Shail’s Nest

I am always impressed by the concern the stalwarts of society seem to have for women/girls and the innovative approach they take to prevent eve-teasing and sexual harassment. Never mind if that innovative approach is one that has been playing for centuries like a broken record, ‘Girls! Dress modestly!” which in the present contest means No jeans please we are Indians! Though this approach of taking control of what girls/women wear has not helped any as naturally the problem lies elsewhere, one has to appreciate their  thick-skinned efforts which shamelessly falls back again and again on this tried, tested and failed method as the best way to protect their womenfolk. Dress modestly women/girls. Or else thou shall be pawed touched grabbed and worse raped! And we the society shall only be able to watch twiddling our thumbs for blind we are like Dhritharashtra, unable (or unwilling) to see where the real problem lies.

One simply feels like standing up and saying ‘Bravo!’ Take pride in this concern of society (which consists of men and women) for you and your safety, you the fair sex. Of course you will not be the fair sex for much longer, not if the cosmetic companies have their way. Don’t use your girl’s fairness cream they scream at all those un-fair in more ways than one sex, the males. What if the dainty damsel you want to be the Queen of your heart stamps her dainty (or not) foot and cries, “Un-Fair!!” on seeing your dark but handsome face?? So buy your own tube of the magic cream and beat the fair sex at their own game guys, they advise, while we get richer and richer at all your collective dumbness they snigger as an aside. Sigh, so much for the tall, dark and handsome concept. But I have digressed. Let’s get back to the dress code for women.

Recently I was at Bangalore for the admission of my niece to a prestigious college in the city. The college, the prestigious one I mean, we were told, had a strict dress code, no jeans and tees, only long tops or kurtis that reached down to your knees worn over salwars or churidars. It is another matter of course that while waiting in the corridor outside the college office I got the opportunity to correct a long held misconception of mine that the ‘knee’ was that part of the anatomy that connected your thighs to your lower leg and was commonly placed in all humans. Apparently it is not and varies from person to person, (Ha! Didn’t know that did you, ignoramuses?!) and can be anywhere between a few inches below your waist, to just below your derriere or half way down your thighs. Ahhh going to college has its benefits you see, even if it’s only as an accompanying parent or guardian. You learn new things. Sorry to have digressed again. One always likes to do the right thing and share knowledge gained and all that you know.

Relaxing over a cup of lemon tea the next day with that gentle glow of satisfaction brightening my day at an Aunt’s duty well done, I skimmed through the newspaper (The Times, Bangalore edition) when something caught my eye.

“Institutions are implementing strict dress codes for women around the country” Ahh there it was again, jeans bashing. This time it was the turn of four colleges in Kanpur to join the no-jeans bandwagon. Made me wonder what poor jeans had done to deserve such treatment. It wouldn’t surprise me if the whole lot of them shrank to one-fourth their size at the very first wash out of pure misery and shame at this atrocious treatment meted out to them. I mean they, the jeans were doing their duty, just like any other piece of clothing, covering up naked flesh although a wee bit too tightly at times. But then is that any reason to banish the poor things from college campuses?? Aww… Look at the sari blouses. Were they acting any different?? Too damn tight and revealing if you ask me. And what about that all revealing and sexy dress called ‘sari’ worn whichever way you please and exposing acres of naked flesh more in area than the acres of land in which these colleges stand??

While I was waiting in the corridor of the same prestigious college of Bangalore I saw this beautiful vision in sari walking down the corridor mobile in hand (mind you no one is allowed to use a mobile inside the college buildings, even visitors and here was a lecturer of the college flouting all rules blatantly. Sigh! Some people have all the luck!). Now, the vision was wearing a sari blouse whose neckline had taken to bungee jumping. Her midriff could accommodate a few football fields. But was anyone complaining?? Why don’t I hear anyone say, “Four colleges in the city ban wearing of sari in college to lessen the evil of eve-teasing.”?!

