I didn't realize what a toll jetlag can take- especially if you are a little baby.
Little Fellow (LF), in the space of 72 hours, has undertaken a 19h flight, endured cramped spaces and disorienting, shifting time zones, a barrage of new faces and higher noise levels, with a remarkable amount of patience and equanimity. He did throw a fit yesterday morning, when faced with yet another round of new faces, while being desperately tired, but that is totally excusable. But trying times are still ahead: the biggest and most urgent consequence is constipation. LF's digestive system, tending to be a bit creaky at the best of times, seems to have gone on a temporary strike. Next is the upcoming trip to easily one of the hottest places in India- Chennai. I called Chennai my home during my undergrad years, and in the 6 years since I left India, I always felt a great affection for it based on nostalgia. But now that I actually have to go there (and that too in March... of course, it could have been worse. It might have been April... or May or June or really, any month), I feel some trepidation. What if LF finds it unbearably hot and humid? What if he gets a bad headache? What if the food doesn't agree with him?
In the end, one can only prepare so much. This is something I learned from my mother-in-law, and it has served me well in the few months that I have put it to the test: There's no point worrying relentlessly about things outside one's control. One prepares as well as one can and then prays to the Big Being Above. There's something very liberating about this approach- there's a clear endpoint to planning and preparing for anything. And then one admits, "There. Can't do anything more. Please, oh Big Being Above, take over"
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Lab Inspection
The annual lab inspection is today!! There's a palpable sense of excitement in the air, butterflies flutter in otherwise immune (ha) tummies, hearts skip beats. There are whispers of "Is the inspector here yet?" and faces peek into the room of the lab superviser.
*Snort*
Okay, not really. Yes, we are in dire need of excitement in our lives, but really, even WE aren't particularly excited by lab inspectors or inspections. For one thing, we can never find anything after the inspection. Things have been moved around, jammed into draws, hidden out of sight, gloves that you would like to reuse are suddenly whisked into the trash can by a dozen unseen hands.... it's not fun, I can tell you.
And there's the question that always gets different answer every time you ask it: Can we continue to work while the inspection is going on? Rationally, you would think, yes. But then again... what if there's some catastrophic mistake in the method of my working that has escaped my attention all these years and which the eagle-eyed, granite jawed inspector will immediately spot and suspend me from working?
Okay, time to stop speculations. The inspector is here. Hey, she looks kinda young to be an inspector.
I think I can go and work in the lab now.
*Snort*
Okay, not really. Yes, we are in dire need of excitement in our lives, but really, even WE aren't particularly excited by lab inspectors or inspections. For one thing, we can never find anything after the inspection. Things have been moved around, jammed into draws, hidden out of sight, gloves that you would like to reuse are suddenly whisked into the trash can by a dozen unseen hands.... it's not fun, I can tell you.
And there's the question that always gets different answer every time you ask it: Can we continue to work while the inspection is going on? Rationally, you would think, yes. But then again... what if there's some catastrophic mistake in the method of my working that has escaped my attention all these years and which the eagle-eyed, granite jawed inspector will immediately spot and suspend me from working?
Okay, time to stop speculations. The inspector is here. Hey, she looks kinda young to be an inspector.
I think I can go and work in the lab now.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Enya II and others
Now I feel bad about dissing Enya so much yesterday because since then, I've been listening to her songs and I have to admit: Orinoco Flow and Only If are pretty awesome songs. One can't help but put everything down and sing along- even if one has to make up one's own lyrics for a greater part of the songs.
Why, I hear you ask, can't you just go online and find out the lyrics for these songs, if you like them so much?
What a question to ask. This is why: There's no better way of KILLING a song than to read up its lyrics online.
What is mysterious and full of endless possibilities, potential and speculation falls down with a thud when you see the words hammered in and unchangeable. And really, half the time, one's made-up lyrics are far better.
Case in point: Bon Jovi's "It's My Life". Before, I had loved, LOVED, LOVED that song. Now I know the lyrics and I feel embarrassed singing it. Who the hell is Frankie?
Same thing with all the songs from the Tamil movie "BoYs". Adnan Sami's music, so it's bound to be good, you think. Then you hear the songs, you don't entirely understand the lyrics and everything is great. Then you listen to the songs and understand the lyrics and you cringe from ever singing those songs again. Now you can't even hum the tunes because those godawful lyrics pop into your head and mess up everything.
So after this rant of mine, am I actually saying that Enya's un-understandable, mish-mash lyrics are actually a plus point in her favor?
