Back from cool ooru

Who would've thought mom had it in her to turn heads? Of average height and unremarkable appearance, the woman slouches and has the personality of a ruminant bovine on most days.

But on a recent Friday night, as she and her girlfriends walked into Shiro, an upscale lounge bar in Bangalore, all heads turned and conversation came to a standstill.

“Wow, this is probably what a celebrity feels like when she enters a room,” thought mom, automatically straightening her shoulders and sucking her stomach in, until she realized that people were staring because she was dressed in a loose salwar kameez with a matching bindi, and was wearing her mother’s pearls.

The female patrons at the bar seemed oblivious to the night chill and wore clothes better suited to a fashion runway, while Exhibit A mom huddled in a shawl exactly like the one Mrs. Dhingra, her college lecturer, wore when she sunned herself on the college lawn and shelled peanuts in between classes.

Mom has no one but herself to blame for this fashion faux pas. After living in a neighborhood where maamis wander around in faded nighties with a towel thrown over their bosom, she was somewhat unprepared for the trendy set in Bangalore.

As she went around town, mom observed that the women in Bangalore are nattily dressed even when they rush to the closest Iyengar bakery to buy bread. Many a times did she trip and fall on non-existent sidewalks as she admired slim legs encased in fitting jeans and perky breasts swinging under snug tops.

When she wasn't staring at comely maidens with long tresses and sharp features, mom spent quality time with old friends, couples she and dad have known since H-1 visa days who are now living it up in Bangalore. With alcohol flowing and household help hovering in the background, the group reminisced and fondly watched the next generation forging bonds.

Visits to relatives were squeezed in between, and mom also managed to meet not one, but two friends from the online world, and spoke to two others she would’ve loved to meet in person.

Her first stop was at DS’s who doesn’t blog yet, but makes up for it by leaving entertaining comments here. As she walked into this virtual stranger’s house, mom was greeted by the smell of simmering apricots.

“Remember that post?” asked DS, as mom racked her brains. “I thought I’d make you some Qubani ka meetha.” (Note to self: Write more about food!)

As mom hovered in the kitchen, DS bustled around pouring, boiling, cooking, stirring, brewing tea and making warm conversation a la Rachel Ray. The Qubani, when it cooled, was well worth the wait of a lifetime, and mom threw etiquette aside to lick the spoon until it reflected her face.

DS is also a baker, and it has been brought to her kind attention that mom has a weakness for white flour and sugar.

The next day, mom rang the doorbell at Anitha’s house. Much like her writing, Anitha’s home is neat and methodical, yet vibrant and stimulating. Looking at the houseplants in the balcony, the earthy orange and yellow hues peeking from the bedrooms, and a haunting oil painting of a woman holding a lamp hung in the drawing room, it’s easy to tell that a creative soul resides in the house who also happens to tend her thoughts with equal care.

Even though Anitha has hidden her old pieces from public view, some of her writing has left such an indelible impression that were she a spider and I a fly, I’d willingly walk into her parlor without waiting for an invitation.

Stuffed with good food and stimulated by superlative company during their short stay in the ex-garden city, the humans boarded the train back home. As the railway staff served them meals in courses, the family noted that the vegetable soup was missing vegetables, the samosas smelled stale, the dal was a little runny, the yoghurt too sweet, and the only recognizable vegetable in the mixed curry was a cauliflower floret poking through. “Yucky! Hot! Spicy! I want pasta!” were the comments heard through the compartment on the return trip.

And to think that not so long ago, these very same people were grateful to receive salted peanuts or mini pretzels on five-hour long plane journeys. Sigh! How they've changed.