Oh no siree, no one would do that, not any of those stalwarts of society. If you wear a short top with your jeans with your midriff showing that is when it becomes obscene. But when you are in that all-Indian dress it is acceptable. Didn’t you even know that?? And then they say there is brain drain. Brain drain?? All the brains are right here making such all important decisions using such logic. I mean, look at how adroitly the real issue is sidestepped (once again, since time immemorial) and the responsibility of avoiding eve-teasing is passed on to the shoulders of girls/women when anyone with half a tea-spoon of intelligence knows that the trouble lies elsewhere. Do you mean to tell me all the Indian males were a paradigm of virtue till jeans and tees made an appearance?? Ahh the Decadent West! What would we do without you?? On whose shoulder could we have lain the blame??

My first experience of eve-teasing/harassment was when I was either eleven or twelve and I was in a long skirt and long blouse that modest all-Indian dress against which not even the worst of the culture vultures can raise a finger. Yet the wisdom of these ‘strict dress code-rs’ seem to suggest that eve-teasing is of recent origin and is tied inseparably to jeans and short tops. Oh puhleeze don’t insult the Indian male or underestimate him. They have always known about eve- teasing and sexual harassment long before the Decadent West made its appearance to corrupt the so called Innocent (my foot) East. Check with Draupadi what happened to her in the King’s court under his very nose. (Click here to read of that Maha Abuse) And then we need the Decadent West to teach us… pray, what new things??

The all important question of why it should be the responsibility of the girl/woman to prevent eve-teasing and sexual harassment and why the society cannot look the real reason in the eye and make it wilt is of course beyond my understanding. There is a saying in Mallu language that says, Mullu ilayil veenalum ila mullil veenaalum ilaykku thanne dosham (Whether the thorn falls on the leaf or the leaf falls on the thorn, the leaf is the one affected) Oh yeah?? Oh really??!!! So what do we do?? Let the thorns flourish among us and live a scared life trying to avoid them?? How about identifying the thorns and clearing them up so we have a thorn-free life?? Humans have cleared land everywhere for their own use. How about taking a little courage and banishing these thorns as well instead of asking the leaves to live in fear of them?? How about teaching these thorns some manners, some respect rather than spending the time teaching the leaves how to and what to wear?? How about letting the thorns and leaves mix with each other so that the sharpness of the thorns gets blunted and leaves are no longer any mystery to them to be poked, touched, grabbed or rubbed against?? Is that asking too much??

I have chosen to take a lighter and irreverent view. But please read this for a better understanding:

Why-a-ban-on-jeans-may-not-stop-street-sexual-harassment-of-women

Tonight when the clock strikes the midnight hour and the seconds needle sails past in too much of a hurry if you ask me, to usher in the new day, moi steps delicately and one hopes with the right foot forward to the wrong side of half a century. Egad! Did I just say, half a century??!! Ummm uh oh… that means I have been twiddling my thumbs here on Earth, far away from my home-land (which of course is Neptune for the info any newbies around), for fifty long years, which translates into a whopping six hundred in months, two thousand five hundred or thereabouts in weeks, ____ in days, ____ in hours, ____ in minutes and ____ in seconds all of which I am not willing to write down for understandable reasons. Some wise guy who is better in computation than moi which is like the whole population on planet Earth (I recently asked the Penguin how many zeroes were there in a million and he went into paroxysms of laughter) is going to come along and punch holes in my calculations. And we cannot have that can we, especially when moi, already in a slightly distressed state of mind might get slightly more worked up at the implied slight and punch the poor know-it-all of a puncher-of-holes giving him/her a black eye, the half a century not withstanding.

Now the curious readers among you might be wondering about the slightly distressed state of my mind. In the meantime, some others I am sure are already going snigger snigger having jumped erroneously to what seems to them obvious conclusions, attributing the slightly distressed state to the phobia women have of advancing years. Hello!! Beg your pardon dear Jumpers to Erroneous Conclusions. It is not merely women who go all coy and secretive when it comes to age. In my long innings, I have seen an equal number of men if not more, worried about the same advancing age and hiding it from all and sundry securely under wraps and trying to pass off as younger than they actually are. A friend of mine once told me that when he replied ‘Forty-four, Male, India’ to that all important question, ‘ASL??’ familiar to netizens all over and that which sets the ball rolling in net conversations, it was received with an incredulous, “Aww come on now! How can that be?? Men on the net are all either in their mid-thirties or late twenties!! Are you sure you are forty-four??” I rest my case.