Yes. I guess that is what I'm saying.
But I still stand by my original point that all her songs sound alike.
Why, I hear you ask, can't you just go online and find out the lyrics for these songs, if you like them so much?
What a question to ask. This is why: There's no better way of KILLING a song than to read up its lyrics online.
What is mysterious and full of endless possibilities, potential and speculation falls down with a thud when you see the words hammered in and unchangeable. And really, half the time, one's made-up lyrics are far better.
Case in point: Bon Jovi's "It's My Life". Before, I had loved, LOVED, LOVED that song. Now I know the lyrics and I feel embarrassed singing it. Who the hell is Frankie?
Same thing with all the songs from the Tamil movie "BoYs". Adnan Sami's music, so it's bound to be good, you think. Then you hear the songs, you don't entirely understand the lyrics and everything is great. Then you listen to the songs and understand the lyrics and you cringe from ever singing those songs again. Now you can't even hum the tunes because those godawful lyrics pop into your head and mess up everything.
So after this rant of mine, am I actually saying that Enya's un-understandable, mish-mash lyrics are actually a plus point in her favor?
Yes. I guess that is what I'm saying.
But I still stand by my original point that all her songs sound alike.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Enya
Enya's popularity, in the 90's, and continuing appeal today, among those nostalgic 30-40 year olds, rests on one fact: human beings love repetition. All her songs sound exactly alike, they have the same beat, and the same "garblish" quality in the lyrics: the listener can make out one sentence or two in the song, and these keep repeating themselves with mild variations over and over again, and the rest of it sounds exotic because nobody knows what the heck is being sung. The rest of it even sounds like it could be some exotic foreign language, but not as foreign as say, Arabic, not the kind of foreign that you can pin down and say, Aha, that's French, but foreign, like Celtic, which nobody (that I know of, anyway) knows or has heard, but it's a language that one would LIKE to know or at least pretend that one has heard, because it is just so well, exotic. It evokes carefully crafted scenes of blue seas crashing against Irish coasts with long haired maidens in gowns singing (the "garblish" sections of Enya's songs) like mermaids on the afore-mentioned coasts. But the English sections appease us because we feel a connectedness, because of our understanding of the two sentences, to this Hollywood scene.
Add to that a boom-boom-boom beat and some polyphonies, and there. That's Enya.
Here are the 3 songs that I like of Enya's, and which probably are her most famous:
a) Orinoco Flow
b) Only if
c) May it be from the Lord of the Rings
OKay?
These are the ones that sound kind of new and original.
Now take ANY other song of hers, and every one of them will fit into one of the molds above.
Go on. Try it!
Add to that a boom-boom-boom beat and some polyphonies, and there. That's Enya.
Here are the 3 songs that I like of Enya's, and which probably are her most famous:
a) Orinoco Flow
b) Only if
c) May it be from the Lord of the Rings
OKay?
These are the ones that sound kind of new and original.
Now take ANY other song of hers, and every one of them will fit into one of the molds above.
Go on. Try it!
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Escapes from Motherhood
There are times I am happy being a mother. These are the times when the kid's playing happily and noisily or staring enraptured at something he's never seen before, the times when he snuggles into me and makes happy sounds, the times he giggles loudly and the times he demands to be with me by calling, "mma mma mmmma", crawls towards me and raises his hands to be carried.
Then there are times when he refuses to sleep at night, refuses to eat but keeps getting crankier and crankier, demands to be carried all the time and when carried, bites into my shoulder, grabs at my spectacles and throws them down, yanks my hair and tries to put his fingers into my nose. During these times, I feel a longing, a deep yearning, to return to my pre-motherhood days.
Depending on my mood, I transport myself back in time to different periods. Sometimes, I go back to my pregnancy days, when I'd eat loads of caramel ice cream and watch Topgear on TV. Other times, I go back to the lab at midnight. There's something so peaceful about working hard in a laboratory when there's absolutely no other sound except for the clink of the pipettes, the whoosh of the hood blower and the soft whir of a centrifuge. In fact, working in lab at night is something I miss very much. These days, I'm lucky if I can stay back till 6pm.
When I am irritated with the kid AND his father, I become 24 again, with a suitcase in my hand, boarding the plane to India to make my first trip back home. In my imaginings, I throw some clothes in my backpack, take the 28X bus to the airport and whoosh! I'm away! Far from the madding crowds, husband and baby!
