never forget their expressions when she goes 'bye, see ya now...'

One of them was so impressed he just had to shake hands with the little dame for actually saying thanks for the ride.

I know from the looks I beget that I am this crazed mother who isn't teaching her kid to be afraid of strangers. Maybe I am - slightly crazed - I mean.

But I never quite recall my Mum telling my sister and I to be paranoid of strangers. We just grew up with this general camaraderie towards folks around us, and somehow this instinct thing made me sense danger - if it ever did lurk in the distance.

Like Mum always told us to wish everyone but never take anything from a stranger. So there was this subtle conditioning about folks you came to know as acquaintances and others who were our friends.

Today, we seem to be bringing up kids who are taught to fear strangers. Though statistically speaking that isn't quite the biggest fear - but that's quite another story.

Yes, there are reasons for fear - kidnapping, abuse, rape - to name just a few horrible few.

But then there are also the other very real dangers - like I could walk out today and get hit by an oncoming vehicle and that could well spell the end of me or have the cab skid in a flash flood and be gone in a jiffy.

As a mother, I well share the fierce protectiveness of parents, the better safe than sorry sentiment.

What I regret in the midst of all this is the innocence lost, the way we allow fret free childhoods to slip away with our subtle conditioning, the way in which we teach them not to trust, not to reach out to folks in need unless they've been certified fit and appropriate by us knowing adults.

And that's a habit, once picked up through subtle or not so subtle conditioning can last through adulthood, where it's bound to manifest itself in even more dangerous ways.

In our suspicion of those who look different from us, and our quick willingness to blame them for our ills; or in our tendency to hide behind the walls of our secure homes that we believe will keep us safe from the world of strangers.

So what are we really teaching our kids?

Among other things - Don't take risks. Keep to yourself. Look away when someone asks for help. Hide behind something that will keep you eternally safe from strangers.

Now that's something I guess none of us wants as a parent.

PS: 4 years have passed since I penned this and I'm pleased to report that while I don't have a perfect twosome, they are always around to help. If you were to watch them closely, they will open the lift door for people waiting to get in, they will be the last ones out, they will open our secure condo doors for you. The other day, Aneesha first opened the lift door, then entrance door for a lady who was pregnant. I was so impressed and imagined that she will pause to say thank you, if not a chat. So imagine my shock, when the woman stuck her nose in the air and walked off like this was her birth-right.

I know, I was as shocked as Aneesha. We were crest-fallen and I'll never forget how glumly she said: "You always taught me to say thank you."

Flipping the Pages

For the longest time, all Dhruv has been doing is flipping these pages and making up his own stories. Not a bad start at all, since we've heard the most bizarre versions of 'The Gingerbread Man' and 'Peter Rabbit.' Watching his sis study hard and read what's written in her school books, he's taken it upon himself to crack some of these words. Now, if I could get him to do the same thing with his work sheets....

Number Crunching

I still remember that feeling. Staring at the blackboard for the full maths period, trying in vain to make sense of what Ajay Sir was rattling off with intense seriousness. In Class 8, my dismal affair with numbers saw the report card slump into red, after which arrangements for tuition were made. I thought I was getting the basics right, at least till I took my exams. It might have helped in some way, as I did manage to get pass marks once the tuition supplemented what I learnt in class.

In Class 10, I spent copious hours over my Maths textbooks, learning theorems, figuring out the algebra and everything else that went along with it. Before the exam I prayed hard - really hard. If there was anything that could pull me down, it would have to my Maths. My heart was in my hands when I made it to the exam room after the long ride from our school in Clement Town to the test centre on the other side of town. I felt I was going to be sick. Though going back was not an option. The CBSE board wouldn't give me another chance to take this test - unless I failed of course.

With the impending sense of doom, I made my way to the exam room. When I got the questions, the first thing I wanted to do was cry out loud. I couldn't make sense of half of the stuff, I couldn't even figure out one of the questions on the theorem that I thought I knew so well. I struggled, sweated and somehow got to the end of it all.

That was only the beginning. While the rest of my papers went well, I spend the extended holiday after the Board Exams in a sense of perpetual dread. Nightmares became a regular occurrence. They followed a pattern. Sit for the exam, get the result, look at the F, then cry. It was the middle of summer so each time I got up, it would be me drenched in sweat. Failure became such an obsession that the only thought that came to my mind was being back in my school in Doon.