Anyways what bothers me as I step tentatively into the golden fifties is not the advancing age or the attendant bonuses the wrinkles, the graying and falling hair or even the failing eyesight, the creaking joints or the errrr… ahem… splutter… splutter… oh aahh well umm… the increasing girth. Phew, there I managed to say it. These are all (for moi) minor irritants to be faced with equanimity if not total disregard. The problem, a trivial thing actually, no great shakes, lies elsewhere. Now that the golden fifty is at my doorstep, there will be more of those unobtrusively raised eye-brows at moi and her ways. I will have to face even more of that (to moi) mystifying and unclear phrase ‘Act your age!’ thrown my way, not directly (for very few would dare) but indirectly via sugar coated and brightly gift wrapped ‘innocuous’ remarks.

This ‘Act Your Age’ or its close relatives, Dress Your Age, Speak Your Age et al are phrases that I have never really understood the meaning of. Act your age?? Now what would that mean?? Hmmm… let me think. Does it mean that each birthday comes with a set of instructions on how to behave the following year?? Something like: Here is your fiftieth birthday. Hence forth you shall dress in such and such a way, deport yourself in such and such a manner. You don’t do this, you don’t do that and don’t you even think of doing something else altogether. Blah blah blah and blah. Is that what it means?? Or perhaps are such instructions for groups of years??

Do the instructions change over time or are they supposed to hold good for years and years altogether?? And pray who are the pompous asses (mind you, I do mean the animal though why asses should be considered pompous is beyond my limited intellgence) who make these unofficial rules?? And why do people follow the instructions of a bunch of pompous asses (reference is to the animals again), blindly?? Why do most of them even think it should be followed blindly?? I remember at five I was walking behind my little brother with a plate full of curd rice and veggies trying to feed him. I don’t remember anyone telling me, ‘Act your age! Go out and play!’ But I am sure they will bundle me off to the nearest lunatic asylum if I were to act like a child again. Why??

This reminds me of the time I read a discussion going on at a blog post about the way people dress. One of the comments was by a young lady in her late twenties. She said it was funny how some older people tried to dress like younger ones. Her exact words, people in their thirties trying to dress like those in their twenties or teens. That comment of hers made me think. Do you have a dress code for people of the 30s/40s/50s etc?? And are they barred from wearing the latest in vogue popular with other groups?? Who says so and why should it be adhered to?? Do you mean to say as soon as one reaches 30 he/she stops wearing a certain kind of dress associated with the twenty-somethings?? Oh yeah?? Says who??

To my question a young boy asked a counter question. Would you go out with an eighty-year old man dressed in the latest teen fashion ripped jeans and some sort of tees or open shirt revealing his gray haired chest was what the boy asked. I was simply amazed. I mean is this a question at all??

I replied: Whether I go out or not with an eighty year old man dressed in the latest teenage style of dressing is entirely my personal choice. But the point under discussion is whether the eighty year old man has the right to wear ripped jeans (whatever they are) and an open shirt showing off his gray haired chest. And if it is just a matter of your aesthetic sense being offended, how about looking away and letting others be??

The ideas that we have about how each age group should behave, dress, act, speak are nothing but what we are used to because that’s what we have seen the majority of people doing most of our lives. How about coming out of this limited way of thinking and asking, why it should be so?? Why should something seem right just because we are used to it, because a large number is following it?? A few years back a married woman down south would not be allowed to wear anything other than a sari Why?? I don’t think I have heard one valid reason as yet. But it was considered an iron clad rule.

