At Crossroads

Mom is officially unemployed again.

“Does this mean we’re going to be poor, Amma? You can’t buy me any more pretty stuffs?” asks her daughter, alarm pooling in her eyes.

Frankly, after keeping company with nocturnal creatures in the house for the last three months by working Mountain Standard Time, and looking like a raccoon with dark circles around her eyes, mom’s not sorry to see her contract end.

“Negotiate with your boss. Ask him to renew your contract,” said grandma, unaware of the strings mom’s kindly boss pulled to get her a work-from-outside-the-country opportunity.

“What are you going to do now?” asked a friend.

As usual, mom has no clue. Beyond making baingan ka bharta for tomorrow’s lunch because the eggplant is starting to look a little limp, she has no plans for the immediate future.

“It’s not too late to do something professional like an MBA,” advises grandma.

“Why?” asks mom. “Is it because an M.A. is short of one letter?”

Grandma changes tracks. “I tell you, teaching is the best profession,” she says. “You can become a teacher in your children’s school just like your cousin who came back from California did. They give you a discount in the tuition for the second child, and you get two months off every summer.”

Obviously, grandma is unaware of the fact that mom went to work specifically to get away from her own children. Why then would she want to spend time with other people’s children?

Mom doesn’t feel settled enough in her new environs to venture outside the home looking for gainful employment. Besides, a kindergartner’s schedule of only three hours of schooling would severely limit her time on a cubicle farm.

“Do we have to go to extended day again if you work?” ask the kids, worry writ large on their faces.

It seemed to me that mom moved to take a break from her wake-up-at-5 a.m.-and-keep-going-until-you-drop-from-exhaustion-only-to-repeat-the-process-the-next-day lifestyle. Why then is she even eyeing glass office buildings she passes by, wondering if they have a corporate communications department?

Ask mom what she really wants and she’ll tell you without hesitation that she needs a vacation. In fact, never before has the need to get away been so acute.

There’s nothing she’d like more than to leave the house behind with its resident lizards and relentless ants, the sulking maid, the grouchy garbage collector, the early-bird milkman, the noisy neighbors, the barking dog, the matinal keerai kaari, the house pet, and even her children, and recreate her honeymoon with dad for a few days.

The only problem is it’s far easier to drag a goat to Bakrid celebrations than it is to get dad to spend time with her.

In the meantime, as she waits for the romantic rheum to awake in dad, mom nurses a secret hope that a creative, interesting, well-paying, part-time, exactly-what-she-wants job opportunity will land in her lap - sort of like the startled lizard that fell on her as she drew the curtains one evening.

Mom's screams could be heard all through the neighborhood as she ran to the restroom to scrub herself like Lady Macbeth.

Has anybody else ever been tickled by the soft underbelly of a creepy crawly?

Kaho Naa … Pyaar Hai

Were it an ordinary day, being presented with a bouquet of red roses and a box of Ferrero Rochers would have had her wondering, “What’s he done now?”

But when the above items arrived on her wedding anniversary last week, mom blushed like the bride she had been 13 years ago, her heart hammering the way it did when dad first laid eyes on her.

She had barely recovered from his phone call that morning wishing her a happy anniversary. “Wow, you remembered?” was her first thought as she said, “Thank you, same to you,” even though he has never forgotten once in all their years together.

“What’s Appa going to give you?” the little one wanted to know the previous day.

“Probably nothing, as usual,” thought mom, conveniently forgetting their tacit agreement of not exchanging presents for birthdays or anniversaries. Instead, she hugged her child close to her and said, “Appa isn’t even here. Besides, I don’t need anything (true!); I have everything I need (very true!).”

“Well, I want more jewelry, another handbag, pink shoes, a Barbie set …” began Kuki, counting items off on her fingers.

Two hours after dad’s phone call, a dumbfounded mom stood by the front gate signing for a special delivery of red roses and a box of candy. There was no need for grandma to ask who the flowers were from - the look on mom’s face said it all.

“Ooh, roses!” squealed Kuki as soon as she spotted the buds on the dining table. “Does this mean Appa loves you very much, Amma?”

I don’t know … he’s never said anything.

Mumbai se aayi ek dost

Some people bring out their best china when company’s expected. Others fill the house with fresh flowers and arrange potpourri in the bathroom.

Mom decided mumbaigirl would be most impressed when she visited if I took a bath.