When the result finally reached my Dad's home - at that time in Amritsar - I couldn't believe I'd scraped through. It was a 48/100. Not the best score in the world but enough to get moving on to the college journey where I vowed to stay as far away from numbers as I could.

To this day, I remain an unparalleled disaster with numbers. It takes very little for bankers to convince me about parking my money in the silliest schemes. I have to resort to a lot of finger counting when too much addition, division, subtraction, multiplication is involved.

So it is with a sense of trepidation and dread that I approach my daughter's maths exam.

Fortunately, she's got her Dad's genes when it comes to numbers. When we sit together and I'm attempting my mental maths, she would have usually solved the sums, moved on to the next one and the next one. I love to watch her in action. It's like seeing a little human calculator punching in and punching out numbers quick time. Given that she's got the edge and knows it, it's also next to impossible for me to teach her anything logical when it comes to maths.

The one time that I did, all her answers were wrong. I strongly encourage her to do it all with Bala. It works well, if he's around, it takes a disastrous twist when he's not. Which is what happened this time round when work resulted in India calling.

Straddling through numbers, I ended tossing and turning through the night with 10th standard coming back to haunt me all over again.

It wasn't for long though. The alarms went off and in less than four hours after I attempted to sleep.

I was back at work looking at numbers all around. From my cab fare, to the vending machine to cricket scores, to tennis, to soccer goals, to the markets. There truly is no escape.

Rides to Nowhere

Bus routes in Singapore are a lot like the roads in Singapore. If you haven't used them in like two years, chances are you are bound to get lost.

That's just what happened when my spirit of save some money, use public transport kicked in last evening.

With a spring in my stride, a chip on my shoulder, Aneesha and I boarded bus number 173. I'd last boarded this one over two years ago. At that time it made a whistle stop at the bus stop opposite Rail Mall. So it was that we scanned our Ezy Link cards next to the even more intriguing reader machines:
"Wow, so good, it's free," chirped Aneesha
"No, it's not dear, it's like the NETS machine. Someone has to work, someone puts money in the bank, then these mysterious machines dispense it."

As I ran through the machinations of modern day machinery, I didn't notice that the bus which should have taken us straight two bus stops away has turned into the Hume stretch. That's till Aneesha screeched "Mamma, this is not Bukit Timah!"

Of course, it wasn't I realised as I painfully looked at Symphony Heights. We jumped, frantically pressed the bell, alighted at the next bus stop, then tried in vain to get a cab.

If you've lived here long enough, you'd also know you'll never get a cab when you need one!

So after 10 minutes of wildly moving our arms, I decided walking was the only option. By this time, we'd missed our appointment time. Not that it really mattered, because doctor's appointments usually end up being registration appointments. Cards get scanned, entries are made, weight is taken, so is the height, forms are completed, any drug allergies - hmmm, not that I know so far - then you wait, start thumbing through all the parenting, baby, health and whatever other magazine happens to be on available. Of late, I've been spending so much time at various doctors that I've started catching up on real reading. Between the registration to the seeing to the payment to the picking up the medicine, one can easily go through half a novel, if the kids are effectively engaged. They usually are coz the telly shows them their favourite cartoon shows, anyways.

So it was that during our wait last evening, we finished revising half of EVS and once we were done with the rest of the ritual that I just explained above Aneesha popped the painful question:
"Are we going back by bus?"

"No, no, just stick your hand out, will you?"

And to think we've been doing all of this while Bala's car sits in the car park and I continue failing my tests by mounting some insurmountable curbs in the driving circuit. That, though is one lOOOOOOOOOOOOONG story.

Insights on my job

Aneesha has finally decided to share some of her thoughts from her 'secret diary.' She's made remarkable progress with it, her target is to finish it before Daddy comes back, so she that "he can buy me a new diary."

Lots of things are being furiously scribbled into it. We talked about it yesterday while enduring another endless wait at the doctor's. There is God, family, friends, brother, TV and my job.

"You are a Producer because you love words," is apparently one of the entries. Boy, am I touched. If all it takes, is a Strawberry Shortcake diary to inspire such gems, I'm getting the whole loadful.