I cannot agree with people who make remarks like, ‘That dress doesn’t look good on her. She is fat’ (Who decides which dress looks good on well proportioned people?? And why the discrimination?? You mean if you don’t fit into others perception of what the right size is, you cannot wear what you like??) or ‘That color is too bright for her age’ (Who decides which colors suit what age??) or …… it goes on and on. You know the ‘n’ number of things people have to say about what suits whom. When we say such things, doesn’t it just show our taste in things, mostly the result of conditioned thinking. Does that mean it is the right one?? As long as the person wearing it is comfortable, what’s anyone else’s problem??

During one of our many ponderings, the senior son told me that there is coded information in one of our genes that makes us conform. Conformity is to ensure survival; those who conform have better chances at it, I believe. But then if there is only conformity, there will be no progress. Maybe that is why you have a sprinkling among the herd of those with the conformity gene missing, those who are willing to question and make others think and others who go out and do things that are different. Perhaps I am one of those non-conformists, Though I have not yet gone out and done anything spectacular, I certainly question what most seem to take in their stride and I hope I do make people think with my questions, at least a handful.

…and oh yeah by the way, I refuse to act my age!

This post is written in a hurry as deadline approach-eth. Any mistakes shall be corrected on the morrow when moi has had her beauty sleep and is fresh as a daisy. But before I go,

Happy Birthday to moi

Your actions so predictably unpredictable

Following patterns you believe are random

You mistake mine for the obvious

Your eyes are weak; they miss the intricate weave.

- Shail Mohan (May 2009)

She frantically punches buttons on her cell phone and impatiently waits for the phone to be picked up at the other end. And when it is, the following conversation ensues.

She: (anxiously) Where are you??

He: On my way home…

She: I know that. Where have you reached??!

He: (names a place 7-8 kms away from home)

She: (with urgency) Ok ok. But come QUICKLY!!

He: (now quite alarmed) Why! What’s the matter??

She: (shuddering) There’s a lizard in the refrigerator!!!

He: Whaaat?? HAHAHAHAHA!!

She: (giggling nervously) It jumped in from the top door when I opened the fridge. (adds peevishly) Why did it have to jump IN?? Couldn’t it have jumped OUT?? Stupid thing!!

He: (guffaws again) HAHAHAHAHAHA!!

She: (giggles nervously again while peering into the refrigerator from a distance of about 4-5 feet, poised for instant flight in case the lizard with the ‘your-fridge-is-also-my-fridge’ mentality made a sudden appearance)

He: (gallantly) Ok ok, don’t worry, I am coming!!

She sighs in relief, switches off the phone and patiently awaits the modern day Knight on the Fiero to come to the rescue of the damsel put in distress by lizards that are miserable failures when it comes to using their internal navigation system in the right manner while moving around especially in those human households inhabited by lizardo-phobic damsels. By the way, no prizes of course for guessing the identity of either the Knight or the Damsel in Distress.

For more adventures or distresses faced by the Damsel in Distress, click here and here.

Jealously guarded behind masks I wear

Feelings I don’t want to share

Transformed when alone into precious pearls

Scattered and lost I know not where.

- Shail Mohan (May 2009)

Reposted from shail-mohan blogs @sulekha.com

The year was 1988 and the place, Secunderabad, or rather Alwal, where the army quarters are. The previous year, the Lord and Master had to dump the one and only (the Aspiring Animator having not yet entered the scene) son, the future Programmer/Geek and moi unceremoniously in the quarters allotted, and hurry off to the exercise area. And what happens when its time for them all to come?? Off they go as part of the first wave of IPKF (Indian Peace Keeping Force) to Sri Lanka. We, the son and moi found ourselves sole occupants of this huge bungalow, a relic from the days of the British.

It WAS huge! The roof was almost 18-20 feet high, walls a foot thick with doors at least 8 feet in height. The rooms were built in a row, and were so vast that I had this distinct feeling of sleeping in a railway platform, not in a cozy bedroom! The cold, stone floors only accentuated the feeling. Whatever I filled the room with, it continued to look half empty. There were four doors in the bigger two rooms, opening on to big verandahs on either side of the house. Staying in the vast house by ourselves was scary initially. But we got used to it and eventually thoroughly enjoyed its cool interior, which was a sure blessing to be ensconced in, during the scorching summers months in Andhra. The rambling wood rose climbing to the roof and the big mango tree in the backyard made it all so pleasant.

