THE IMPATIENT INDIAN

You see him everywhere- he is the hand that sneaks in to grab a plate at the wedding buffet while you, poor fool, waits patiently in a queue. He is the head which breathes noisily down your shoulder at the railway ticket counter and prevents you from turning around to go because he is so tightly wedged against your body. He is that pair of skinny legs that takes on the might of your hundred horsepower engine and defies you to smash him to smithereens while he jauntily jaywalks in front of your car. No waiting at pedestrian crossings for the light to turn green- he is THE IMPATIENT INDIAN and you just have to be grim and bear it. Or follow a few tips on how not to let your rising BP make you THE INPATIENT INDIAN....

TIP#1

Locate your funny bone- before you collide with THE INPATIENT INDIAN. Seriously, otherwise all that gnashing of incisors and molars will result in your dentist shoving that pink goo in your mouth for that perfect pair of dentures while he laughs all the way to the bank. You get the first laugh. All of us want to be first and not necessarily at the top step of the podium. That is reserved for Usain Bolt after his hundred meter dash. Our burning desire is to be the first in line and no training, no finely honed technique or tormented exercise schedule can better THE IMPATIENT INDIAN. He works on sheer gut instinct and survival strategies refined en masse. So, why get all red faced when someone cuts in? It is not as if we were pipped to the post after years of training. Laugh it off when that sneaky one gets past. Just shrug and tell yourself-“You have been Bolted!”

TIP#2

Make it a game- and be prepared to be the loser. Boarding the aircraft first, is a crowd favourite. You would think that a group that has forked out a fistful of money for the airline ticket would restrict themselves to playing Board games but there is no stopping, you guessed it, THE IMPATIENT INDIAN. They are just in their better dressed avatar. Like caged tigers they prowl near the departure gate hungrily eyeing the hapless airline employee manning the departure gate belt. Within a nano second of the departure announcement and the snap of the belt opening there is a surge of humanity. It is like a drop zone in a relief camp- the first sound of the  whirring chopper blades  and you have a zillion hands reaching out for that precious parcel of food. Even the old and infirm become spry with that golden plane ticket clutched in their gnarled hands. Okay, the plane cannot take off without you so it does not matter that you do not head the queue. You will be first off the shuttle bus and into the plane, so that’s a win for you...

TIP#3

BE PREPARED- when it comes to queues in wedding halls, the Scouts Motto comes in handy because your stomach will not be denied. It’s a nightmare scenario where THE IMPATIENT INDIAN meets the WELL DRESSED INDIAN and both lock horns like MONSTERS VS ALIENS- nobody is a winner here. Everybody is salivating at the thought of getting their paws on that feast on a banana leaf. There is a huge price to be paid for that  dining experience. The first hurdle is squeezing into rich fabric suitable for cooler climes. You are a rag before the second battle of parking the car because the bigger the wedding the more the parking chaos. You can barely enter the hall because the queue to bless the couple is now snaking into the road. You decide to first eat then greet but several others have the same thought. There is a longer queue for food and all the tables are full. THE INPATIENT INDIAN comes to wedding with one sole focus- to have a quick dinner and make a quicker exit. The only impediment standing in the way is the need to bless the couple. It’s a miracle that they do not catch fire and burn with all the impatient fury mutely directed at them- the only impediments to the quick getaway. Have your dinner before you go to a wedding and just soak in the atmosphere- the music, the colours and the harried guests and relatives. And, go for an unhurried, authentic buffet on a Sunday morning. You gotta pay for that fine dining...

And finally, here’s a tip- you want an orderly queue- MIGRATE! You are in the wrong country and you just cannot beat the population explosion. Whether it is at a traffic junction or a bus terminal it is always a matter of life and death to be first. The Pearly Gates were installed by God to keep out THE IMPATIENT INDIAN. Wonder how that’s working?

Only one way to find out..

Nimmou Nilakantan

THAT DREADED ROUTINE

THAT DREADED ROUTINE

The deadly disability we are burdened with is not disease, old age or toxic relationships. Oh nooo, all those have an end in sight even if it is death that bangs the door firmly in our face.

It is, don’t hold your breath, that ‘Deadly Routine’.

The trap that has us firmly in its steel jaws of monotony, shackled to its rusty chains, and unable to move  forward or break free.

So few of us realize that we are hobbled and wonder why we feel the leaden despair of leading our lives in that same relentless routine till we become meek slaves to this dull disorder!