Before & After The Exams

We're still at the before stage right now. Last night, after our visit to the doctors, I got a new set of crayons, a new set of Stabilo pencils (yes, the ones you can throw from the window and they won't break when they crash land....no we haven't tried that yet), new eraser, new pencils out for Aneesha.

"Why are you being so kind?" pat came the question.

Don't get her wrong. I'm known for my kindness, at least at home, though the spirit wanes when the exams loom.

"Oh, I just don't want to be like Swami's Dad," I replied.

"Swami, who's Swami?"

Sensing this as the perfect opportunity to induct my twosome into the world of Malgudi and take them far far away from 'The Gingerbread Man', 'Alice in Wonderland', I read out these parts much to the delight of my kids.

This part is from 'Before the Examination'.....
"Two days before his examination he sat down to draw up a list of his needs. On a piece of paper he wrote:

Unruled white paper 20 sheets
Nibs 6
Ink 2 bottles
Clips
Pins"

Swami subsequently frets over it, reworks it before finally mustering the courage to present it to his father who remains busy in his office. Expectedly when he comes face to face with his father, almost everything else fails. He wishes the list could disappear. It's too late:

"What is that paper in your hand?
'Nothing, Father,' Swaminathan answered, thrusting the paper into his pocket.
'What is that?' Father shouted, snatching the list. Reading it with a terrific scowl, he went back to his chair. 'What is this thing?'
Swaminathan had to cough twice to find his voice.
'It is - my - examination list.'
'What examination list?'
'My examinations begin the day after tomorrow, you know.'
'And yet you are wandering about the house like an unleashed donkey! What preposterous list is this? Do you think rupees, annas and paisas drop from the sky?'
Swaminathan did not think so, but something nearly so."

Attempt reading this when you are close to breaking point, you'll find there has never been a better stress buster. In fact, you can get your child to be Swami (trust me they'll love playing him, some parts of the personality will in fact emerge naturally) and take turns reading the lines, you'll be surprised by the intense merriment that ensues.

Now for the part after the exams from 'School Breaks Up':
"With dry lips, parched throat, and ink-stained fingers, and exhaustion on one side and exaltation on the other, Swaminathan strode out of the examination hall on the last day.

Standing in the veranda, he turned back and looked into the hall and felt slightly uneasy. He would have felt more comfortable if all the boys had given their papers as he had done, twenty minutes before time......

Swaminathan suddenly wished that he had not come out so soon....."

And so the story unfolds. Now, it's time for you to go get the book. A treasure trove if ever there was one.

Swami & Friends

The exams are upon us. These are moments when I'm at my antsy best. It takes very little to get me to snap. The slightest excuse can have my temper reach fever pitch. As a rule I never hit my kids - forget the cane - so I have to do a lot of walking around to restore a semblance of balance in my system and to prevent my pounding heart from popping out of mortal body.

Things have been different this time round. Yes, Aneesha has improved. She reads a lot faster, focuses on her work and at least before her pencil hits the paper, she is always going for A - "easy, peasy," is her preferred turn of phrase. Yes, a lot has changed since she entered a 'real school.' Exam after exam, where grades have vacillated violently between C and A have taught me that at the end of the day it's not the paper grades rather the brilliance from within that matters.


Helping me with this philosophical take is this timeless R.K.Narayan classic. Swami & Friends, which was first published in 1935 by Hamish Hamilton has gone into several re-prints since. I have a copy of it in my Nani's home in India, left in the hope of setting that library if and when we do return to our shores. The copy that I am reading now was picked up at the Vijitha Yapa Bookstore in Colombo and guess what it's the 37th edition. Such is the charm of the book.

The story is as simple as it comes. 10-year old Swaminathan (Swami) is a student of Albert Mission School whose life changes when the smart Rajam enters the school. "He (Rajam) was a new-comer....He spoke very good English, exactly like a European; which meant that few in the school could make out what he said."

I'm not going to read too much into that, it's already been done by many others. Let me stick to the key characters. Swami also has four other friends - the mighty Good-for-Nothing, Mani, the brilliant Sankar, the Monitor Somu and Samuel, the 'Pea' who had nothing outstanding about him.

