Just read in the TOI today that a High Court Judge has recommended that the Bhagvad Gita be made the national dharma shastra.

I am not a scholar of the Gita, and I have only given it a cursory read. Even so, I accept that all the concepts in the Gita are entirely great and inspiring.

But I wonder... the Bhagvad Gita is essentially seen as a Hindu book- on par with the Christian Bible and the Muslim Q'uran. And in a secular country like India, is it justifiable to take one religion's holy doctrines and want it to be made the nation's? However exemplary the doctrines may be?

The learned judge says that just as India has a national flag, a national anthem, a national animal, a national bird.... it can have the Bhagvad Gita as its national religious doctrine!!!

In a country which follows several dharmas, how can you have a single 'unifying' dharma sastra? And why do you need the Gita to be declared as the country's holy doctrine? Even without it, so many Hindus and non-Hindus follow the example set in the Gita of doing one's duty, without hope of a reward or fear of a backlash.

Seems to me like the venerable judge is opening Pandora's box with this one.... I wonder what will follow this recommendation.

In these days when you hear of teachers beating their students to death almost, I think with gratitude and love of my teachers, who were maybe not GREAT, all of them, but some of them certainly left their mark on me and several others who passed through their classes.

Starting with class I, there was Ms. Colleen, my class teacher. An Anglo-Indian, she was dark and pretty and vivacious, and I adored her! The feeling was reciprocated and I was one of her favourites, seated on the front bench. Till one day, she caught me peeking at her white panties, up her dress. (I still remember the colour!) She crossed her legs, only to give me a better view! She then joined her legs primly and turned them the other way from one pair of inquisitive eyes, and smiled at me and said, 'Naughty girl!" She would come and visit even me when I passed on into the second standard...She got married and left soon after, but years later, she came back, when I was in the ninth or tenth. Don't think she remembered me as the girl who peeked, and was glad for it. I however remembered my adored one.

There was Mrs. Violet, my class teacher in the third, who was so very particular about how the v's and the w's had to be pronounced. To this day, when reading stories to Sonny boy, I remember her and I make a perfect round for the w's. (Hmmm, these days I also think of a certain Moppet, when rounding my lips into a perfect O)
Miss Anne was another who was very particular about the English language. She it was who used to give five stars as treats for students who used to do well in her class. Gave 'carrot and stick' a whole new meaning, she did. And she was always dressed so smartly and elegantly.Not a hair out of place, and perfectly creased skirts and blouses.... I wish I had half her poise and charm....

And then, there was Mrs. Mariamma, who took away just 1/2 a mark from my answer sheet in one test, and praised me so much I can never forget it. It was in History of all subjects, but apparently, I had mentiuoned ALL the points and she so stressed on points, points, points.....esp as we were going to be facing our board exams the next year.
After all that goodwill, she got terribly upset with me when I sang a parody in the school festival. It was about a faithless boyfriend who if his girlfriend couldn't accompany him to the cinema, was quite happy to have the younger sister of his girlfriend accompany him. The younger sister's name was Mariyamma, and the school went wild when I sang it. Unfortunately, she didn't appreciate the humour then, and gave me a lecture on how she expected a class leader to set better standards. Later, she forgave me.

There was Pavithran Mashu. He was not a teacher at school, but I went to him for Maths tuition in the ninth. He turned all my ideas of doing math on its head. Given a problem, he would start with the solution, and then work backwards. Perfect modus operandi for life too, but there are no teachers as good as him to learn from. He was also my neighbour, and I was in awe of him. Incidentally, I scored the highest in class in Maths during the period I learnt from him, which sadly was for just a year. He is no more now, God bless his soul.


Coming to college, there was Prasenna teacher. She was one of the most liked, respected teachers, who went on to become the Head of the Department, but to this date (she's retired now) she continues being called Prasenna teacher. There's humility for you. Actually, more than Mrs. Gop, it was she who was instrumental in my taking up Chemistry. She wore such gorgeous saris, and we used to never see her wear the same sari in less than 6 months. Quite a collection!
Then there was Prof. Bose, who despite the students booing and teasing and calling him all sorts of names, stuck to his love for the language, and taught well, the ones who were interested. I wish I'd had him for my teacher when I DID take up Eglish literature as my main subject. It would have been a pleasure.

