When hunger speaks

Chores chores chores, and I thought some delegation would help. I politely ask the six-year-old to help me, she does something and quickly shifts her gaze back to the idiot box. It's nearing dinner time and it's not just me growling, but also my tummy.
I urge her to get going and do a bit more, she does get moving but slows down again. I finally lose it and snap, "will you just finish what you're asked to do?!"

She quietly gets up, turns off the television and tidies up - books back in place, toys stacked up, crayons dug out from sofa edges, and then takes a seat on the dining table. As I'm plating up for her, she mumbles "I know what this is"

"What?" I say distracted.

"You're my stepmum, aren't you?!"

WHAAAT????

"YES YOU ARE, my stepmum! Cinderalla's stepmum always gave too many chores for her to do. You give me chores too. Poor me,"

By now she's shooting daggers at me and is on the verge of switching on the waterworks.
I don't know whether to laugh, cry, bang my head on the wall or stuff food into my mouth.
Gulping down only air, I kneel down near her and start saying something remotely sensible when she stomps off with one last salvo,
"I just hope Appa knows the truth - that you are my stepmum!!!!"

I get up, pick up my pride, take a seat and grab a big bite of my spicy methi thepla. I can deal with a melodramatic young lady, just not on an empty stomach.

PS: Anyone who dares to lecture me on how a good mum would have taken care of the hangry child's dinner first will be asked to shut up and keep their opinions to themselves.

Missing Brenda

Missing Brenda, whom I used to bump into at this very bus stop often. At 90, she radiated such positivity and charm, that just meeting her would make my day. 

She was petite, always smiled at strangers, had a kind word for cranky kids in the bus, and a sweet understanding nod for tired mums. 
Her gait never belied her age. She lived alone, happy in her space, pottering in her garden, visiting the town centre, taking gentle strolls in the park, waving at squealing toddlers rushing down the slide, patting run-away dogs.

What a difference it made to a lot of us, seeing her mere presence every day. Always dressed immaculate, a dash of coral lipstick on, a scarf in pastel shades around her neck, beige coat and small trim handbag held neatly. Quite a dame with none of that attitude.

One day, her gardener came, knocked on her door, didn't hear back then went away. Someone dialed a cellphone, it rang... A gentle breeze swept through the crack of her windows. Birds chirped, people walked by, children ran to school, busses paused and started again. Spring sunshine shone bright and sparkly. And Brenda was asleep in her bed, never to wake up again...

Homework woes

Give your 5 yr old some writing work and how it backfires! This has never happened at home and yet!

Weekend tree-t

That's my five-year-old walking across a fallen tree stump in the neighbourhood woods. She balanced herself walking slowly, fearfully and every now and then looking back and forth to make sure the path was clear. 

When she paused, she looked up at the branches and a peeping sun through the leaves. She seemed amazed and wonder struck at the vastness of a tree that was for once horizontal than vertical.

"Such a biiiig giant tree, ammaaa!" she squealed. "I wish I could lift it and keep it back straight, the tree would be so happy!" 

What a happy thought!  

Indian rail journey

A family of Indian Railway fans, with a special appreciation for the side-berth. It must have passed on with the travel gene! #happytravellers

little joys

My daughter and her friends went wild flower picking in the park after school. In their uniforms, bent over spring blooms, plucking out their favourite colours. They came back running, clutching these bunches, squealing "happpyy mother's day, mummies!

Pay it forward

So, off I went to the Indian consulate yesterday to get my five-year-old's passport renewed. With two kids in tow, a buggy (which pretty much works as a station wagon!), folders of important documents, passports, diapers, extra clothes, umbrellas for the rainy day that it was, and packs of snacks to keep them chomping busy.
At the reception, I'm gently reminded if I am carrying enough cash as that is the only mode of payment. Yes Yes, I earnestly nod.
The appointment is on the dot. Swift, brisk, even polite, as the lady tries all her might to sweetly smile at my loud, agitated 14-month-old.
"So including the self-addressed envelope, that will be £64," she says.
I hand out my carefully calculated cash, which is £55. I rummage in bag and take out another 7 quid. "Errrr....I am short of £2, let me just whiz out to the ATM," I tell the lady. Mentally, I am screaming at myself.
"Ma'am we close in 15 mns. You'll have to hurry up and the nearest machine is a 7 mnt walk," she offers, almost apologetically.
"That's fine, I'll manage,"I say.
There is a gentleman nearby, another customer. "It's only £2, let me pay that for you if you don't mind?" he says. I am embarrassed, suddenly conscious, but also feeling very very grateful.
I accept his change, finish my passport work and tell him to please wait at the entrance after he is done so I could get back from the ATM and pay him back. "It's alright," he smiles.
I lug the kids and everything else back outside and ask the two embassy officials who are standing outside if there is any other teller machine closer still. "Why, ma'am, haven't you been able to pay?," they ask.
I tell them I just have to return a couple of pounds to a kind gentleman inside.
"And you want to go all the way just to do that! Here, take this, if you have to pay him back," they say, offering me a couple of coins.

There is some kind of peaceful protest happening outside the embassy, with close to a hundred people from the Sikh group. Plenty of cops around. Rain. Heavy winds, biting cold, cranky kids...

I am thinking, "no i can't borrow again" and start walking in the direction of the ATM. Suddenly the gentlemen loudly and almost demandingly call me back, and then kindly advise me not take the trouble. "Please ma'am. It's only £2, paisa toh aata-jaata rahega. Here take these coins, pay the other guy. You don't worry about returning it back to us now!"

I am so touched by now. If I refuse this, I have refused an act of kindness. I take the change, go back inside and pay the other gentleman, come back outside, thank the two officials and finally take leave.

I keep walking and reach the Waterloo Bridge. The baby has finally fallen asleep in the pram, my five-year-old is excitedly watching the Thames and the city skyline. I turn back and I see the silhouette of India House. I am filled with pride, happiness and a lot of gratitude. Unknown people reaching out with kindness - they asked me not to bother paying them back, but I do know I have to pay it forward.
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