There was one officer of the Brigade and some men under him, to look after the Rear Headquarters. The families could use the modified vehicle to go to Secunderabad for their shopping. Mrs Sood, the Brigade Major’s wife and her daughter Neha were our companions on such trips. We wandered along M.G.Road, went to Monda Market for vegetables and fish and finished off with crisp ghee dosas at Ganga Restaurant (Wonder if its still functioning!) This was the routine for the mother-son duo each week.

One evening, we were getting ready for one such outing. After getting the son ready and giving him clear instructions to stay put in the house while I got ready, I went for my bath. Soon enough I heard the son crying and was alarmed. He was at the bathroom door tapping away and wailing

“Ammaaaaa …. Snake.. snake… !!”

SNAKE?? I was using the bathroom at the far end of the house, next to the room we dumped all the junk into. Its dark and not enough light streams in. Oh my God, the snake could be anywhere amidst that junk. I told the son to stick close to the door, hurriedly dressed and got out. God, how was I going to find the snake and chase it??!! But let me get this straight, I thought, how does he know it’s a snake?? What if it was only (only??) one of those small creepy crawlies and was creating a hullabaloo, taking after none other than his famous (notorious??) mother who would bring the roof down if a lizard crossed her path. Be that as it may, I then turned to the son and asked him,

“How did it look?? How do you know it was a snake??”

“It l-l-ook-ked like the s-s-snake we saw in the m-m-movie.” He was still shivering from fright. Hmmm….

“Where did you see it??” I asked him.

He pointed towards the front door. So the snake wasn’t in this room where we were standing. Oh God, by this time, what chances that it would still be where it was sighted originally??! I stealthily and carefully peeped into the drawing room ….and found the front door ajar. I turned to the son with knit brows

“You opened the door! I told you not to go out!” I rolled my eyes at him clearly annoyed at his disobedience. He stood there with eyes downcast.

But WHERE was the snake??

I walked out of the door and there was this cobra with its hood all out, in the front yard, staring Nandini in the face. Nandini by the way was our pet cat. She it seems had come running when she heard the son scream. She, I have always maintained was more of a human than humans. She meowed sweetly on seeing us, closing her eyes gently the way cats do, as if to say, don’t worry, I have things under control. She looked back at the cobra and away quite nonchalantly, as if waiting for the cobra to dare make its first move.

The hood of the cobra turned this way and that following Nandini’s each move. Some sort of conversation seemed to be in progress. Nandini it looked was warning the cobra to stay away from her adopted family and not harm them. Even as the son and I watched, Nandini having had her say, stood up and moved away with a oh-so-bored look expecting I am sure nothing less than total compliance from that magnificent reptile who could have had her writhing an fighting for life if it had so chosen. The cobra meanwhile as if acquiescing to the cat’s ultimatums, lowered itself with one final look at its retreating back and slithered away into the bushes.

What a drama it had been. The Lord and Master arrived on leave from Sri Lanka and the snake story was duly related to him. Our next door neighbor also reported spotting the cobra in their yard in the ensuing week. The man wanted it killed. But the local boys did not oblige him as they believed cobras belonged to Lord Shiva Himself.

The next day, seeing off the Lord and Master on his way out on an errand, I noticed a change of expression on his face. I guessed rightly what it meant. Behind me, near the gate and close to the thickly growing hedge was the cobra, feasting on, rather struggling with, a medium-sized frog. We watched with interest for some time. This seemed as if it was going to take a long time to get over. So off went the L & M on his errands and I back to my work.

Around dusk, the L & M informed me that one of his JCOs (Junior Commisioned Officer) would be looking in and to have him seated. He then pushed off to have his shower and get ready.

The doorbell rang soon after and on opening it I found the orderly, Gaekwad, standing outside.

“- - - - Saab aaya hai,” (- - - - Sir has come) he said.

Oh, the JCO is here already, I thought. I opened the door wider and stood back. No one stepped in. Puzzled I peered out. Gaekwad was standing rooted to the same spot. I looked at him enquiringly.

