Dog's Best Friend

**##@@$$%%

2009-07-17T10:50:00.000-07:00

After 1001 sleepless nights...
Best Friend: I'm losing my cool with my baby..I even..er...call him names...
Me: So what's the worst thing you've called him?
Friend: (very hesitantly) Idiot
Me: I've called mine Stupid Girl several times.
Me (turning honest): ...and once or twice have even called her 'Shaniyan!"
Friend: (giggling and getting bolder): ..And I've swatted his bottom when he won't sleep...
Me: (not to be outdone) Me too!
Me (guilt setting in) In fact I swatted her bottom one night and the next morning she had a diaper rash...you think it's because of me?
Friend (giggling in whispers coz of sleeping tyke): Can we have one baby conversation without you feeling guilty?

The Wedding Crashers

2007-04-22T22:33:00.000-07:00

I still haven't got over it. No not the fact that Ash and Abhishek got married but the fact that a news channel ran the SAME story with ABSOLUTELY no NEWS the ENTIRE DAY! I kid you not people.

So let's start at the beginning. Since the news channel ...oh to hell with it...it was Headlines Today...since they hadn't been invited to the wedding they got two of their reporters dressed in wedding finery and stationed them at the studio. And they proceeded to talk and talk and talk about the most inane stuff I have ever heard in my life. Which I will get to in a bit.

So there's a camera stationed outside Amitab's house 'Jalsa'. And the "whole world" was waiting with bated breath for Abishek to clamber on his horse and ride out in all glory to his other house 'Prateeksha'. And our anchors back in studio chatter about nothing for 2 hours before Abhishek finally comes out. Like:

Male anchor: So do you think Abhi will come out in 5, 10, 15 or 20 mins?
Female Anchor (giggling to eat up air time): Oh we could bet on that!
MA: Cricket's not the only thing we can place bets huh?
HA HA HA HA - that's them laughing not me. I was busy rearranging my features after the 'what the....' look.

And it goes on. When a sliver of Abhishek is seen through the side window of the huge bus parked in front of the house, the two anchors are in raptures.

MA: "Oh there he is! The moment we have all been waiting for"

Er...it is?

FA (with a theatirical sigh): "If only I could go whisper in his ear 'Jhalak dhikla ja'"

Sure why don't you do just that? Oh yes of course...coz you're a journalist and NOT A CRAZED fan whispering demented songs in his ear.

It was pathetic. The camera could only show you glimpses of people arriving, half of whom the reporters failed to recognise. Only the really famous ones like Jaya Pradha (???) were excitedly commented upon.

FA: "Oh there's Jaya Bachchan! I'm so glad we could see her!"

Er...why exactly?

And then we had the MA give us some juicy news.

MA: "We have just recieved information from our on-the-scene reporter that Ash is going to be riding on two dolis! "

Breaking news!

MA: "Yes! And the first one she will get into at Prateeksha and then get off at Prateeksha itself!"

We never heard whether Ash would ride the second doli into her bathroom or it was meant for higher purposes.

FA: "For interesting updates like that keep watching!"

Groan.

Of course the channel devoted the whole morning to interviewing (or rather yelling incoherent questions at) this crazy (and very unattractive) woman who claimed she was married to Abhishek. She was obviously after the publicity and any half-brained twit could see that. She kept repeating the same things and the reporters kept asking silly questions.

OK now let me get to the point of the whole post (yes there is a point) ...what on EARTH are news channels thinking when they air stuff like this throughout the day? The occasional 'other' news that they deemed important enough ran by on ticker tape. Why point a camera at a gate the whole day, waiting for a Bollywood star to come out only to get into a bus? Do they really think that that's what people want to watch ALL day?

This is not an isolated event. Other news channels too run atrocious stories based on flimsy facts and uninteresting news. And everything is backed by 'experts' - psychologists, professionals and god knows who else - who sit there and declare things like "Jhanwi is deluded. Perhaps she really believes that Abhishek married her!"

HELLO?

Mostly what irks me is that the audience is assumed to be foolish, ignorant, hungry for celebrity gossip, excited by the channel's idea of sensational news and dying for gruesome news. And please don't even think we can't see through the 'Since we don't have enough information let's put some experts on a panel, play reruns of the same visuals and ask the same old questions to our harried reporters on the scene'.

