Rama Rama Kya Hai Dramaaa

You’d think after a gap of two weeks the humans would throw their inhibitions to the winds and play tonsil hockey as soon as they laid eyes on each other at the airport.

In her defense, mom did go to the airport to receive dad with good intentions.

She imagined herself running in slow motion through the terminal to the strains of a guitar strumming in the background and throwing herself in dad’s outstretched arms.

After a week of burying her face in his laundered shirts hanging in the closet, she yearned to nuzzle his neck and feel his rough stubble scratch her cheek. She was even ready to overlook the bird-cage breath that usually accompanies 28 hours of flying half-way across the world.

It was not for nothing that mom had spent the last hour before dad was scheduled to arrive shouting at her kids.

“We’re not going to the airport if you don’t hurry up and eat your vegetables,” she threatened. Even flying debris on the freeway in the form of an errant washing machine didn’t slow her down as she pulled up to the curb a good 20 minutes after dad’s flight was supposed to land.

“See, if you had finished your dinner quickly, we could’ve parked the car and gone inside,” she told her kids, pulling up under the “No Parking” sign and scanning the crowd for dad.

It seemed as though the whole world walked out of the automatic doors, save dad, and after 10 minutes of listening to “Where’s Appa?” and keeping a wary eye out for the cops, the fuzzy feeling she had felt since morning started to slowly dissipate.

“Why isn't he answering his cell phone?” she mumbled irritably, cruising the terminal and driving around for another 10 minutes.

Nature calls from the kids finally forced her to park, and once inside the airport, mom found to her immense annoyance, that the flight had only taken off at about the same time she had left home.

With nothing left to do but wait, mom settled into one of the chairs, thankful she had changed out of her pajamas before leaving home.

She spent the next hour cradling a sleeping child and watching the passionate embraces of couples around her, some of whom greeted each other as though they had returned from an expedition to Mars.

Dad finally emerged through the security gates to find mom tapping her foot impatiently.

“You could’ve called to let me know the flight’s been delayed,” she blurted, even before she said hello.

“You should’ve checked before leaving home,” said dad gently. “That’s why I sent you my flight details.”

“If I had that much free time at home, I would’ve had dinner and peed,” retorted mom hopping on one foot.

She thrust a half-asleep Kuki at dad, whose shoulders were already weighed down with bags and a backpack, and made her way to the parking lot.

Apparently that filmi reunion she had planned would have to wait until his next trip.

'Tis the season to be thankful

The proclamation was hardly worthy of the dinner table, but just as her friends were about to dig into their macaroni and cheese, Kuki decided to speak her mind.

“Hey, guys, guess what?” she said, swinging her pony tail from side to side. “My mommy wears a diaper!”

Her friends paused, their spoons suspended in mid-air.

“And it’s red!” continued Kuki, her eyes as wide as saucers.

Mom jumped from one end of the kitchen to the other like Hanuman leaping to Lanka and hastily thrust a spoon into Kuki’s mouth.

“Eat!” she hissed, silently thankful that her child had restrained herself at a puja gathering last weekend. The pious had been spared mom’s menstrual details.

Readers of this blog, however, may not be as fortunate.

Digging your own grave

It was probably the poppy seed muffin that loosened mom’s tongue at the matinal team meeting.

“What values do you hold dear?” asked the boss, as part of a team building exercise.

A few people picked up their pens, while others stared into the distance.

“Honesty,” answered the guy seated across the table.
“My family,” said a woman, setting down her coffee mug.
“Integrity,” said somebody else from the far corner of the room.

"I value happiness,” said mom, just to sound different.

As her co-workers directed quizzical looks at her, mom decided to fill the awkward pause that followed by elaborating on her interpretation of happiness.

In what is sure to go down in the annals of “Corporate hara-kiri,” mom declared that she’s not very ambitious.

“Really, I’m happy with what I have,” she blabbered, ignoring the hushed silence in the room and the barely perceptible frown that crossed her boss’s brow.

It was only later when her boss cleared his throat and thanked mom for her “interesting perspective” did she realize that her performance scorecard would be crossing his desk very soon.

Mom had jumped off the bridge, as usual, without knowing how to swim.

