The Mom Voice

Everyone knows about the Mom Voice. It’s the voice that mom gets when she’s on her last nerve. It’s the voice that the kids fear and know not to dispute. It’s the voice that puts them on their best behaviour, just until she cools down.

Every mom has a Mom Voice. It comes with the territory. All moms can relate to this incident that happened just a few hours ago at my home:

Me: Sweetheart, pick up your crayons off the floor.

Me, 5 minutes later: Vivaan, I asked you to pick up your crayons, sweetheart.

Me, 5 minutes later: Vivaan! What are these crayons still doing here??

Me, 5 minutes later: VIVAAN! PICK. UP. YOUR. CRAYONS! <— Mom Voice

Now, my kids, through long months of being exposed to the Mom Voice, have built up a sort of immunity to it. So over the years (well, 4 years), much like a virus becoming stronger, my Mom Voice has also gotten stronger. In fact, it has evolved into the Dragon Voice. Think of it as the Mom Voice on steroids.

So finally what got his attention was:

Me, 5 minutes later, snarling with glowing eyes and steam coming out of my nostrils: PICK UP THOSE CRAYONS NOW OR THEY GO STRAIGHT IN THE TRASH!

I wonder how long until they’re immune to the Dragon Voice and it evolves into the Bat Shit Crazy Voice.

FML.

Your little girl is SO cute…

I have two boys. Two adorable little boys, aged 3 and 4. And I don’t want a girl anymore (because I love my boys so much, not because they drive me so up the wall that I can’t handle one more.)

Now, ever since moving back to Trivandrum, I’ve gotten a lot of unasked-for and frankly, unwanted comments, on how they “look like girls”. Why? Because one has a huge mop of curly hair and big beautiful eyes, and the other usually has his hair in a ponytail. Oh, and they’ve both been known to sport nail polish of various colors, just like their mama.

Yes, I let them tie up their hair. I let them wear nail polish. Am I afraid they’ll get mistaken for girls? No. Am I afraid they’ll turn out gay? No. But everyone else seems to be scared shitless about these things.

The worst are the random salespersons in the random shops.

“Oh such well-behaved girls you have!”

“Thanks, they’re both boys, actually.”

“Boys?? Really? Oh my God! Shruthi, Lekshmi, Ganga, TomDickHarry come look at this boy!”

And then a gaggle of salesladies are there, exclaiming over the boys who look like girls. “But why is his hair in a ponytail?” “Does his school allow it?” “Don’t his grandparents say anything?”

Of course, the relatives are no better. One of them blatantly told my elder son “You just have to put on earrings also, and then you’ll be a girl!” What the actual f***? Who says that to a little kid? I asked her if it’s the first time she’s seen boys with long hair to which she replied No. Then why ask such a thing? I was also tempted to inform her of the actual biological difference between boys and girls, since she seemed confused, but I calmed myself.

After a few days of such incidents, it’s like OHMYGODWILLYOULEAVEMYKIDSALONE!!!!

SERIOUSLY, what is with the people here thinking they have every right to go up to a stranger and ask such absurd questions that are NONE of their business? I have taken to ignoring them now and walking away with a polite smile. And then commenting to my son about how ignorant some people are. And that’s not just me being snarky. I am worried about how this type of talk affects my sons. When strange people come up and question their identity, what is that telling them? I have to reassure them that there is absolutely nothing wrong with them. I wish people would stop and think twice about the things they say when they’re talking to kids, or around kids. Children soak up everything they hear. And I HATE that they have to hear stuff like this, even from their own relatives.

Let children be children, please. Let them wear nail polish if they want to. Let them wear a bindi without being judged. Let them grow out their hair or cut it short as they like. Let them wear whatever they like. Let them enjoy their innocence while they can. We talk so much about gender equality now, but it has to start with these small things. It’s the small things that affect the big things later. It’s these small things that reinforce the idea that boys have to look and act a certain way and girls have to look and act a certain way at such young ages that reinforces the normalcy of gender inequality later in life. So please, please, please think twice before speaking to children.

Waving at an airplane

When I was much younger, I used to get a thrill out of seeing airplanes pass overhead. And upon my parents’ urging, I’d wave madly to the passengers, thinking in my wide-eyed innocence that they could actually see me. That moment was like magic.

My first few trips on a plane were even more magical.  The airport was always crowded with so many different people. And the air hostesses! So glamorous and elegant! I decided then and there that I wanted to be an air hostess when I grew up. The airplane seats were so big, and the food so good. I spent most of the time looking out the window and proudly thinking someone might be waving up to me now!

Now, countless plane rides later, the magic is no more. Now, a plane ride is a source of annoyance… the waiting in lines, the checking in, the waiting in more lines, the ride itself spent in uncomfortable seats with more-often-than-not annoying passengers. And once we land, it’s even more lines, and the desperate lunging for bags before they disappear off the belt. It took me a few years into college to idly realize I’d never grow tall enough to be an air hostess. Oh yes, plane rides have definitely lost their magic now.