“- - - - Saab aaya hai,” he repeated.

Well, that’s what you said earlier, I thought. He knows the drill; that the JCO had to be seated, and a glass of water offered first. Why was the fellow standing there, twiddling his thumbs?

“_ _ _ _ Saab aaya hai” he said again. This WAS getting repetitive. And why was he whispering anyway??

“Andar aane ke liye bolo” (Tell him to come inside), I replied a bit impatiently.

“Saanp Saab aaya hai” (Snake Sir has come), he said respectfully, his voice a little louder and clearer this time.

I opened my mouth to protest against his impersonating a bally parrot and repeating the same thing over and over again, when it smote me! Saanp?? Saanp Saab??

“Kya???????” (What??), I went all wide-eyed now. “Kahaan??? (Where??)

Ah now Memsaahib has understood! There was relief on his face. He pointed towards the gate, with even more respect. I have a doubt the man bowed in the direction while pointing Saanp Saab to me.. The poor fellow was so terrified of the cobra, he was referring to it as Saab (Sir). Perhaps he had thought, calling it by its first name would smack of familiarity and disrespect??

By now L & M had finished his shower. All of us, including the son, trooped out to see the Saanp Saab who was still, hours later, struggling to swallow the frog. Looked like Saanp Saab had bitten off more than it could chew?? We watched its efforts for some time, in the twilight. Then as it got darker, we trooped back to the comfort of our home.

Since that evening, till the time we left Secunderabad the following year, Saanp Saab did not make another appearance. Methinks it heard moi tell Gaekwad to ask it to step right in (Who is this fearless lady inviting a COBRA to step in??) and being ignorant of the fact that I wouldn’t say ‘boo’ to a goose (though why anyone should say so is a mystery to me) and probably imagining me as a tyrant waiting with a stick to make short work of it for having scared my little one, decided wisely to stay away.

I lied

I cried

I did hide

Behind smiles dyed

You always decide

I abide

The dreams inside

I have freeze-dried

How do I confide

What is inside

When my feelings undyed

Are denied

As passions collide

And we divide

Do not deride

I am no bride

Something died

Though I tried

With my pride

I now reside.

- Shail Mohan (Jan 2009)

It is all very well to tell me that I would be a star, not the filmy kind of course, but the ‘twinkle twinkle little star’ kind that shines in the sky, as if conferring the highest honor on me. Oh my God, imagine what a lonely life it would be with your immediate ‘star’ neighbor some I-don’t-know-how-many miles away, too far anyway to holler or be hollered at. By the way are stars able to holler at all?? Besides, I hear they, the stars I mean, don’t even have laptops or internet. Egad, what a sorry life! And how fair is it springing this news on me at such short notice?? How the heck am I going to bring about all that I had been hoping to happen in my next life in the short span I have left of the present one?? All along I had been counting on my next life to do all the things I missed out on in this one presently running. But what happens?? Along comes this astrologer guy, takes one look at my horoscope and wipes the slate clean of any more life by stating decisively,

“You are going to be a star in the sky. No more rebirths for you. This is your last life.”

“Aapko in keede makeedon ke saath rehna hi nahi!” (You don’t have to live with insects and worms, read as in human form, any more) he had added for good measure, smiling serenely.

I smiled back just as serenely. But serene had been the last thing I was feeling at his pronouncement. My mind churned with a million and one thoughts.

Hmmm….oh well. But.. but….how about the dreams of becoming a bharatanatyam dancer?? How about singing like Shreya Ghosal a la koyal?? How about traveling and seeing the world?? How about living in a farm??!! And most important of them all, how about all those ice creams???? Oh my God, this was a catastrophe.

There was nothing to it but to grin and bear (I have learnt this lesson early in my life), accept the fact and try and make the best of what was left of my life, I decided. That is exactly what I tried to do with I must say, slightly disastrous consequences. Let me not put the cart before the horse and relate the events in their proper order.