We KNOW.

Talk the talk

2007-04-05T00:03:00.000-07:00

In conversation with my two year old:

(Setting: I'm trying to make him close his eyes and sleep)

Banggggg! (Sound of vessel falling in the kitchen)

Vidur: Yenna saththam?

Me: Yedho saththam

Vidur (insistent): YENNA saththam?

Me: Yedho paathram

Vidur: Yendhe paathram?

Me: Paal pathram

Vidur: Yenge?

Me: Kitchen le

Vidur: Yaaru kitchen le?

Me: Namba kitchen le

Vidur: Yaaru pota?

Me: Paati pota

Vidur: Yendha paati?

Me: Sowmya paati

Vidur: Yenge pota?

Me: Kitchen le

Vidur: Yaaru kitchen le?

Me: THOOOONGU VIDUR!

Why do all kids love questions so much?

Super Blooper

2007-02-19T22:29:00.000-08:00

Seen on a signboard near my place:

Vinoth Women Placement Services
Housemaids, Cooks, Baby Sisters...

Wham! Bam!

2007-02-18T22:12:00.000-08:00

Couldn't have found a more perfect girl even in Bharat Matrimony. Blonde, svelte, WILLING.
Smokey was one lucky dog. Or so we thought.

Her name was Shirley. And after five long years we finally found a mate for our beloved Smokey-the-leg-humper. We rejoiced. We sang. We danced.

So the day arrived. 4 pm and Smokey is well rested after his meal. The Virgin Bride arrived with her owner and the dog handler - that's the guy who encourages the dogs to er...go at it...in case they miss the point.

Smokey jumps a mile high when he sees Shirley. Pre-performance jitters we thought.
He runs wildly in the other direction. Playing hard to get perhaps.

And then he spends the next hour and a half performing his duty. He's going at it with great enthusiasm. You'd think we'd have been ecstatic. Not even close.

He was doing the dog handler's leg.

Very very happily. "This is what I really dig" he seemed to be saying. He was working up quite a passion let me tell you. For a while there things got really steamy. One-sided of course. Can't have the dog handler responding in similar fashion so Smokey can confirm the delusion that he's human.

The poor guy tries very hard to turn Smokey's amorous attentions on Shirley. 'You don't really expect me to do it with a dog, do you? Smokey asks incredulously.

So while poor rejected Shirley sits there wondering 'Am I too fat? Does my breath not smell bad enough?' Smokey's a very satisfied dog.

'Phew! That was good!' he finally declares. 'Thanks mom! You're the best!' I get a thank you lick and he collapses in exhaustion.

A shame-faced me and the disgusted owner of Shirley part ways. ('He didn't want my lovely baby??')

The dog handler looks defeated. 'I'll let you know if there's any other female madam. Maybe he didn't like this one.' Or maybe he just likes your limb better.

My friend's theory is that Shirley is Anglo-Indian. 'Rukmini nnu nalla Brahmana dogaa pudichi kudu. Aprum paaru!' he advised.

Is my dog a racist?

Overdrive

2006-12-08T09:12:00.000-08:00

A strange conversation I recently had with my driver

Driver: I’m looking for a nice girl for my son.

Me: Oh, so anything working out?

Driver: No. The last girl we saw we didn’t like.

Me: Why not?

Driver: Oru sotha pal (decayed tooth) irindhidhu

Me: ????? Oru sotha pal? It’s not a genetic disease you know – you can fix that!

Driver: It looked bad. And it was a front tooth!

That explained it. Even a turnip growing out of her head is better than a front tooth that’s decayed.

Driver (oblivious to my indignation): Besides she had a problem with her feet.

Me: Why, was she limping?

Driver: No, but my Mrs. (as he calls his wife) saw that her feet weren’t arched. They were flat!

Horror of horrors! God forbid flat feet from crossing his threshold!

Me (spluttering): Soooo?

Driver: Adhu seri varaadhu ma!

Conversation shifts to dowry.

Me: Sigh! So tell me do you take dowry?

Driver: We don’t call it dowry

Me: Then what do you call it?

Driver: Suit money

Me: What???

Driver: Yeah. We ask for money to stitch a suit

Me: How much can you possibly ask for a suit??