Today, my boys saw an airplane passing overhead and started waving frantically at it. They have been on planes a few times, though they’re old enough to remember only 1 or 2 times. They’re still eager to know when we can travel on a plane next. They excitedly discuss between themselves all the wonders of an airplane ride. And just like that, through my kids, I’ve found a little of that magic again.

Enter a new era

Wow. It’s been 8 years since my last post. Quite a lot has happened since then. I’m married, have two kids, and live in India. I’ve been meaning to get back into blogging for a while now. I’ve decided to continue with this blog rather than create a new one, ‘cos well, it just makes more sense to.

I moved from Dubai to Trivandrum for a variety of reasons. It’s been two years since the move, and only now am I comfortable with telling people, “I live in Trivandrum.” I always knew, in some corner right at the back of my mind, that I’d move back here some day, but it was only in the vague, distant future. That vague, indefinable future is now the present, and well, it’s not so bad. In fact, it’s pretty good. My kids like their school, they have new friends, I have new friends, and we’re happy.

My plan for the blog is to post reviews about places around the city, sprinkled with a healthy dose of late night musings. So here’s to a new era of SeenZ in Trivandrum!

Money money money

Over the years, I’ve become more and more certain that we, as mankind, face a huge problem. A problem that we brought upon ourselves. A problem that we took under our wings, nurtured, cared for, and perfected. A problem that now threatens us all. Alright, alright, I’m done with the dramatic movie entrance. Instead, let me ask you a simple question. What does this world revolve around?

a) The sun

b) Love

c) Money

If you picked the sun, you will most definitely miss the whole point of this post, so you might as well stop here and go make yourself a nice cup of tea to sip while pondering the answer to six down.

If you picked love, go away. Seriously, just close the damn window and go pluck daisies or something.

If you picked money, my friends, you’re cordially invited to read further. Or not. Whatever. I’m only writing this ‘cos I’m bored. But wait, I do have a point. The point is, this world revolves around money. You know all those famous quotes by famous people long dead that say “Money cannot buy happiness” or “Love conquers all” or “The chocolate starfish will take over the world”?

Go ahead, Google that last one. Do it. I dare ya.

Anywayyyyy, what I’m saying is… all these quotes? They’re bullshit. Utter and complete bullshit from the mouths of people who were either drunk, stoned or hiding from the men in the white coats and the large butterfly nets. Because let me tell you something, as someone completely sober, sane and pot-free – Money can buy happiness and Money conquers all, including chocolate starfish.

And that is the problem we face today. Money. Cash. Moolah.

Oh don’t get me wrong. Money by itself is quite peaceful and harmless. But place it in the middle of an old grannies’ baking class and you’ve got a fuckin stampede to deal with. The thing is, everybody wants it. Everybody wants money, and not just enough of it to live on, they want as much as they can get their little fingers on. You know this is true. I don’t have to bring out my defensive statements, do I? No? Good. Moving on, then. Obviously, the next question is “Why?” Why do people crave money?

Our society, our whole world, has grown into a money-centric one. No matter how much you claim happiness, love, sunshine, flowers and beavers are all that’s important in the world, if someone offered you a million dollars right now, no strings attached, you wouldn’t turn it down. Hell, you wouldn’t turn down ONE dollar.

OK, so you NEED money. For parking tickets, fines, phone bills, electricity bills and taxes. And women. Or OK, for food, clothing and shelter. So you can have kids, and your kids won’t starve to death, and can go to school to get a good education. And they need a good education so they can get a good job. And they need a job, so they can make money. And they need money for parking tickets, fines, phone bills, electricity bills, taxes, women, food, clothing and shelter. Are you beginning to see a vicious circle here?

To put it shortly, the very purpose of our existence is to make money. Not to love, or teach or grow… all those are secondary. First, you need money. And that, my friends, is the problem.

So my question is, why the f*** is money so important? When did it get so important, and who made it so??? Because dammit, I didn’t get a vote, and I protest!!! Oh and, after reading this, if any of you start feeling resentful towards your money, feel free to send it to me. I’ll gladly suffer on your account.

Growing Up

And so we come to my 4th, is it? poem. Not about Adam, but something I think everyone can relate to. We all miss our childhood and wonder where that innocence went.