In University, there was Prof. R.Viswanathan. Nicknamed RV. Unbelievably knowledgeable. And unbelievably self-effacing with it. Quietly he would come to class and get me enraptured with his lectures. He it was, who made me appreciate what a world of difference criticism made to a work. Prof. Jaleel was another erudite person, who taught me to love the poets.

Looking back, I think that one common thing that marked all the good teachers, was their humility. The more they knew, the greater their humility.
And then, their desire to impart the love and fascination for their subject.
There were some of my teachers who were very knowledgeable perhaps, but did miserably at imparting that knowledge across to others. They failed to kindle that flame of curiosity that makes you want to go on and on...

I so hope and pray that Agastya's teachers in his early and later days kindle that spirit of curiosity, which makes learning such a pleasure and less of a chore.
And on this day, God bless teachers the world over with patience, love and forbearance.

It was Onam yesterday. A big day for us Mallus. And one thing I like about this festival so much is that it has no shades of religion attached to it. There's nothing specifically Hindu, Muslim or Christian about it. It is actually the festival of plenty. And anyone wanting some plenty in their life can feel free to participate in the spirit of Onam. A spirit of giving and gaiety and colours and bonding.

Any mention of Onam would be incomplete without mentioning Mahabali, the noble king who comes back to visit his beloved subjects for a day, on the day of Thiruvonam. The myth of Mahabali is truly a story worth telling.

Kerala was a beautiful stretch of land ruled over by Mahabali, the Asura king. But Asura though he was, Mahabali was the embodiment of goodness. A wise, judicious, benevolent, and extremely charitable ruler, he was respected and loved by his subjects. His age was truly the golden age of Kerala. Rich or poor, all were equal in Mahabali's time. No discrimination was practised whatsoever, according to caste or creed. There was no crime, no corruption, nor any sorrow, poverty or disease in Mahabali's land. Truly idyllic times, with the entire populace happy and content.

Such was his charisma, that the Devas began to fear for their supremacy. And Aditi, the mother of the Devas, sought Lord Vishnu's help to curtail Mahabali's popularity and fame, and maintain her sons' superiority. Accordingly, Lord Vishnu assumed the form of a Vamana (a brahmin boy) and went to Mahabali, at the site of a yagna he was conducting. Since Mahabali was known for his generosity, Vamana requested alms- a piece of land- of him. Mahabali agreed. Sukracharya, the guru of the Asuras, smelt a rat, and advised Mahabali against it. He told Mahabali that the Vamana was none other than Lord Vishnu in disguise, and advised him to decline his request, also warning him that the boon would bring about his downfall.

But Mahabali was not known for his generosity for nothing. He told Sukracharya that he could not take back his given word, and directed the Vamana to state his request. The Vamana asked him for enough land to cover three paces of his foot. An ever charitable Mahabali, eyeing the diminutive stature of the lad, asked the Vamana to ask for more. But Vamana persisted in his request for just 3 paces of land. On Mahabali's consent, the Vamana grew and grew... with one step, the Vamana covered all of Earth, and with the next, he covered the Heavens. He looked at Mahabali and queried for a place to keep his third step.... At which Mahabali, realising that his vanity was his downfall, bent and offered his head to the Vamana, to place his third step.

Vamana sent Mahabali to the Netherlands, but before going, the ever loving King asked the Lord for permission to come and check that all was well with his beloved subjects, once in a year. The Lord agreed, and Onam is the day when Mahabali visits his beloved people. And the people, unite in their desire to show their much loved, erstwhile king that all is indeed well with them.

Thus it is that the people, irrespective of caste and creed, put on new clothes, eat good food and have enjoyable times for Onam. To keep their king happy, who sees only good things and good times, all through his beloved land, as in the days of his rule.


                                                  *******             ********

And so Agastya celebrated his first remembered Onam. With a feast prepared by Ammamma ( Since Amma and Accha had no holiday on Monday, a compromise was reached, with the Onasadhya being eaten on Sunday) and eaten on green banana leaves procured by Acha.
Truly delicious. Mmmmmm... Kaalan, pachadi, payar varavu, rice, sambar, kootu, pappadam, nellikka achar, and payasam. Noodle payasam, as Agastya would say.