Driver (airily): Oh, up to 40-50000.

Me: (Speechless)

I was amazed there are such people around who knock off a girl from the list because her nails are not pink enough or her elbows too rounded. Pity the poor girl (with arched feet and all 32 pearly whites intact) who enters that household with her father's lifetime earnings.

Daddy Musings

2006-11-17T10:13:00.000-08:00

PAH!

My dad’s favourite expression. I swear you’ve got to hear it to fully appreciate the oodles of scorn, derision, disgust and cynicism he puts into that one harmless-sounding syllable.

My brother: Dad, I think I suffer from claustrophobia
Dad: Pah!

Me: Dad, er…hmm…I think I’m a failure
Dad: Pah!

Mom: You know, if you ate more slowly, you wouldn’t suffer from heartburn
Dad: Pah!

Incredible, the range of reactions that one word can imply.

Dad’s the world’s worst customer.

Dad (to computer service guy): Madan, you can come home between 3 pm and 6 pm.
Madan: But sir, konjam kashtam…how about 7 o’clock?
Dad: Yennakku vera velai ille? (The vera velai being having dinner in 15 seconds flat and tumbling into bed by 8.30)
And so it goes on for the next 5 days wherein Madan can’t come between 3 and 6 and Dad sends back anyone who comes at 6.01. The day Madan promises to come after 3 pm, dad and mom are absconding.
Dad: “Well, he said after 3.”
Me: “But dad he did come at 5.30!”
Dad: After 3 sollitu, 5.30 kku vanda yenna artham??”
Me: Sigh. (Discreet phone call to Madan: “Madan, PLEASE PLEASE come at 3.15 PLEASE I BEG YOU”)

Oh and don’t miss his conversations with Credit Card saleswomen who call 10 times a day.
Hapless girl: Sir, we’re calling from Citibank and we’d like to offer you a personal loan…
Dad: Ok, I’ll take it
Astounded girl: Really? Er... I mean …
Dad (cutting in): On the condition that I don’t have to pay it back
(Or some equally sad remark)

Or if it’s a particularly bad day
Dad: STOP CALLING ME. STOP BOTHERING ME. YOU KEEP YOUR LOANS!
And BANG!

And of course there’s the (in)famous conversation my husband had with Dad for the first time.

Dad: So, where are you working?
Nervous Hubby: (Three word answer)
Dad (riding on the tail end of hubby’s answer): See, I want to tell you something about my daughter. She’s spoilt.
Me: Daaaaddd!
More Nervous Hubby: Er…really…sir…I don’t think
Dad: (shaking head dismissively) You don’t know anything. In spite of our best efforts she’s spoilt!
Me (thought blurb): Does he want me die an old maid?
And the rest of the conversation went thus:
Dad: Bla bla bla bla bla
Flustered Hubby: But…
Dad: No No no no …bla bla bla
Terribly Confused Hubby: I think….
Dad: What think? Nonsense…bla bla bla
Mute Hubby: (respectful silence)
Sympathetic Mom: Why don’t you let him talk?
Dad: PAH!

The funny thing is we love him for all this. Sometimes in spite of it. Especially the PAH! We love that and find innumerable ways to elicit a good, satisfying Pah.

Notes to myself

2006-10-26T09:23:00.000-07:00

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

2006-10-12T01:05:00.000-07:00

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

2006-10-08T21:43:00.000-07:00

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

2006-10-04T22:40:00.000-07:00

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

2006-10-03T01:18:00.000-07:00

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?

Vidur-English Dictionary

2006-09-24T21:38:00.000-07:00

Baby Speak - Our Speak

Thathethath - Elephant

Thothethath - Octupus

Amminni - Amma

Kakaka - Africa

Pish - Fish

Thathith - Rabbit

Thathith - Carrot

Thathith - Biscuit

Thakaki - Thakkali

Cheep - Sheep

Gagagoo - Kangaroo

Thaachi - Smokey (our doggie)

Cokey - Smokey

Thath - Cat

Zebra - Brrrruuuuaaaa

Happy Birthday To you - Dhaddhy dhudh TO YOUUUU

I just love baby speak...if it didn't get grating as one grows older, I'd be speathin like thath thoo.

Atishoo! Atishoo! And mom falls down!

