Tag Archives: Conversations

Early Morning Cuppa WTF

I had the honour of dropping Arvind off at school today. And by honour, I mean I was dragged on my heels through gravel at an alarming velocity. I swear I could hear my pumps screech, gasp and breathe their last.

I see a distinctly South Indian/Sri Lankan looking mother dropping off a cute kid. Arvind informs me that the cute kid’s name is Sindhu. I go over to said mother, introduce myself and ask if she is from India.

From Thanjavur, no less. (No, thats nowhere near Assam. Its central Tamil Nadu and Madrasi heartland. I refer you to MiM’s post)

I tell her that I am a Malayali, who can manage a few filmy phrases in the neighbouring states vernacular – Tamil.

“Oh,” she says dismissively, “you look like such a North Indian. I wouldn’t have imagined that you were a Southie.”

I stare at her, gobsmacked. Looking like El Grande Twit.

Ms. Thanjavur, who is all about great conversational antenna, goes on: “You have straight, coloured hair and the way you dress and all..I was sure you were from up North. And you know how it is….” she tapers off in a conspiratory tone with a huge smile.

Shot pans to where I stand, still in El Grande Twit zone, clearly unaware of how it is.

“Oh, you know.. with these Northies, it can be okay sometimes and then it simppply won’t work out. Anyway, its soo good to meet another South Indian.”

Ms. Thanjavur glides away.

Mallu-with-straightened-hair-and-apparently-North-Indian-air left feeling compartmentalized, categorized, judged and incredibly pissed off.

And no, I didn’t say “likewise”.

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Shootin’ the Breeze

Mi Casa, 8 p.m.

I am hunched over the Mac preparing a memo for my annual assessment. Just one of those events I insist on shitting bricks for as a matter of over-achieving principle. I’ve never had a bad assessment, my boss is only the most fabulous boss on earth, yet there I am on the eve of A-day, nerves-a-grated and knickers in a twist. (Yeah, thats really not as hot as you’d imagine, even though I have very nice knickers thanksverymuch)

Arvind, who still insists on making up his own homework (because neither school nor parents will give him any) is making up sums (“Whats a google plus thousand, Mamma?”) and trying kindle an interest in science in his ignorant mother (“Do you want me to draw the insides of a butterfly for you?”) You get the drift.

I do the usual nodding, hmming and hawing that all parents are familiar with, but all of a sudden there he is, his face just a few inches from mine.

“You look tired, Mamma. Do you want me to give you a massage?”

Without warning, tears spring to my eyes and I’m too overwhelmed to respond. For weeks, I can go around thinking that Arvind can’t/won’t hear a word I say or that he is far too lost in his own world and thoughts – till he displays the full extent of his empathy and perception and knocks his ole Ma over with a feather.

His tiny, gentle palms rub my shoulders and caress my back. Its heavenly is what it is. His feathery touch rubbing his mother’s aches away. I sigh and lean into my lille mann.

” One day, sweetheart, you’re going to make some woman really, really happy.”

“No, I won’t,” he snorts, “I’ll want to play Wii all day and that’ll make her mad as hell!”

Aaaaand….he’s back.

My babies hand in hand

My babies hand in hand

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Filed under Arvind speaks