When the astrologer guy left, I sighed and promptly called up the Lord and Master and the kiddos one after the other and gave them the sad (or good, it all depends on the perspective) news. Sorry guys, I had planned on meeting you all in my next life in one capacity or another. But now it is out of question. I won’t be around to do that. When you want to see me you will have to be content to look up at the sky where I will be along with the le22 (I am damned if I know what that means) or so stars wikipedia tells me is out there and hope that I am amongst the thousand or so visible ones when conditions are perfect.

I knew what had to be done next. Of course I couldn’t become a bharatanatyam dancer in the little time I had left, not when that half a century (Are my gifts ready??) was balefully staring me in the face. Neither could I do a koyal or a Shreya Ghosal however much I wished. As it is I have lost whatever little voice I had once upon a time, having used it all up for screaming at those monkeys of mine, err… sorry, I mean sons. “Get up!!” “Not now!” “Clean your room!” “Go and have your bath!!!!!” “No!!!!” and more in the same vein. The next in the list came traveling. What traveling could I do with my sciatica ridden leg going on frequent ‘no-work’ days and in increasing frequency too?? As far as living in a farm was concerned, it had only been a dream to start with, it could never be reality. Sigh.

Down to the last one on the list, I perked up. Here was something I could do before I became a bally star in the wilderness with nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs figuratively as stars don’t have thumbs and only twinkle all day, week, month, year…. oh well eons, at folk back down on good old Earth.

There were all those ice creams waiting for me to taste them!!

Ice creams enticing me with their different textures, flavors, colors et al. Now was the time to dig into them as stars I am told don’t have ice creams in their menu. So from that day onwards I dug in with nary a thought for expanding girth. I was anyway going to have a wide girth as a star, so why not now?? Logic has always been my forte much to the dismay and exasperation of those who know me.

Pictures of me wolfing down ice creams were sent to the Lord and Master from where I was holidaying with my sister and niece. Ahhhh what bliss it is to be in an all-girl household!! Sheer fun and frolic. The pictures were what did it, landed me in hot water made even hotter by the soaring mercury at Vadodara. The ultimatum came from the Lord and Master himself in the very next call he made from home.

“Don’t you dare come back adding on extra pounds!!” Gulp.

My smart niece’s eyes sparkled just like those bally stars that I was to join in the future, when appraised of the conversation.

“Let’s fatten up ValC (her name for me)!!!! ” she excitedly suggested to my sis, her mother.

“Then Valyachan (Uncle) won’t want her back and we can keep her here forever!!”

Awww… so sweet of her. But, I had to get back home at all costs once my holiday was over. My dog was waiting for me. So reluctantly I cut down on my ice cream intake. But by then the damage had been done, I had already added a kilo or two to my midriff. Oh bother!

It was with trepidation that I alighted at the Trivandrum Central railway station. Fortunately for me, the Lord and Master, already fed up with hotel cuisine and wanting to have the wife back in the kitchen pronto, did not ask me to go through any agnipariksha a la Shri Rama of Sita, the agnipariksha in this case involving stepping on the weighing scale and passing muster before entering Home Sweet Home and chose instead to ignore the few extra pounds.

So here I am well ensconced in my cozy home. The thought that in the times to come, there amidst the Sun, Sirius, Vega, Richel, Deneb, Regulus, Pollux, Mimosa, Atria, Aludra and the rest of the brightest of stars in the sky there would be one nonentity called Shail trying her best to shine as bright as the rest, doesn’t fill my heart with tranquility and contentedness. Instead I sing (in my heart) with longing,

……Eee manhohara theerathu tharumo, iniyoru janmam koodi, enkkini oru janmam koodi??

Hey Whoever You Are, will you give me one more birth in this beautiful place?? I have many more flavors of ice-creams to taste.

…a short film, made by the junior son, the aspiring Animator, for his Visual Grammar exercise at college.

Dedicated to all music lovers… and that means moi too!

Yaaaay! I love it!

You knew all the right codes

To unlock padlocked chests

Exposed, in turns I smolder and shiver

As elements wreak havoc in sweet revenge.

- Shail Mohan ( April 2009)