2006-09-22T10:17:00.000-07:00

There’s nothing worse than a baby / toddler with a cold. NOTHING. It produces 300 side effects you wouldn’t have dreamed of. For one a pillow as tall as the Eiffel Tower (to aid easy breathing) won’t suffice for the lil tyke to sleep in peace. No way…only mommy’s leg will do. So she can lie sprawled on the bed with her leg at an impossible, Kamasutric 45-degree angle (Is that a weird angle for a leg to be in?) that makes her spine scream for mercy and her hips shriek to high heaven. And of all the days the fella sleeps for an extra HOUR!

And of course that’s the least of it. Come Chinese Torture Time (read lunchtime) and I’m ready to weep. As I advance (menacingly) with cup and spoon, he violently turns his head away like I’m holding hot coals up to his face. I can almost hear him say “Nahiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin” Bollywood-ishtyle.
That said, I guess he suffers a wee bit more than I do. Considering he gasps for breath and can’t swallow. So I’ll stop making this about me then.

Mother Bitch

2005-11-03T08:23:00.000-08:00

Is motherhood the same for everyone? Is it extremely rewarding one minute and excruciatingly boring the next? How long is it only about sterilising bottles and making 'kanji' and mixing paal powder? HOW LONG? DOES IT EVER END?

And what is it with babies and the need to SCREAM just when I close my eyes for a minute ...A MINUTE?????

Am I ungrateful to god for having given me this 'bundle of joy'?

Every time I think this way I tell myself 'Of course I love him'. But why do I always say 'Of course' - am I trying to assuage my guilt? Why am I feeling guilty? After all I am changing nappies right on cue, producing the feeding bottles when the crying starts, playing and making funny faces I'm embarassed to admit to making....so why do I feel guilty? Am I not doing enough? Can Superwoman do more?

Will someone help me before I throw myself over the Mommy Suicide Point?

The Birdie Song

2005-10-26T01:34:00.000-07:00

Yeah I’m one of those. Who retches violently while you’re excitedly showing off your new Hidesign LEATHER bag. Who turns an unbecoming shade of green while you chomp on chicken legs across the dinner table. Who runs like a mad woman down the road chasing anyone who dares throw a stone at a stray dog. Whose heart sinks right down to the centre of the earth when she sees those poor chickens tied upside down to a bicycle handlebar.

That’s me. The animal lover. The Hell Hath No Fury Like An Animal Lover Crossed woman.

So the other day I’m taking my dog (my little cocker spaniel named Smokey-The-Best-Dog-In-The-World) for a walk down my road. And what do I see? A bunch of gypsy-type men carrying big shoulder bags and SLINGS are walking ahead of me. There could be only one reason they would carry slings.

Blood’s just starting to simmer now. My COLD look is in place.

They walk around looking up at trees looking, I presumed, for little helpless birds to shoot down with their hideous sling…so that they can clip their wings, put them in cages and sell them to some sucker who thinks the birds will sing happily to him while he throws them a few bird seeds every morning.

Anyway so while my thoughts are fast forwarding to a guillotine-style slaying of the gysies, they aim their sling at the nearest tree and send some poor little peaceful birds flying!

That’s it! I’m livid. Blood’s crossed 100 degrees now. I put on my Death-eater look. I pick up speed and rehearse my lines - “You dirty, disgusting, heartless bastards – don’t even THINK about killing some poor innocent bird! For I’m from Blue Cross and they’ll put you in JAIL for a good long while”. Of course I was planning to throw in some Animal Rights Violation Acts while I was at it.

So I’ve almost reached them, my poor doggie trotting along wondering what the hurry is all about.

Then their first victim falls down on the road. My heart stopped. I was too late. Why oh why didn’t I hurry up a little more? I could have saved a life. A poor helpless little bird was dead thanks to no intervention from me. How could I forgive myself?

And then I saw it. The victim. A plump little green mango! A MANGO! They weren’t hunting birds! They were hunting mangoes!! I wanted to run up to them and shake them by the shoulders and sing 'Its a wonderful life' but then again maybe not. So those were the murderers I had a run-in with. Ha ha ha. I laughed giddily out of sheer relief. Ha ha ha ha ha. Phew! Ok so a bunch of gysies think I’m nuts. I don’t care. The birds are still singing out there.