But the other aspects of Onam were not compromised with. Early in the morning on Monday, flowers were elaborately arranged in a pookkalam. Where Agastya  'helped' Amma SO MUCH, making her tell him so many times not to drop those red dahlia petals over the yellow marigold, PUHLEEEEASE! With the growing diameter of the pookkalam, Amma's exasperation grew, till Agastya was made to stay indoors, out of harm's way, so that Amma could finish and get on with getting ready for office.

Baths over, Acha, Amma, Ammamma and Agastya , attired in new clothes, (did a long jump over the pookkalam in the corridor), went to the temple, and prayed for good times, health and prosperity. And then, dropping Ammamma and Agastya at home, Acha and Amma went to office.

End of 'story'.

P.S.
No discrimination, no crime, corruption, sorrow, poverty or disease..... Wonder if Mahabali could come back and rule over us once again...? ????

Not just for Kerala, I wish for India and for  all of the world indeed, that life becomes as it were under Mahabali's reign. Filled with days of happiness and contentment...

Just read on, folks, and tell me who needs to make up their mind!

Let it up slowwwwly, right. FINALLY you managed to get it right!

- C'mon , shift gears! How much petrol do you think you're wasting?   

- Why on earth do you want to shift to 3rd so soon? You think you're going to train for F1?

- Keep the car steady! Don't try to avoid them, go through the potholes, big or small. 

- Don't you have eyes in your head?  Couldn't you see that HUGE pothole?

- Swerve! What do you think the steering wheel is for?

- Don't swerve like that! You think you're riding a two-wheeler?

- Come left! You'll get stuck behind that lorry. Come LEFT! Never mind that there is a vehicle behind. Put your indicator on, and he'll move accordingly. 

-Why did you come left/right? Can't you see that vehicle coming behind you? You have to make allowances for EVERYBODY, you're the one who'll have to pay for the repairs, not them!

-Don't overtake! What's the tearing hurry? 

-Overtake him, can't you? Don't you want to get home, ever?

- Go faster.

-Don't go fast!

-Go slow. SLOW! 

-Why aren't you moving?!

- Keep the window open. You're not an expert!

- Keep the window closed. Learn to look in your rear view mirror! 

- Didn't you see him?!  You have to look out of the window too. The rear view mirror will not show everything!

- You can drive later. It's raining/ we have to park and reverse/ you have a problem following instructions! 

-Why do you want me along? Take it out yourself, can't you? You anyway don't bother to listen to me!

SO.......! Who do you think is driving who nuts? You think I could sue the husband for mental torture? * hopeful grin*

All this because lazy ol' me preferred being chauffered along, in the initial days after we both learnt driving. However now, we decided its high time I learnt to drive a car as well as I do our two-wheeler( all of our cousins- mine as well as the husband's - will attest to the fact that I do zip along pretty nattily on our two wheeler!)

And so I requested my dear husband to sit beside me while I gained some confidence.

Dunno about the confidence bit, but am sure gaining on toothache- from GRITTING MY TEETH!

I have often rued the fact that I stay in a flat on the third floor. Bound on all sides by walls, no front/backyard for the dog to pee- hence no dog either, no verandah to laze about on, no garden to potter around in -never mind that my fingers are brown, not green...

But one thing that abounds is neighbours. I have plenty of them. Closer than  than I would like sometimes. Some good, some bad, some downright caring. Like the lady I'm going to tell you about.

She stays in the flat adjacent, actually, not in my flat. But our respective kitchens have their work-areas facing each other. So we get to exchange neighbourly small talk while loading/unloading the washing machines. When our respective brats make a fuss to get our attention while we are busiest in the kitchen, we each do our bit of distracting.  When either of us gets back from our hometown, our work-areas are close enough for us to do some s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g exercises across the grills and reach across familiar home-made goodies, both of us coming from the Malabar region. But all of this was when I hadn't resumed work. Once that mad cycle of work started, I barely had time for my little son, so my neighbourly relations came under pressure.

But the bond that had been formed was strong, especially since we both were young mothers. And we did catch up with each other's lives, once in a blue moon.
She had been expecting her second baby.  And she gave birth to a bonny baby boy last Friday. And I got to know about it only yesterday!
Yesterday she espied me loading the washing machine and called out from her kitchen with a bright smile-
"Hey! I delivered my baby". 
And the next second, I had forgotten all about having to go to office, and we were both laughing through the grills, at each other, in delight. There's something about a newborn baby that brings a smile to your face and, makes it stay...