You know you are caught in that treadmill of routine when all it takes is an unexpected guest to throw your gears out of whack. Not just a guest, it could be the maid who has no concept of time, children who do not respect it (your time, not theirs!) or nature who unkindly chucks a four day virus at you that no pills or potions will cure- routine has to suck it for 4 days as you lie chained to another master.

Not having your bath at the usual time can reduce your brain to jelly even if you are not indulging in any activity that aids your cerebral health after that bath at sharp 7 am!

Nothing fills us with greater unease than not doing something at the precise time we were supposed to. We are unable to shrug and just change our compass.

Alter the course and ride with the waves!

When routine gets upset it can drag you down quicker than a virulent attack of dengue.

Routine affects the bored housewife and the CEO in the same way- once it has you in its deadly grip there is no getting away. It does not matter if you have a ladle clutched in your hand or that Styrofoam cup of coffee- you are similarly stymied by that deadly routine.

How does one break free?

Everyone has to find one’s own Nemo.

I found my release by axing the ‘help’. I do my own ‘thang’ when I want to. I rather die than be trapped in the suffocating manhole of routine.

Far more likely though it will be due to eating out of a dirty dish I found too routine to wash!

Nimmou Nilakantan

ABOUT 'FACE' BOOK!

ABOUT ‘FACE’ BOOK!

One day, our children, when asked how they liked something- maybe a dish we lovingly cooked for them or a favourite story we read, will not reply with words. We will get a silent thumbs up as a reply and we can then point one accusatory finger at Facebook, since our thumbs will be busy pointing upwards and the other digits equally busy keying in nonsense on Facebook! Ironically, the very vehicle that was supposed to facilitate easy, instant communication has reduced our vocabulary to one gesture- the infamous ‘like’ sign. Who bothers to write anything original anymore or dare to express an original thought?

 There are roughly four categories of people on Facebook-

‘THE PROFILICS’- these are those jobless people who keep changing their profile pictures and posting them (prolifically!) and like Pavlov’s mutt we instantly press ‘like’ and give the written thumbs up...

‘THE TRAVEL HOUNDS’- Hound you with photographs of all the places they travel to on holiday or business or who-cares-anyway? If its information you seek for a dream destination to holiday in, how does a photo of your friend posing amidst stunning scenery give you anything but heartburn? I would rather watch Nat Geo or Fox Traveller than see my friend astride a donkey with a silly hat in the Andes...

‘THE CHOW HOUNDS’- this lot feel that strong urge to document and display the food they cook. Be thankful they spare you the horror of tracing the journey of their food to its final destination...

‘THE REGURGITATORS’- and this the most irritating of the lot. Like a vulture they prey on sensational news, chew it and spit it out like bolus, for us to stomach. They just love to ‘share’ a sickeningly sweet story, a wise old saying (preferably by Buddha or the Dalai Lama, because they are blank) or vent against a politician in case your newspaper wasn’t delivered.

Amidst all the trash, there are however a few who post funny videos and long live their tribe- anything that makes you laugh in the morning is a blessing. And, all of us are suckers for those simple home remedies because while we are deaf to our grannies  and moms, our senses are fine tuned to that one all powerful fount of silent, faceless wisdom which you can instantly affirm with a thumbs up.

Don’t be surprised when, in a few years from now, a parent asks their child “What is your favourite book?” and pat will come the reply-“Facebook!

”

Nimmou Nilakantan

CATCH A BREATH!

Illness is Nature’s jail cell- our body is a prisoner to her slow but sure healing. It is our minds that forlornly counts the bars and chafes against the handcuffs of our weak and ravaged body. If we could just accept lying still and calm that buzzing brain into believing that all will be well again. And, we will step back into that motorized monstrosity of modern life and never stop until God pulls the plug.

If illness is Nature’s jail cell then old age is the siding where the old locomotive got shunted into. He sits there unmoving watching the busy engines chug away to their destination leaving him to stare at the rusty rails in dismay.

There are two lessons to be learned from Nature and she teaches us this time and time again. Illness and old age are as inevitable as Death. The key lies in gracefully submitting to those handcuffs and happily sit on that siding watching the bustle yet glad not to be part of that frenzy.

Why do we despair when illness forces us to lie in bed too weak to move? And, why does old age make us feel that life is passing by while we remain spectators to the show? The sun still shines, birds sing, new life stirs and the earth rotates. Be content that you are a living part of it and not ashes scattered in the breeze or a clod of earth marked by a stone...