In my mind, my ancestral home (my dad would laugh to hear it being described as such. But it was built about 50 years ago and it was the place where all of us cousins grew up, so it's ancestral enough for me) in Bangalore is the best of all havens. It is solid and safe and there I can be a girl again and not a mom. I recall my cousin Aditya, and my niece and nephew, Manu and Madhav, as babies and as toddlers and as teenagers in that house. In my mind, once I get to the house in Bangalore, my mother and grandmother and aunts will take care of everything, including the kid, while I gossip, eat enormous meals laden with ghee and with fried vadams, and take many naps, getting up only to go shopping. Bliss!
Then there are times when he refuses to sleep at night, refuses to eat but keeps getting crankier and crankier, demands to be carried all the time and when carried, bites into my shoulder, grabs at my spectacles and throws them down, yanks my hair and tries to put his fingers into my nose. During these times, I feel a longing, a deep yearning, to return to my pre-motherhood days.
Depending on my mood, I transport myself back in time to different periods. Sometimes, I go back to my pregnancy days, when I'd eat loads of caramel ice cream and watch Topgear on TV. Other times, I go back to the lab at midnight. There's something so peaceful about working hard in a laboratory when there's absolutely no other sound except for the clink of the pipettes, the whoosh of the hood blower and the soft whir of a centrifuge. In fact, working in lab at night is something I miss very much. These days, I'm lucky if I can stay back till 6pm.
When I am irritated with the kid AND his father, I become 24 again, with a suitcase in my hand, boarding the plane to India to make my first trip back home. In my imaginings, I throw some clothes in my backpack, take the 28X bus to the airport and whoosh! I'm away! Far from the madding crowds, husband and baby!
In my mind, my ancestral home (my dad would laugh to hear it being described as such. But it was built about 50 years ago and it was the place where all of us cousins grew up, so it's ancestral enough for me) in Bangalore is the best of all havens. It is solid and safe and there I can be a girl again and not a mom. I recall my cousin Aditya, and my niece and nephew, Manu and Madhav, as babies and as toddlers and as teenagers in that house. In my mind, once I get to the house in Bangalore, my mother and grandmother and aunts will take care of everything, including the kid, while I gossip, eat enormous meals laden with ghee and with fried vadams, and take many naps, getting up only to go shopping. Bliss!
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Daycare/School thoughts
The time has come. Almost too soon, I think. The boy is only 8 months old and already I have to start thinking about school. Unbelievable.
[I should point out here that by "school", I mean day care. In my mind, "school" is any place that kids go to outside of home, for a few hours, on a regular basis and where they learn something. Thought I would make that clear before you exacting readers protest at my usage of "school", instead of "day care"- tis all the same, see? ]
Like any over-protective mother, I have some criteria for my boy's school:
a) There must be no exams or tests or anything ridiculous like that.
b) There must be no TV
c) There must be nap-time, preferably with music in the background.
d) There must be a small number of kids per class, so that my boy gets the attention that he needs. And the teacher must RUN (no dawdling about it) to rub and kiss his head/knee/elbow as soon as he hurts it. LOL this list is making me laugh. But I'm serious, mind you!
e) Nobody should laugh at the boy when he unpacks his "puliyogare-thair sadam", while they eat their meat-filled "macaroni and cheese".
f) Nobody should make fun of his name and call him Annie, instead of Ani.
g) He should be allowed to play in the mud and the rain.
h) Nobody should be allowed to bully him, my little ladla beta!
Jeez... this list shows that I am no better than any other besotted mother in the world. How lowering! I thought I was far more advanced... apparently not.
Anyway, I have 3 options in mind: Waldorf School of Pittsburgh, Jewish Community Center and the University of Pittsburgh Daycare.
Waldorf, I read about in the New York Times. The picture that accompanied the article showed a bunch of kids tramping about in the mud, collecting stones or flowers or frogs or whatever caught their fancy. And that caught MY fancy. What fun those kids seemed to be having!
My own kindergarten years were in Mt.Carmel school in Bangalore and it was a right old nightmare. There was no playground- only the road. We would have to run to the side of the road any time there was any traffic. And the teachers would cane us (not the "lift your skirts and show me your bum" kind of caning, but the "show me your palms/knees/shoulders/head and I'll strike it with a ruler" kind of caning). Nobody's gonna cane my kid.
Whatever I've read and seen about Waldorf, Pittsburgh, I like very much. It ranks #1 on my list right now. However, it is beginning to feel a bit uppity. Their admissions form for their Little Friends Program (for 18 month-4y kids) has questions like "How was the pregnancy?", "Where was the delivery?", "Was your child breastfed?" Okay, how does it matter? I understand that the teachers/care-givers have to know if there were complications to the child's health at birth or later, but shouldn't they just ask that directly? Why this roundabout manner?