I was really pleased for her, for I knew that she had been a wee bit worried about the birth, inspite of it being her second, as she had had some complications.  Mother was healthy, baby was healthy, and both were thriving, save for a slight disappointment that this one too was a boy. We spoke a little about the hospital and birth and other stuff, before her Mom came to shoo her back to bed, where she was supposed to be, in the first place.

And I went back to get ready for work, with a smile still on my face, thinking of the time when she had proved what a caring neighbour she was....

We had been having a puja in our home- a Ganapathy homam and a Bhagavathy Seva. For those who do not know, this is a puja done basically to get rid of all obstacles and to usher in prosperity. For the homam, a lot of smoke ensues, when you pour the offerings on the fire. Well, that particular time, the fumes were particularly dense, and started issuing out of all possible vents.
The priest was chanting in the loud, typically nasal tones, and also had his bell ringing, so that we didn't hear it initially. Then we couldn't miss it- it was my name- being screamed madly, frantically by my dear neighbour, with utter panic in her voice. She seemed to be going beserk from the sound of her. I rushed out, thinking something must've happened to her son, and saw that her face was pale with fright, fear, worry...

"What happened? What's wrong?" I yelled, in a panic too.

"Your home's on fire, " she said, gesturing wildly towards my kitchen.

"What??!!" And I looked back.

Because the kitchen doors are the ones to get the maximum airflow, we'd kept the kitchen doors open, and the smoke was pouring out of it in great volumes. And kept on pouring densely, as the fire consumed more and more of the ghee and other offerings.

And this poor lady thought that me and my son were being roasted alive. And she was yelling for all she was worth, for us to get out. She was a muslim, and had no clue as to the weird things we hindus get up to sometimes. Filling our houses with smoke indeed!

I explained matters, and she gave me a look that spoke volumes. Indeed, I cannot express in words, all that her look conveyed to me that day.

But it certainly conveyed that she was a caring concerned neighbour.

A mother and father in Manaparai town of Trichy simply doted on their son. Their son was unique, talented, headed for a brilliant future, thought they. Like a great many other parents who dote on their offspring too. No harm in thinking so. Especially not when the parents are both highly educated, professionally qualified doctors who CAN do loads for their son.

But the harm was in that they went a bit too far. They allowed their 15 year old son to perform a caesarean operation on a 20 yr old pregnant girl, supervised by them. I was zapped to read of this in the papers! And not only do they do this, they go ahead and trumpet it. And when a shocked IMA, on viewing the cd of the said operation, pulled up the doctor parents, the proud father is said to have opined that if a 10 year old could drive a car and a 15 yr old could become a doctor in the US, what was wrong if his son (though not qualified!) performs a surgery. 

What is WRONG? What is right, for heaven's sake? I mean, I am simply amazed at two doctors committing this bit of crazy, absolutely irresponsible, dangerous bit of tomfoolery. Did the poor girl know that she was going to be operated upon by a 15 yr old boy, and unqualified at that? What if there had been complications? What if the baby died? Or worse (shudder) developed other complications that might have left it scarred for life? Would the doting parents have claimed it proudly as a mark of their son's learning experience like I would my son's first experiences at drawing, and treasure it? Or would they have just turned a blind eye to it and marked it down to the unfortunate girl's/baby's fate? No two guesses here.

Thankfully, I think (I certainly hope so) that the mother and child are fine. The idiot doctors would not have gone to the IMA with their cd if there had been any problems with the mother or child.  The video recording of the procedure was the ultimate! I mean- you have to give it to those doctors for being dumb. Not only do they go against the law, but they themselves provide proof too! The cd of course would have been destroyed by now. And the doctors now claim that their son only looked on, while they performed the actual operation. But the deed has been done and the world has come to know. And far from their son getting into the Guinness Book, the two doctors might end up being debarred from their profession.

