Notes to myself

Dear Dog's Best

Every time you feel your arms are being yanked off their sockets when you're carrying Vidur around ...think about the day when he'll be too big for you to lift him

Every time he screams for you to "come out this instant" from the bathroom while you take your two-minute shower...think about the time when he can't wait for you to get out of the house so he can have a party

Every time Smokey whines and whines for a walk during the hottest hour of the day....think about the days when he'll be too old to do more than lift his head and wag his stump at you (he's a cocker spaniel)

Every time you think 'won't amma stop rambling on and on about someone I have absolutely no interest in' ...think about the days when you'll be talking to only her memory

Every time you think your dad is so impatient and short with you...think about the time when you'd give anything to hear him yell at you just one more time

Every time you wish everyone would just leave you alone...think about the times when you'll wish that atleast the neighbour's dog would give you a friendly bark.

Every time you write a note to yourself ...think about the time when you may be too senile to understand it.
I think I should stop writing notes to myself

Why I think my dog is human

I swear he is. Reasons?

a) He thinks he's human. He hates all other dogs.
b) He needs his first mouthful of food from mommy's hand. Then he eats the rest
c) Every day at mealtime I need to threaten him with "Kaaka vardhu paar!" - then he runs to his plate
d) If someone steps on him by accident he comes running to mommy - "look mommy I got hurt" and then I have to pet him and say "Its ok sweetie" and then he bounds off satisfied
e) After every walk he runs into the bathroom to get his feet washed and barks until we do it
f) He needs a pillow to sleep
g)He has 'looks' for all occasions
- There's the hurt look which he puts on when I feed my baby before I feed him.
- There's the Me too, Me too look when I get ready to go out and he jumps up and down next to his leash.
- There's the Sorrowful look aka the I-can't-believe-you're-not-taking-me-along look.

- There's the Disbelieveing look when I actually say 'Come smokey lets go' - he just sits there for a few seconds, alert, paws poised for flight, waiting for me to repeat that.

- There's the I'm-feeling-cold-I-wanna-sleep-up-there-with-you-mommy look- which i can never resist much to my husband's irritation

My friend says he's the only dog she's seen who actually emotes.

I've decided that I love him inspite of his humanness. After all don't we love dogs so much because they're so unlike us?

Loser

Vendor of Sweets. Bachelor of Arts. Loser of Cellphones. R.K.Narayan could've made money with my sob story.

Six mobile phones. Six of them I have lost ever since I got my first one. Its a disease. Or its a cosmic conspiracy.

Technically I haven't 'lost' all of them in the true sense of the word. Two were stolen, two were dropped then stolen, one was strapped to my waist and I walked into a wall and the antenna (?)broke (it can happen), one fell into a very large water drum when it fell from the pocket of a friend who leaned in to fetch water (don't ask).

Why does this happen to me? I know there's something behind it. It's like its been written against my name "Death by Cellphone". And that's why my guardian angel is out there trying to protect me from imminent death. That has to be it. Maybe I'm doomed to die by electrocution - from using the cell while its charging. Or maybe I'll get mugged and in the struggle for my precious cell phone, I'll die an untimely death. ("So young, poor thing. It was the cell phone that did her in"). Or maybe I'll plummet to my death trying to catch it as it slips from my hand at Suicide Point.

This curse or disease or whatever the hell it is - its getting to me. My seventh cell phone - I'm ashamed to say I put it into the washing machine. And not because I was getting dirty calls. (Sorry couldn't resist that one). So now it gets switched off every 15 seconds. I get to say all of "Hey, how you doing. My cell may get swi...." and silence.

I need a doctor. It's got to be curable right?

Now my husband has lost his cell phone. The disease is spreading to my loved ones. Everyone out there who knows me, reads my blog, has seen me on the street, has heard mention of my name from a friend's friend, who shares my name - beware. The disease may afflict you too. Hold on to your cell phones tightly.

I love Shantaram

You could be a Bombay-hater until you read Shantaram and then you'll fall in love. He weaves magic that Gregory... he does. After all he convinced me that people killing each other to get into a train was kind of quaint. And living in a slum is actually a very likeable experience. And although I don't live in Bombay and never wanted to, Shantaram has persuaded me that it is an exotic, intoxicating city. Most of all he made me proud to be part of a culture where people help each other, love everyone and live with what they have.
Kudos to you shantaram...I love you.

Maaaaaaaaaa

I always thought these mother-son movies were so cliched. I thought it was disgusting how a woman could cling to her adult son with steel claws and not let go till her last breath (with a dramatic "dannnnggggg!") . To panic when a wife came into the scene - afraid she would steal the son. I never understood that kind of emotion. But I do now. I do not advocate it...nor do I expect to grab my son's leg and be dragged out of the house as he walks (er...shuffles) away with his brand new bitchy wife.

All I'm saying is that now i finally understand how those women feel. I understand the need to be his favorite person in the world. The need that wants him to come running to me no matter how many favorite uncles/grandmas are waiting behind with mysore pak and chocolate chip cookies. The need to be the only one he will eat from. I feel hurt when he refuses to take a spoonful from me, but happily slurps away when one of the grandmas feed him. Irrational. I should be happy he's eating. Instead I mentally repeat the mantra "If you eat when paati feeds you...you are so going to get whacked". So weird.

I've decided to make a conscious effort to let go as he grows up. But its going to be very very hard. I can't even bear to put him in a playschool. How on earth will I ever let him go to school, college ..and then god knows where else. What if he wants to live with the Sherpas and experience mountain life? Or with the Aborigines to see what it's like to hang out in grass skirts? How can I let go? I've got to.

Or maybe I'll just teach him everything he needs to know at home, never introduce him to other people, pretend that our house is the whole world. Like the Truman Show. That would work right?