Rue not a single day that you draw a breath and though none of us will cheat death at least you will not cheat life- a bigger crime! Where there is life there is hope- the mantra that has brought people back from the brink, instilled hope in the hearts of the desperate and despairing and opened the closed senses to a more vivid and meaningful life. Embrace life but yes, throw a friendly arm over illness and old age- Nature’s rest stop to catch a breath!

Nimmou Nilakantan

How to survive the 'Surprise guest'

Your idea of a dream evening no longer comprises of dressing to the hilt and partying with a drink in hand in some smoky den with a whole lot of strangers whom you mistakenly thought were your bosom buddies. No Siree, your best buddy is now that flat screen in the corner which you stare at unblinkingly for 2 hours every evening, while you lay sprawled on your favourite sofa in your old nightgown.

As you stare bug eyed at the shenanigans in other people’s lives, the doorbell rings. So wrapped are you in a situation beyond surreal, that you will never be a part of, you do not hear the doorbell. All you hear is the muted grumbling of your better half (never could tune that off!) as he tears himself from his idea of a good evening ( nothing like evening news which focuses on how many were killed or starved to death) and walks grumpily to the  door. Suddenly you hear cheery ‘Hi’s’ and feel that blast of cold air that comes from the main door being opened and you know with dreadful certainty that it ain’t winter that has blown in early but a worst pestilence- that ‘Surprise Guest’. Here are a few tips to survive the horror of an evening of small talk with your sanity intact....

BE COOL

Now, if like me, you have been caught in a shabby transparent nightgown without underwear and your hair is an oily mess (you had planned to shampoo and condition the next day) and the T.V blaring your lack of a social life- act blasé. Give a Queen Elizabeth like wave with a teeny- tiny grimace of the lips that passes off as a small smile and excuse yourself. Let husband do the polite chit-chat- God knows he communicates in grunts when it’s just the two of you and this will give a chance to exercise those rusty vocal chords and use words apart form the surly ‘OK’ to your barked orders. Go to the bedroom and while you throw on some decent inner and outer wear plan your strategy to throw out the ‘surprise guests’ without seeming hostile....

BE FRUGAL

It is ingrained in our psyche to treat guests like Gods. Whether you are a Sheldon Cooper who has it dinned in his head by his God fearing Texan mother to offer a friend a ‘hot beverage’ especially if the friend is troubled or a dyed-in wool South Indian who is presumed to have an endless supply of Sambhar or South Indian coffee in their kitchen, what you need to do pronto, is focus on the word ‘needy’ and ‘friend’. These ‘surprise’ guests are neither-they are people you were friendly with almost 2 decades ago before they migrated to the Big Apple. Yet, every year they flock like migratory birds to their favourite nesting ground and lay an egg on your head. Surprisingly, though they flaunt all the trappings of the West they seem to have embraced none of the social conventions of the Promised land which decrees you call before you descend on unwary ‘friends’ and ‘relatives’. Worse, they come bearing no gifts apart from their good natured grins and ‘memories’ of the good times in the past. Time to dig your heels into that shabby sofa, and refuse to make or offer anything. Especially to these well-fed people who have fed on your generosity in the past. Offer them water and watch with glee as they shudder at the thought of picking up a bug. Thank God for the weapon of Mass Diarrhea- our blessed water that liquefies the gut of the U.S returned pest...

LOOK BORED

The hard part is having to sit and suffer through long forgotten memories of the past ‘good times’ which you rarely, if ever, recollect. Your best friend is sitting mute in the corner and you sit writhing in agony knowing that you are missing the juiciest episode in that drama you faithfully follow every evening. Part of you wonders how you can shorten this visit by half an hour without seeming rude and part of you just wants to throttle these intruders. The sheer nerve to presume you would be sitting at home with nothing better to do, than watch T.V (darn right presumptuous!) and they catch you literally naked in your living room while they are dressed to the hilt. And, worse than the recapture of old memories is the infernal snapping of the camera to make new ones! You are forced to pose while they busily click away to capture more precious fodder for the next surprise visit. One smile, one animated look, one friendly vibe and you know you are a sitting duck for these friends- you might as well bring out the pyjamas- it is going to be a looong night...