“She’s coming all the way to meet you, Terri,” justified mom, tying me to the front gate and pouring slimy neem-based shampoo on my back.

“Friend coming over aa? What friend?” grandma wanted to know.

“Just someone I know,” replied mom vaguely.

“How do you know this person?” persisted grandma.

“Amma met her online,” offered the kids helpfully.

“No, it’s not Lakshmi,” said mom quickly, anticipating the next question. “It’s someone called mumbaigirl.”

“Oh, mumbaigirl, aa?" said maternal and paternal grandma together. "I’ve seen her name online.”

“Yikes!” panicked mom, wondering if she should ask mg to meet her at the closest Coffee Day instead.

“She writes well,” one of them said. Whew! (They probably hadn’t read her period post – one that reeled me in and made me an avowed fan.)

I looked no different after my bath (I never do), and mg doesn’t seem like the kind of person who cares much for canine good looks, but I greeted her politely when she arrived. She had travelled a great distance to meet me, subjecting herself to the chaotic Chennai traffic and searing heat.

Since most people who visit us fall in the 55+ age group, it was most refreshing to meet someone who was born in the same decade as mom.

As fair-skinned as the white salwar she was wearing, petite mg, who is blessed with a waist that can be cupped in one hand, arrived to a flurry of activity in the kitchen. Both grandmas, unmindful of the humidity, were busy preparing a feast for Lord Krishna’s birthday.

“No, you can’t touch,” said grandma, slapping away mom’s hand from a hot vadai. “You’ll have to wait until the puja’s done.” Since she couldn’t stay that long, mg was treated to the next best thing – Grand Snacks and Sweets fare, along with sugarless tea (at her insistence).

Mom asked after the London bloggers, a group of women she’s most envious of, since they seem to have forged a bond and a support system. “You should’ve moved to London,” said mg, a tempting proposition, given that mom is ready to jump on the next jet plane to the closest lizard-free land.

Much to mom's relief, mg's visit ended without the children misbehaving. The five-year-old is usually at her worst self when she has an audience, and our visitor was spared awkward questions, such as the one directed at the landlady the other day, “Paati, why do you have so many holes in your mouth?”

It was while the family was seated at dinner a few hours later and licking the last of moru kozhambu off their plates that grandma made reference to mg's remark about her aunt fasting until midnight in honor of Lord Krishna.

“Look at these north Indians,” remarked grandma. “They’re so strict about observing their fast. All we do is feast.”

Mom silently thanked the gods as she stuffed another homemade appam in her mouth and picked crumbs of rava laddu off her plate.

Wanted

Accepting applications for a man who will know her body almost as well as she does.

Wanted – a fine ladies’ tailor.

Dogma for Dummies

Dear dog owner in a polyester track suit,

Seriously, you need a better pickup line than pointing to me in the middle of the street and asking mom, “What breed is it? Dalmatian?”

You see, she tends to be a little judgmental about people who are ignorant about dog breeds, especially when they paid big bucks for a thoroughbred that they are now flaunting around the neighborhood.

The only reason she made eye contact with you was because the hippopotamus you were lugging suddenly decided to lunge at me from across the street.

“Hee, hee, he’s only trying to be friendly,” didn’t help assuage mom’s fears, given that your pet was at least 50 lbs. overweight and could’ve easily swallowed me for breakfast.

“What breed?” you asked again. “Alsatian?”

Did you notice mom flinch? You should’ve taken that as your cue to stop embarrassing yourself further.

Maybe you were only trying to be make conversation when you wanted to know if I was a ‘he’ or a ‘she.’ I don't think it mattered to your Labrador who would have humped the nearest electric pole if he could. But thank you for letting mom know that your dog is a ‘he.’ I think she figured that out when she saw the family jewels dangling proudly between his legs.

And what do you mean when you claim your pet is “three to four years old”? Be clear: is he three or four? Something tells me you’re not sure what grades your children are in either.

Also, the next time you talk to a woman, try to keep your attention on her face, will you? Were you looking for a mangalsutra around mom’s neck when your gaze kept veering southward?

There is a man in mom’s life, and I have a feeling you wouldn’t be coming over to say hello so eagerly if you see him with us. He’s not your type, see? He doesn’t wear polyester.

Neither a Dalmatian nor an Alsatian,
Terri