I feel sorry for that poor 15 yr old kid. He probably has had to cope with over-ambitious parents all his young life. He's probably been MADE to play with a steth and all those other instruments.And probably this may not be the first time he has entered the OT and watched/helped out in numerous procedures, what with a general surgeon Dad, and an obstetrician Mom. But the last toy his parents gave him to 'operate' was a 20 yr old woman and her baby. A little too dangerous, surely? And now he has to face the music too, along with his parents. Not very pleasant music at that, for a 15 year old boy.

(I may be wrong in this, and the parents may have just encouraged their son's genuine interest. But they should have at least enrolled him in medical school before letting him into the theatre, let alone allowing him to perform a serious bit of surgery..)

God help over-ambitious parents and their children.!

Folks, one more time, am going against my policy of not putting up forwards in my blog. But I just came across this one, and I spent a good half hour shaking in suppressed mirth (was reading it from office) and I couldn't resist the idea of cheering you good people too. This is a letter written by an Indian mother to her son residing abroad.... happy reading and happy laughing!


My dear son,

Am in a well here and hoping you are also in a well there. I'm writing this letter slowly because I know you cannot read fast.

We don't live where we did when you left home. Your Dad read in the paper that most accidents happen 20 miles from home, so we moved 20 miles.
I won't be able to send the address as the last Indian who lived here took the house numbers with them for their new house so they would not have to change their address.
Hopefully by next week, we will be able to take our earlier address plate here and that our address will remain the same too.

This place is really nice. It even has a washing machine, situated right above the toilet. I'm not sure it works too well. Last week I put in 3 shirts, pulled the chain and haven't seen them since.

The weather here isn't too bad. It only rained twice last week. The first time it rained for 3 days and second time for 4 days. The coat you wanted me to send you, your Aunt said it would be a little too heavy to send in the mail with metal buttons, so we cut them off and put them in the pocket.

Your father has another job. He has 500 men under him. He is cutting grass at the cemetery.

By the way I took Bahu to our club's poolside. The mmanager is badmash. He told her that two piece swimming suit is not allowed in his club. We were confused as to which piece we should remove?

Your sister had a baby this morning. I haven't found out whether it is a girl or boy, so I don't know whether you are an Aunt or Uncle.

Your Uncle fell in the nearby well. Some men tried to pull him out, but he fought them off bravely and drowned. We cremated him and he burned for 3 days.

Your best friend is no more. He died trying to fulfil his father's last wishes. His father had wished to be buried in the sea after he died. And your friend died while in the process of digging a grave for his father.

There isn't much more news this time. Nothing much has happened. Wanted to write longer, but the envelope is already sealed.

Live long.
Your dear mother.

Days before, I was reading about the furore the entry of Ravi Krishna into Guruvayur has caused. And I had been on Vayalar Ravi's side for wishing to take the matter up with the temple authorities.

After all, if he has brought his children up to be devout Hindus and if his wife Mercy, has been also a devotee of Lord Guruvayurappan, then there can be no greater hurt and humiliation than to have the temple premises cleansed of your presence. To say nothing of the jolt to your heart, for a niggling doubt will always lurk- was I wrong? Inspite of a 100 inner voices telling you that you are not wrong. And that the Lord always accepts with open arms and heart those with true faith in their hearts.

However I have just finished reading the interview with the chief Tantri of Guruvayur, Chennas Raman  Namboodiripad, and I started having doubts about my convictions. Which have till date been that the true devotee should always be allowed to enter any temple of his faith, irrespective of whether he be a Muslim,Christian, Jew.. whatever... so long as he is willing to abide by the regulations of the temple.
One thing the tantri said really made an impact on me.

He said that K.J. Yesudas could (and I assume that by the same rule book, Ravikrishna can too) tell the Arya Samaj that he was a devotee of Lord Guruvayurappan, and believed in idol worship, and that within 5 min  he would be in possession of a certificate which would enable him to enter the holy temple as many times as he wishes.Without any purifcation rituals.
Why did Vayalar Ravi not make use of this loophole? 7 yrs before when the temple authorities conducted the same punyaham when Ravi Krishna entered the temple to pray after his wedding, he would surely have delved into the matter...?

I honestly did not know this clause existed, till I read that interview by Prem Panicker. I was one of those who felt extremely sorry for Yesudas that he could not get to see the Lord he describes so beauteously in his amazingly lovely renditions. But anyway, Yesudas  refrained from going against the temple laws.