When Swami decides to befriend Rajam, this tightly knit circle of friendship threatens to break away. They survive that test, but it is the tests that remain an imposition of the education system that break them.

As I revise Sabki Surahi and other lessons and the test sheets of the various Hindi books that a 7-year old and their parents have to grapple with, I wonder how much has changed since 1935 when Narayan first published this classic?

Children remain children, doing everything in their power to escape the drudgery of homework for the charms of the playground. I was like that once. They re-visit their course books only when threatened with the gravest of threats. In my days, my mother's rose cane was enough of a deterrent, these days, it's more likely to be "no tv, no playstation."

The pressures of the system remain, parents being parents want the Swamis to keep up with the Rajams. It's a tough job, as Narayan showed us, but someone's got to do it.

Booked n Baked

Took the kids for Felix Cheong's book launch on Saturday. Something positively interesting is underway. For the longest time, all I've heard is complaints that Singaporeans don't read enough. Three recent events at one of the finest arts venues, aptly called The Arts House prove otherwise. Alexander McCall Smith drew a huge crowd on a weekday. Ditto for Jacob Sam-La Rose's performance poetry. And the story repeated itself at Felix's launch at The Earshot cafe.

Almost everyone from all ages was there. There were school students, his students (from NAFA, LaSalle), poets, writers, friends and my kids. Felix had a tough time reaching out to everyone and he wasn't quite helped with what my twosome had to say. Aneesha had to win a prize at the quiz (she's like that) so even before the question was asked her hand would go up and she'd turn around and go "Mamma what's the answer, quick." Dhruv didn't want to be left behind so he'd raise his arm as well and go "I know, I know."

At one point, when the mike was getting disastrously close to my twosome, Dhruv took off: "You know my sister, she never let me......" At which point Aneesha effectively gagged him and said "Shut Up." So much for creating a first impression.



After the launch, which much to the merriment of my kids provided Coca-Cola, we decided to do the Singapore River walk. Turned out to be a bad idea. At 4:30pm the place was hot enough for a sizzler. Took a couple of shots from the other side of the river, where you the old and the new thrive together in perfect harmony. Dhruv was drawn to the bumboats and looked in vain for some crabs. Aneesha, on the other hand, was drawn to Sir Stamford Raffles. We re-read the plaque several times to make sense of the year he arrived in Singapore. There was a lot of addition, subtraction, multiplication and division of numbers. I, who have a tough time, going beyond 2 plus 2 without the help of a calculator so wanted to give up. Helping us was Dhruv who gave up without the joy of crab-spotting.


Since Bala is not around and we have no access to the car, we ended up walking around. Well, the walking almost saw my curious dude walk into The Supreme Court. He's constantly amused by the sight of the automatic opening and closing doors. Before he could do too much of it, I spotted the security folks and that was enough to get him to move on. We thought we could do a longer stretch but a KFC waylaid our plans.

Then we ambled into a Bata at Peninsula Plaza after Aneesha complained "have you seen my school shoes?" This one turned out to be a real discovery. It is the biggest Bata store in Singapore and on that day had the most amazing deals. The kids were happy coz there was a play area complete with those balls that Dhruv decided were perfect for jumping, a TV as well and some not so scary dinosaurs. If you want to get there, here are the details: Ground Floor, 111 North Bridge Road, Peninsula Plaza, Singapore 179098. Ph: +65 6339 7000 Email: bata.singapore@bata.com

Apart from the shoes, I also picked up a note-pad for Aneesha and she's been busy writing away, though I'm not supposed to look into her secret diary.

I know Sir Stamford Raffles has an entry in there somewhere as does Felix. There's a lot of love for God, mother, father and family. I know it coz the better part of my Saturday night and Sunday was spent spelling these words and more.

Reading Corner Lost

This is my favourite corner in our home. It's the part where you see the cars whizzing by, from a distance, of course. When it rains, the clouds descend to kiss the miniature hills. It is beauty at its best and now my son wants to take over, without as much as a smile.

Strolling Along

Yes, flat stomachs do things, including whizzing into shape by strolling on trollies.

Reading Lost?

When they are that serious, you can be assured there is no book in hand!

Lending More Than A Hand

Went looking for the charity pictures and found these to complete the series.