The gift that keeps on giving

This is what mom would have liked for her birthday.

But she settled for a handbag instead. And even bought it herself.

As expected, she got a whole lot of love, blessings and thoughtful gifts from both sets of grandparents.

As also expected, most of you (her "friends") missed her big day.

Now, before you think dad came home empty-handed, I'll have you know he brought home some cheesecake - his favorite dessert.

To give the guy some credit, at least he knows the way to mom's heart is through artery-clogging, cholesterol-raising decadence. Right category, wrong choice, though. Better luck next time, dude.

You can't really blame poor dad for his choice of gift. After all, mom is not known as the Queen of Returns for nothing. So, for the past few years, dad has been playing it safe by not giving her anything.

That's why, it's a little out of character, when he gets swept up in the whole gift-giving frenzy around Christmas time, a festival that holds absolutely no sentimental value for mom. Dad's always home late on Christmas Eve because he's out battling the crowds at Best Buy over pricey computer software for cyber-challenged mom.

There is one token from dad, however, that mom would never dream of returning or exchanging - a warm security blanket that wraps around her like a cocoon and keeps her cozy and contented.

This one is surely for keeps!

As ye sow, so shall ye reap

Another weekend, another party; same crowd, different gathering.

The humans came home at midnight, after stuffing themselves silly on potluck Indian food and bottled-in-U.S.A. booze.

Mom likes to have a full social calendar so she doesn't have to cook, while dad is more of a you-go-and-take-the-kids-with-you kind of guy, whose idea of a good time is playing Sudoku online, while slowly sipping red wine.

So, it's with some anticipation that mom looks forward to her girls' nite outings when she can leave her kids and inhibitions home and stay up all night gabbing with girlfriends, eating fatty desserts and pondering on the meaning of life.

These bimonthly outings are about the only time mom can enjoy a restaurant meal with no runny noses to wipe or a reluctant mouth to coax food into. She can also utter judgmental remarks in Hindi about the couples at the other tables and pass uncalled-for comments about what the other women at the restaurant are wearing, without being confronted by a disinterested stare or an indifferent shrug from her dinner companion (dad).

Mom usually returns home from these outings the same time the newspaper delivery guy does his rounds. Bleary-eyed, disheveled and hoarse, she vows never to do it again - until the next time around.

Hit or Miss

Lost in Translation.

Anybody seen that movie, yet? It's about two Americans (one bored, the other very bored) in a luxury hotel in Tokyo who cannot sleep. Which is funny, because sleep is the only thing that came to my mind less than five minutes into the movie.

Even the laptop I was watching it on shared my sentiments, because halfway through the movie, it froze. Or at least that's what I thought.

"It's overheated," concluded my human, when I gently prodded him awake, close to midnight.
"You mean when it freezes, it's actually boiling?" I was tempted to ask.
"You shouldn't have kept it on the comforter. It's supposed to be on a hard surface," he added, with a trace of irritation.
"Huh?!! Then why call it a laptop if I can't keep it on my lap?" I wanted to retort.

Granted his thighs (where the laptop mostly resides) are harder than mine, but it seems to me that laptop makers should perhaps rechristen the machine as tabletop instead of willfully misleading the unsuspecting public.

But I digress.

Coming back to the film, who knows what happens in the end since nothing really happened in the first place.

Morning Raaga is playing in the background as I write this. That Perizaad is eye candy and the Carnatic music divine, but nothing else happens in the movie. A pity, since the title sounds so promising. Which is what happened with Bride & Prejudice.

It looks like all the creativity and energy go into choosing the title and then end there ... sort of like this blog post.

Some things never change

Anu: "If the party's at 7, why are we leaving home at 7:30?"

Mom: "Because we don't want to be the first ones there."

Anu: "Why not?"

Mom: "Because."

Anu: "But why can't we be on time? Somebody has to be the first one there."

Mom: "Don't talk back! Go see what Appa's doing."

Flashback to circa, 1978, when mom was still naive about social mores.

Grandma: "OK, listen, when we go to my friend’s house, you need to behave yourself and not embarrass me.
• Don’t put your legs up on the sofa.
• If aunty asks you for thanda or garam, smile politely and say, 'No, thank you.'
• If she insists, you may have juice. But don't slurp on the straw and make sure you leave some juice in the glass.

Mom: "But why?"

Grandma: "Don't talk back! And remember, you can only eat what's on your plate. I don't want you to grab the last biscuit on the tray, even if nobody else wants it."

Mom: "But you told me never to waste food."

Grandma: "This is different! Now, let me get ready. Go see what Appa's doing."

Different situations. Same confusion.

Indian custom (or is it uniquely S. Indian?): Never finish everything on your plate. If you do, the hosts will think your parents starve you.

Indian American custom: Never be on time for desi parties. If you do, the hosts will hate you.

Just don't ask why.

Oops, I did it again!

I almost typed in bugger.com again to log in instead of blogger.com. Hey, hold on now, I wouldn't read anything Freudian into it!

Aw, come on, like you've never almost said penis instead of Phoenix?

I'm a little groggy this morning because I didn't get enough shut-eye last night. The humans returned from a party at midnight and by the time the household settled down, it was close to 1 a.m.