In the case of Ravi Krishna, when he knew that his entry had caused such a furore and upheaval of the temple's proceedings, surely he could have refrained from doing the same thing again? Was there a little bit of arrogance there? I do not know and I am not one to judge. I am just wondering aloud here....

IF all that is required is a certificate from the Arya Samaj , to enter peacefully into Guruvayur, why do people who really wish to see the Lord not take recourse to that? I do not know. Is it that they do not wish to have it on record that they prayed to a God foreign to their religion? Or is it that it is not at all easy to get such a certificate?

But then again, if Mercy Ravi is a follower of the Hindu faith, and has brought her children up to be staunch devotees, isn't it extremely unfair to her to shun her children from a place of worship? Isn't it a worst kind of criticism of the way she has brought up her children in line with Hindu tenets? Isn't it a ridiculing of her embracing of Hinduism all those years back? She fitted neither there nor here, and now her children don't either. Very very unfair to that lady, more than to anybody else, I would say.

I have come across some persons, Hindus, accompanied by family and all, who do not hesitate to let their bodies stay pressed against yours for that extra second or two (which time is all it takes to sift the lecher from the devotee) even right in front of the deity.  Prayer and the Lord, I would think is far from their minds, which all the purification rituals in the world couldn't cleanse.
All said and done, I feel that if you can ensure that the person comes with devotion in his/her heart, he/she should be allowed to pray, and that applies to all religious places, be it a temple, a church or a mosque! A law, if it comes,shouldn't be just for temples, but for all religious places.


PS. I was just discussing this with my husband and I found that the Arya Samaj thing means that you have to convert to a Hindu. Now that's a totally different thing from just getting a certificate that professes that you are a devotee and allows you to see a favourite deity. I have gone and would love to go again to Velankanni and pray in all devoutness, but if I had to convert to Christianity, I would rather not go, for I have no quarrel with my own Gods.

Now I understand why Yesudas continues to pray from outside. And sang that song of his-

Guruvayurambalanadayil
orudivasam njan pokum
gopuravathil thurakkum
njan gopakumarane kaanum

Roughly translated to
One day, I will go to Guruvayur,
the sanctum sanctorum will open to me
and I will see the Lord.

May Lord Guruvayurappan give His answer soon....

PPS. I have had one more clarification, from Prem Panicker, who informed me that the Arya Samaj certificate is a hassle free, 10 minute process, which costs you Rs. 100, but with which , either you can see the Lord any number of times or you can see Him just the one time and tear the certificate up.

The Lord has provided a way to His devotees- the ones with faith in their heart and obstacles in their way. The obstacles are surmountable ones, and whether the the old order needs to be changed is something that is yet to be seen...

The rains have set in. And last week, it'd been pouring camels and elephants every evening in B'lore. Which made life a little difficult for those folks who had set out from their homes in the morning without umbrella in hand, and who were suddenly stranded without a vehicle.

My husband had a sudden meeting in the evening in the other side of the city and so he would be returning home straight from there, leaving me to rely on those oh-so-reliable autos plying in B'lore. Which would have been quite manageable actually, if not for the fact that the rain gods took it on them to shower us with their blessings that day.

So there I was, out of office for an hour, but still lingering at the entrance...waiting for that blessed species- an auto driver who would go where I wanted him to go. However the rain gods were only blessing me with showers, not friendly auto guys. So at 7.30, I made my way to the pre-paid auto stand opposite my office. There was quite a crowd there, mostly families, a couple of guys with laptops, and another lone lady like me- dupatta draped over her head, braving the rain which had luckily slowed to a drizzle.

The stand was manned by a lady cop and a guy cop. I bow down to both of them- they were ultra helpful, the sweet people. They would go all out to flag down the errant autos who were totally focussed on the opportunity to make mega bucks while the rain pelted and wouldn't stop for the regular fares that we would've given them.

So it happened that whenever we spotted an empty auto, all the junta would rush up to block the way and then the lady cop would come with her whistle shrilly sounding in the air and then accost the driver and ensure that one more group of persons got to share the way home. At times, even autos with single fares were accosted and negotiated with to share the fare and a little bit of the way.