I’m no banana, but I’m akela

I feel sorry for mom’s toothbrush.

All alone in a cold holder, it sorely misses its companion, who’s living it up in Chennai.

Mom should have gone along on the trip, if you ask me - just so she can stop telling people that she hasn’t been to India in 3 ½ years.

“Just book your tickets and go,” says dad, who never lets money (or the lack of it) stand in his way.

"I refuse to go India for only 10 days," retorts mom haughtily.

She quickly calculates the cost of a return ticket and local air travel within India and decides it’s far cheaper to stay home and complain.

Or maybe she just wants to use homesickness as another legitimate reason to quit her job.

Oru deivam thantha poove

After a short bout of secondary infertility and months of pregnancy-related hormonal agony borne directly by mom and hence indirectly by dad, you’d think the humans wouldn’t have been in such a rush to return home a mere 24 hours after Kuki’s birth.

But the television reception at the hospital was limited, the food was bland, the bed was uncomfortable and the parents were done arguing over the baby’s name.

“Look, she’s fine; you’ll recover; let’s go home now,” said dad early the next morning.

“But, but … the insurance covers two nights, doesn't it?" gasped mom, unable to resist a bargain. “That means we can stay tonight also, right?”

Dad silenced her with a don’t-be-cheap look and before mom could sulk, a nurse walked in to prick the baby’s heel again and make her cry.

That was enough to rouse mom to action, and the baby was whisked home even before the arati tray was ready.

After dealing with a model firstborn who rarely cried, never threw tantrums, and ONLY called for his father to wipe his bottom, mom walked around in a daze the first few months with a tiny fireball who voiced her discomfort frequently and very vocally.

As the baby became mobile, the humans childproofed the house for the very first time, and even allowed me on the furniture at times to escape from unrelenting little fingers tugging on my fur or razor-sharp teeth biting into my tail.

“No!” soon became the mot du jour, and mom’s every waking moment was spent keeping tabs on a curious toddler who neither respected boundaries nor cared about consequences.

After four years, mom still wonders why she naïvely thought girls would be easier to handle. Her son obeys his parents without question; her daughter glares back defiantly while struggling against restraining car seat belts or swinging gleefully from monkey bars.

“You have to learn to pick your battles,” offers dad helpfully, every time he’s faced with a litany of guess-what-she-did-today as soon as he walks in the door.

Early on in the relationship, he smartly learned that it was easier to obey than to defy a princess, even a pint-sized one.

In an effort to save his delicate ears from constant whining, which can rapidly escalate into a full-blown tantrum, dad silently succumbs to orders of toys and junk food when they’re out shopping.

“You can’t spoil her like this. You have to set limits,” advises grandma on the telephone, from a million miles away, before asking her granddaughter what exactly she needs for Diwali and Christmas.

Listening to her little one’s wish list of pink bangles, pink hair clips, pink bindis, pink nail polish, pink cell phone, pink handbags and pink shoes, all of which already grace her closet, mom grabs the phone from her in the manner of Rukmini reminding Krishna not to swallow any more of Sudama’s poha.

“You have too many things, Kuki,” remonstrates mom gently, trying to introduce the concept of altruism to a child. “Let’s give some of your stuff away.”

“OK, but can we go shopping then and buy new things for me, Amma?”

Ever tried arguing with a four-year-old, especially one who takes after her mother's own heart?

Kaan't take a hint

Body piercing talk at lunch.

Male co-worker to group: “I don’t like to date women who have their ears pierced. I mean, earrings just get in the way when you’re trying to nibble on somebody’s ears, don’t you think?”

A light bulb flashed in mom’s head.

Later that night, after the kids had gone to bed, she changed into her night clothes and snuggled up to dad on the couch.

“What are you watching?” she asked coyly, paying no attention to Jay Leno gabbing on screen.

Tucking her hair behind her ears, mom hoped dad would notice her naked earlobes. She had even taken off her bracelets, ring and mangalsutra for good measure.

Dad yawned loudly, stretched and scratched his head.

“I have to wake up early tomorrow,” he said, handing mom the remote and heading upstairs. “Good night!”

At least I left my toe rings on, thought mom, turning her full attention to Jay Leno.