Mom and dad were so wired on alcohol and sugar that they kept tossing and turning all night. I think they're getting close to the age where if they deviate from their usual bedtime, sleep eludes them for the rest of the night.

They tried counting sheep, turned to the left, right, back, front, tried some new positions ... but to no avail. You'd think with the house deathly quiet and the kids snoring softly, my humans would indulge in their favorite nightly ritual. Not last night, though.

The comforter-rustling finally got to a point where I was tempted to stand up and yell, "Enough already! Why don't you two do what you usually do at night when the kids are asleep - Pick up a book and read!"

Carpe nocturnum, you blockheads!

Drumroll, please ...

Folks, I have an announcement! And yes, it has to do with the pitter patter of little feet.

It looks like there's going to be an addition to the family in early January 2006.

How did this happen? Don't ask me! I'm as surprised as you are. Who knew these people were going in for a hat trick?

I guess the first order of business would be to buy a larger bed. It's going to get a little crowded and rough with two adults and three kids trying to get through a night on one bed. The crib is practically brand new since the other kids never used it, so there's no good reason why the new baby would take to it, either. (My advice to future parents would be to bypass that darling crib with the ruffled bedskirt and matching canopy at Babies 'R' Us and wisely invest that money in a college fund.)

If it's a boy, I'm predicting the kids will call him Shahrukh, after their current idol. If it's a girl, Aishwarya, Rani, Kareena or Kajol.

So, join me, won't you, in wishing Sangita* & Bala (surely you didn't think it was my humans, did you?) the very best. With baby names like the ones above, they're going to need it.

*Sangita is everybody's favorite aunt on the east coast. If anyone deserves to have more children, that would be her. A mountain of patience, she can deal with temper tantrums, constant whining and general bratty behavior with amazing grace and equanimity. She has enough self-control to deal with an entire minivan of kids high on sugar and caffeine on a never-ending road trip. As if that's not enough, she's a big hit with the adults too for her unaffected charm and general bonhomie.

Hmmm ... maybe I should move in with her.

PETA (Please Eat the Animals)

Mom's devastated.

No, not by the terror attacks in London (although that's sad, too) but because she found out that P.F. Chang's Double Pan-fried Vegetable Noodles (her favorite dish) contains chicken stock.

She's always suspected restaurant food isn't vegetarian-friendly, but she found this nugget of information on the P.F. Chang's Web site and that's confirmation enough for her to bid adieu to another indulgence.

Dad's reaction to mom's reaction: "Ridiculous!"

He's petrified that mom will brainwash the kids into becoming vegetarian hippies who'll celebrate Thanksgiving with tofurkey, or become active PETA members, or worse, start listening to Michael Bolton.

And I have to agree with him about vegetarianism.

I mean, think about it, at the rate some of my fellow beings procreate, slaughter and consumption is the only way they can be effectively stopped. Especially lowly beings like chickens who go around spreading rumors that the sky's falling.

Mom needs to realize that she's in a minority, and if everybody else in the whole world is doing it, can it be wrong?

No, wait, that argument won't work. She'll counter it with popular activities like smoking and illicit sex, and I'm not, um ... qualified to discuss that.

Or so she thinks.

Happy Birthday to You

Chaos! Pandemonium! Bedlam! It's Anu's seventh birthday, and the humans decide to celebrate it by inviting more pint-sized humans.

The smell of stale pizza is in the air, balloons are floating on the ceiling, wrapping paper is strewn all over the carpet and the house is filled with shrieking kids and one precocious pup who is still following me around.

Zoey mistook mom's finger for pizza and chomped down on it real hard. Instead of banishing her from the face of the earth as she would with me, mom picked her up, and she peed all over mom's leg.

I hear she's going home tomorrow. The next time I see Zoey, she'll be bigger than me. Ah, well, at least she won't pee on mom's leg anymore, because she'll be too heavy to lift.

The kids are waiting for the cake to be cut and the tot's already occupied my favorite spot under the table.

Hey, pup, it only rains food when Kuki eats.

What's next?!!

Orbit and Kariba leave and Zoey, a little ball of fluff, arrives for a sleepover.

I swear, this place is turning into a veritable kennel; and it's starting to smell like one too.

Zoey, a three-month-old bundle of energy, is bouncing off the walls and using the living room as a toilet. After eight years in this house, mom is finally resigned to the fact that every square inch of the living room carpet is now saturated with bodily fluids.

Zoey, meanwhile, has decided that I'm to be her role model. She follows me everywhere, all the time, even when I want to pee. Hello! What does a guy have to do to get some privacy around here? With eight humans in the house and one persistent pup, I'm hard pressed to find a quiet spot for myself. All the couches are taken, and the carpet is damp. The backyard is not even an option in this weather.

My humans, imbeciles that they are, have succumbed to Zoey's charms. Even dad actually touched her. But I need to act tough and let her know who the boss is before she completely tears the place apart.

Hey, don't get me wrong. I like kids as much as anybody else - but only from a distance.

It's bad enough sharing my turf with a rambunctious two-year-old human who likes to jab her fingers in my nostril. Even well-placed little nips don't seem to discourage her. And from what I hear, Orbit and Kariba are coming back next month, this time for a two-week slumber party.

Mom, sometimes, you just need to say NO!