Thus a crowd of about 15 or so had dwindled to half the number, when up came an auto that looked empty. The waiting 7 hullaballoed and swarmed around the auto, which had no recourse but to stop. Without stopping to answer the bewildered questions of either the driver or the two passengers that were in it, we called for the cops, who came whistling up.

They asked the driver where he was going. The driver dillied and dallied and just wouldn't come clean. At that, the cops who were used to the dilly-dallying tactics of the drivers who just wanted to get away without taking in passengers got tougher. And we also peeped in menacingly. The cops insisted that the driver tell them at least in whch direction he was going.Airport Road, Old Madras Road, Fraser Town...??? WHERE?
At this the driver looked at the passengers. And all of us turned towards them too. It was dark inside as it was nearing 8 pm by now. The two passengers- young guys- shook their heads in the negative to all the places mentioned. The cops and ourselves were now losing our cool, despite the gentle rain drizzling on all of us.

"Where are you going? tell us!!!!"

Hesitantly, in a hushed tone, came an indecipherable reply. Where?, the cops barked out again.

Again came the hushed reply- Bar, Sir.

The two young men were just going to the bar for a drink to revive them in the rains. The weather , I would think was perfect for that 'small'. And they were totally unnerved by the cops and the public flagging them down on their harmless outing. As was the driver who knew that he was not at fault, but didn't know if he could vouch the same for his passengers.

All of us laughed in sheer merriment, and waved them warmly on their way. Wecome to Bengaluru - the pub city!

I have been meaning to write this post for a long time now. But I keep forgetting to post and when I do open my blog, the words elude me.

But just yesterday, Agastya was in one of his particularly regaling moods... hence am putting everything down while its still fresh

You see, our maid ( a veritable gem) who's been with us for a year now has left as she's getting married. She very kindly arranged for a replacement tho'- her sister's mother-in-law.
Now this lady's real good at housework, a veteran at it. But keeping a 3 year old company... aaah! there she's sadly lacking. And my son wasn't making it any easier for her. The last two weeks, my Mom was with me and I think at times my son would even forget that I was around; the grandmom-grandson bonding was that strong. So I need hardly add that my son ignored the new lady totally.

But as of day before yesterday, my Mom was on her way to Kerala and Agastya's parents had to go to their respective offices, so Agastya was left to bond with Muniyamma.

The lady knew only Tamil and my son knew none (tho' his earlier caregiver was also Tamilian, she knew Malayalam and used to speak to Agastya in a mixture of Malayalam  and English and Agastyalangue). Muniyamma hasn't come close to understanding his langue cos it was a mix of Malayalam + English, both of which she doesn't follow. But the lady is making a valiant effort from her side.

Yesterday, I heard her enticing Agastya with promises of taking him to town.
Town, I wondered?
Where on earth was she planning to take my baby?
So I cautiously asked her where she was taking him. She replied, "Town, Amma, itho, inke keezhe thaan." (Town, Amma, just down here)
My son keeps harping to go down (we stay on the 3rd floor) and so Town was her version of down.

My son has been adding to her 'English' vocabulary. He's told her that he saw 'ephilants' in the temple and that he wants to eat his food with a 'khoon'...
The 'khoon'  had us also worried when we heard this for the first time... :-) 
There was this bloodthirsty toddler, who came up to me and endearingly asked me for some 'khoon'. I balked and looked at Hubs for help. He told my Hubs too, "I wan khooooooon". When we both had asked him some 3 times , he yelled "I want KHOOOOOOON!" and he ran to the kitchen and pointed out to the spoons in total and utter frustration. Folks, who ever said communication was easy?

Then there was the time when he wanted to 'poul'. And he would raise his hands. And we would wrinkle our foreheads. Finally understanding faster that his parents were dumb and actions spoke louder than words, he  took a cup out of the rack and held it high and 'pouled' into another cup. And light dawned on the befuddled parents.

There was the time when he used to refer to Ammamma Samy. And I thought, Wow, this guy really revers his grandparent. And it turned out that it was dear Hanuman he was referring to.

Flowers are 'showers',
planes are 'pains',
medecines are 'mecedines',
the voyage of discovery continues...

I'm reminded here about the little boy who befriended Agastya on the train once and and asked, "I'm four years old , are you four?"
And Agastya replied back confidently, "No, I'm not 4, I'm Agashya!