Growing Up

I used to believe in goblins and elves
I thought they were there but hid themselves
I used to believe in unicorns
And dragons that had horns
And mystical creatures with wings
Faeries and shimmery things
I used to believe in the fairy tales
That said love would survive the hales
I used to believe that everything that glittered was gold
That all was right with the world
Then one day I opened my eyes
And saw the truth
The world doesn’t really rhyme

©2010 SeenZ

Where: Trivandrum, Kerala, India

When I tell people I’m taking a trip to Kerala, they always get excited. “Wow, you must be so happy!” is the usual reaction. I don’t get it. I’m never excited about going to Kerala. In fact, I kind of dread it. Mostly for 8 reasons…

1. People always ask me about my hair. “Why do you color it??” “Why do you cut it so short??” And the worst part is, you can’t just answer with a simple “Why not?” or “Because I like it that way.” Because they just WON’T GET IT. Their minds are all tuned to one channel. And there, every girl has long, frizzy black hair. Yeah, that’s supposedly a good thing.

2. I never get to wear heels. Let’s face it, no sensible person wears heels in the land of mud and rain (unless they hate said heels and want to see them dead. Which I don’t. I wuv them.)

3. I’m 23 and not married. Enough said.

4. I cannot wear a tank top without being stared at by every-freaking-one. Not in a nice way, no.

5. Power cuts.

6. The roads. The goddamned roads. I mean, I gotta hand it to anyone who can manage to drive a vehicle there. It’s like an obstacle course… drive an inch, avoid a big hole in the road, swerve to avoid hitting that group of girls, swerve back the other way to avoid hitting the beggar sitting on the road and talking on his phone, go over a pile of rocks, look both ways and run the red light, hit a guy on a bike, apologize… OK, you get 10 points. Now imagine a couple of hours of this. It’s great for video game lovers I suppose.

7. The people who come up to you and ask, “Oh do you remember me?”, assume you do, and then proceed to talk to you about other people you’re supposed to remember. And all the while you’re trying to figure out who the hell they are, so you have no idea what to say when they suddenly ask you a question, and then you have to pretend your phone was ringing (“it’s a special tone… only I can hear it”) and edge away.

8. The “Do you never eat anything?” question that you’ll be asked at least once by every person you meet.

But despite all this, every time I get out of the plane in India and take that first deep breath, it feels like home. And I guess that’s what really matters.

For whom the wedding bells toll… part deux

YES! The worst is over. The manhunt is taking its toll on Mom the All-Knowing and Big Sister the Ever-Excited. The former is not so all-knowing now, and the latter can be seen wandering around with an expression of resigned acceptance.

It did take a while… after all, the men on shaadi.com kept increasing like the world rabbit population, and every new one was a source of intense, stalker-like interest. Even the idiots who had profiles like, “hi myself ‘name‘, i looking sweet beatiful gerl godfearing…”

I mean… seriously??? The only demand I have is the guy be able to speak English without sounding like a character played by Mammootty in an old malayalam movie. (Please God, please!)

What was more annoying though, was the way they treated any guy I talked to. Like, the other day, I ran across an old friend from college and we were catching up on life… and I could feel the eyes of the All-Knowing, Ever-Excited team boring into us… well, him. And sure enough, as soon as we said our goodbyes, they were there with a notepad and pen, demanding to know his life history. All I can say is, thank goodness he isn’t from Kerala.

And so in the end, my continued rejection of anyone they came up with was too much for even the All-Knowing, Ever-Excited team. Now my sister uses her laptop to work on her 3D projects rather than on shaadi.com, and my mom spends most of her time trying to get her grandchild to not pee on the bed.

They’re off my back. Thank you all, for listening, and for the prayers. I’m sure this peace won’t last, but the break feels good, no matter how short it may be.

For whom the wedding bells toll

So I’m finally there. 23 years old. The perfect age, according to Mom the All-Knowing, to start the manhunt. And by manhunt, I mean manhunt. The search for that perfect person to complement you… your “other half”. You must understand, once Mom the All-Knowing decides to start the manhunt, and if she has Big Sister the Ever-Excited as her assistant, there’s no stopping her. You can plead, you can cry, you can throw tantrums, you can threaten to kill a puppy, but nothing will work. She won’t even notice the dead puppy as she hurries from matrimonial site to matrimonial site, filling in the profile of “The Perfect Bride.”

What do you do then? My solution was to say nothing. Let Mom the All-Knowing and her assistant have their fun. Let them go ooh and aah at all the “God-fearing” men on shaadi.com. They’ll call them all up, and soon there will be a parade of 27-year old Roman Catholic Keralite men (preferably from Trivandrum, non-smoker, non-drinker, non-fun) through the house.

See them, talk to them, and send them on their way. Nothing wrong in being polite. Then tell Mom the All-Knowing that they were either:

1) Too short

2) Too tall

3) Too fat

4) Too thin

5) Is a Bryan Adams fan

Under no circumstance must you use the following excuses for rejecting a proposal:

1) Does not drink

2) Does not enjoy clubbing

3) Drives too slow

4) Does not have any tattoos or piercings whatsoever, I mean COME ON!