Jewish Community Center of Pittsburgh features on the list because I have a secret desire to turn the little chap into a rabbi..... I'm kidding, dudes! Yes, there is a Jewish madrassa right opposite my house, but I'm not that brain-washed. Yet.
The JCC is very close to my house and they seem really good, very concerned about child care etc. I had a good feeling when I checked out their facility: lot's of happy little kiddies, singing and playing. The only negative thing to this is that kids can't play in a garden or among trees or such, because the JCC is in the heart of the city. Only concrete jungles everywhere.
And finally, the University of Pittsburgh Early Childhood Program- easily, the best daycare choice for Pitt employees, faculty and students... BUT they have a wait list that is 2 years long. The little chap will be 3 years old before there will be a spot for him. So it stays on the bottom of my list for now.
February is the deadline for applications to the first two programs. I can't believe the kiddo's old enough for this stuff. My little chammathu kutti! Grown up already! With 4 little teeth and a killer crawl! Okay Varsh, control yourself.
[I should point out here that by "school", I mean day care. In my mind, "school" is any place that kids go to outside of home, for a few hours, on a regular basis and where they learn something. Thought I would make that clear before you exacting readers protest at my usage of "school", instead of "day care"- tis all the same, see? ]
Like any over-protective mother, I have some criteria for my boy's school:
a) There must be no exams or tests or anything ridiculous like that.
b) There must be no TV
c) There must be nap-time, preferably with music in the background.
d) There must be a small number of kids per class, so that my boy gets the attention that he needs. And the teacher must RUN (no dawdling about it) to rub and kiss his head/knee/elbow as soon as he hurts it. LOL this list is making me laugh. But I'm serious, mind you!
e) Nobody should laugh at the boy when he unpacks his "puliyogare-thair sadam", while they eat their meat-filled "macaroni and cheese".
f) Nobody should make fun of his name and call him Annie, instead of Ani.
g) He should be allowed to play in the mud and the rain.
h) Nobody should be allowed to bully him, my little ladla beta!
Jeez... this list shows that I am no better than any other besotted mother in the world. How lowering! I thought I was far more advanced... apparently not.
Anyway, I have 3 options in mind: Waldorf School of Pittsburgh, Jewish Community Center and the University of Pittsburgh Daycare.
Waldorf, I read about in the New York Times. The picture that accompanied the article showed a bunch of kids tramping about in the mud, collecting stones or flowers or frogs or whatever caught their fancy. And that caught MY fancy. What fun those kids seemed to be having!
My own kindergarten years were in Mt.Carmel school in Bangalore and it was a right old nightmare. There was no playground- only the road. We would have to run to the side of the road any time there was any traffic. And the teachers would cane us (not the "lift your skirts and show me your bum" kind of caning, but the "show me your palms/knees/shoulders/head and I'll strike it with a ruler" kind of caning). Nobody's gonna cane my kid.
Whatever I've read and seen about Waldorf, Pittsburgh, I like very much. It ranks #1 on my list right now. However, it is beginning to feel a bit uppity. Their admissions form for their Little Friends Program (for 18 month-4y kids) has questions like "How was the pregnancy?", "Where was the delivery?", "Was your child breastfed?" Okay, how does it matter? I understand that the teachers/care-givers have to know if there were complications to the child's health at birth or later, but shouldn't they just ask that directly? Why this roundabout manner?
Jewish Community Center of Pittsburgh features on the list because I have a secret desire to turn the little chap into a rabbi..... I'm kidding, dudes! Yes, there is a Jewish madrassa right opposite my house, but I'm not that brain-washed. Yet.
The JCC is very close to my house and they seem really good, very concerned about child care etc. I had a good feeling when I checked out their facility: lot's of happy little kiddies, singing and playing. The only negative thing to this is that kids can't play in a garden or among trees or such, because the JCC is in the heart of the city. Only concrete jungles everywhere.
And finally, the University of Pittsburgh Early Childhood Program- easily, the best daycare choice for Pitt employees, faculty and students... BUT they have a wait list that is 2 years long. The little chap will be 3 years old before there will be a spot for him. So it stays on the bottom of my list for now.
February is the deadline for applications to the first two programs. I can't believe the kiddo's old enough for this stuff. My little chammathu kutti! Grown up already! With 4 little teeth and a killer crawl! Okay Varsh, control yourself.
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