5) Is not an Adam Lambert fan

Trust me, they don’t work. Even though that last one is a perfectly valid reason. And if she doesn’t buy any of your reasons, it’s perfectly OK to call up the guy, and tell him you:

1) Think “God” is Edward from Twilight. (No no, I hate the guy, this is just an example.)

2) Have lung cancer.

3) Eat only rabbit on Fridays.

That should fix things.

Now, once you’ve rejected about 5-6 guys, the All-Knowing, Ever-Excited team will start getting anxious. They will start lowering their expectations of the men. They will become slightly erratic and frenzied, and drink lots of coffee. They will try to fix you up with random strangers they see on the street.

DO NOT WORRY.

It’s just a stage. It will pass.

Or so I hope.

Please keep me in your thoughts.

A journey to Heaven… through Hell.

Many of my friends know I’m a big fan of author Raymond E Feist. He writes a very long fantasy series, The Riftwar Saga, and I love it. Twenty one books in the series so far, and I’d read twenty. The latest book, “At The Gates Of Darkness”, was released earlier this year, and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on it!

But I had to.

The first problem was the cost. Books are ridiculously expensive, especially hardbacks. And since this book had only been out for a month, only the hardback was available. At a price of AED 114. Which was just money I couldn’t spare guiltlessly. So I didn’t buy it immediately. But then I finished reading the previous book, and it ended in such a way that I just had to have the next one. Against such enthusiasm, cost became nothing. In a sudden burst of illumination, I realized that AED 114 was after all, not such a huge amount.

Having come to peace with the price, I was free to go buy my book. But of course, that’s when the family gets car troubles.

There’s six drivers in the house, and we have four cars, but now is the time my sister decides to sell her car. Whopee. Which means her husband has to take MY car to work. Which means with my dad needing one car to go to work, and my BIL (brother in law) needing my car to go to work, and my brother crashing his car against everything he sees and it being constantly in the repair shop, I was without a car.

On to the next plan. Get a cab. But cabs are again ridiculously expensive in Dubai, and it just wasn’t worth paying half the price of the book for cab fare for an already expensive book. So I waited. My brother’s car would be back the next day, I was told. So I waited.

And YAY! The car was back! So my BIL takes that car instead, leaving my car free. But then of course, my dad decides HIS car needs to go to the repair shop, so HE takes MY car. @#$&@#^%! “It’ll only take a day,” he tells me. Alright, I waited this long, I can wait one more day.

So I did. The next day, I was all prepared to go, and that’s when the storm warning comes. The radios are going crazy happy with the message: “There’s a storm heading this way, it’ll hit Dubai at 6 PM. DO NOT DRIVE.” Well, fuck. Couldn’t have told me this earlier, huh? HAD to wait till 5:45 PM to warn us of a 6 PM storm? Assholes. But OK, take a deep breath. I’ll wait one more day.

Of course, no damn storm hit at 6 o clock. It was well past 9 when it finally came with its thunder and rain and whatnot. But I had 3 whole hours! When all I needed was 30 minutes to drive down to Magrudys and get the book! ARHGH!

I’d had enough. I was determined to get the book the following day, NO MATTER WHAT. “WHAT” turned out to be continued rain from the storm and heavily flooded roads. No. That wasn’t going to stop me. I was going to read that book today, dammit! So I bravely took the car out, and drove through the flood. In the rain.

It was horrible.

The windows were fogging up and I could hardly see anything for the rain, but I thought of my reward at the end and kept going. My car did protest – as I was making my way slowly through what can only be called a river, it started vibrating and the “problem with battery” sign lit on. But it was still moving, so I kept on. Thankfully, the sign went off after a while, though the vibrating remained. It took me 20 minutes to get to Dubai Festival City, a place that’s about 5 minutes drive away from my house. Anyway, the important point is, I got there safely.

So I went into Magrudys, bought the book (HALLELUJAH! (and I’m not a religious gal)), and got back in my car. I spent hardly 10 minutes in DFC. Now it was time to face the hellish roads again.

If anything, the drive back was worse. The whole area around my house was flooded so badly I didn’t know where the road ended and the sidewalk began. But nothing could dampen my spirits. I had the book! It was sitting safely in the passenger seat next to me, smiling at me and cheering me on. So I smiled back and kept going. I had to turn the car around more than once to find a safer route. Once I turned into a street that was so flooded other people were pushing their cars back after the battery had failed. Thank goodness for them or I would’ve gone in there. (Yes, I know that sounds heartless, but they were big strong men and I’m a weak lil girl. So, tough.) I turned around immediately and went back, found another exit and went home through a completely round-about way. Of course, by the time I got home the car was out of gas, and was still vibrating. But hey, I got my book, didn’t I?

I spent the rest of the day happily reading it. Ah it was heaven. Totally worth it. If I had to do it again, I would. Although, my car won’t start now.