BE SMART

There is no point plotting revenge. They do not live 10 miles away and 10,000 mile does put a damper on your idea of dropping in unexpectedly on them and subjecting them to your heightened cheeriness, cosy memories and stylish clothes while they cower half- dressed in their sofa. Forget it-they know you are never gonna visit them and hence their noble intentions of keeping ‘in touch’, year after blooming year without so much as a phone call in-between. What really get you is that if they wanted your company so badly why the hell can’t they spend a little for it? Arrange a dinner at some venue and gather around all the old buddies- everyone knows that nothing buys bonhomie better than Uncle Sam. With whisky, free food and no clearing up why, I too could sing along old memory lane just as loud as they do. It’s the sheer gall of the unannounced dropping in that gets me every time- sometimes one needs an artificial aid to have a good time!

Here’s the plan and it is as frugal as your surprise guest- DON’T OPEN THE DOOR. Use that peephole and slide away on all fours when you see your U.S buddies on the other side. However, if they have phoned ahead, have come to take you out for dinner in a taxi (oh yes, they have seen and heard about Bangalore traffic) then throw open the door and happily engage in the ‘remember when’s’ of long, long ago since they are paying you to have a good time. Leave it to the Sheldon Coopers to offer a cup of tea on T.V – you demand that imported whiskey as the hostage host to a past you are forced to partake in the present. Got it?

Nimmou Nilakantan

BEYOND LONELY

Once I hit the mid-fifties, I found a distressing trait emerged. I began to constantly talk about being lonely to the only constant in my life- my long enduring spouse. The kids had grown and fled, my mother was dead, my siblings were not interested, my friends were still gainfully employed and my servant had quit five years before. With no faithful cat or dog and a maniacal resistance to working full time, coupled with a fierce intensity to my daily workout that left only one person who leant a patient ear to my daily plaintive cry-“I am so lonely...”

One day I realized I was sick of this place called ‘Lonely’ and decided to move out of it. And, lo and behold (sorry could not resist that!) I discovered this beautiful place called ‘Beyond lonely’. Allow me to share it with you...

In ‘Beyond Lonely’ the phone never rings but the sound of silence no longer bothers you. Ok, when it did ring occasionally, it did bother you because you were the repository of a litany of complaints from your sister, a list of disasters suffered by poor old Dad, more complaints from friends ticked off by their spouses and alarming tidbits of information from those grown up hulks, obstinately referred to as ‘kids’....

Instead of glaring at the phone and willing it to ring- you reach out and dial. Anybody who you think needs a cheerful ‘Hello’ trilled in their ear (including the complaint boxes that need it most!). Miraculously, your day brightens up and the sun shines brightly in the blue skies of ‘Beyond Lonely’...

There is no guilt in ‘Beyond lonely’. You love some thing; you indulge that love like a fond grandparent would indulge that precious grandchild of theirs. Unfortunately, the love that consumes us in middle age/old age is food and it becomes a dangerous hobby when over-indulged. But, apart from this passion there are so many things worthy of loving and doing. ‘Beyond Lonely’ is that paradise where you have all the time in the world to do what you love most. Whether it is reading, writing, walking, cooking, listening to music or just lazing, in ‘Beyond Lonely’ nobody disturbs or questions you! It is the island that is never reached but there are so many life rafts waiting to take you to shore wherever you want...

In ‘Beyond Lonely’ time has only the significance you bestow upon it. Hey, ‘Beyond Lonely’ is for those who have done hard time in that jail called Duty- as a sister, daughter, wife, mother, career woman. We are still not into dotage but have got our feet stuck in concrete while our heads are still in the clouds. All around life is buzzing but in ‘Being Lonely’ it seems to pass you by and you feel shut out. In ‘Beyond Lonely’, like the improbable green shoot which pokes out of a crack in the cemented footpath- a new way of life is stirring and beckoning.

What are you waiting for? Jump into ‘Beyond Lonely’ and live the life you always dreamed of but were too busy to live it. Instead of moaning into Old Age, transit into New Age where Self matters and the word Lonely is in the lexicon of losers! You are so Beyond Lonely....

Nimmou Nilakantan

6^th Jan 2015

The Journey of Life

The Journey of Life

Life is but a journey

Amma, you came with me a long way

And when you reached your destination

You got off one day...

I continue along the path

Filled with memories of you

I know that you are always close

In the many things I do...

When I reach out to people

I hear them say your name

In any quest I feel your presence

Your spirit that none could tame...

I do not seek you dearest Amma

You are always in my heart

I now understand that along Life’s way

We need to say goodbye and part...

One day I too shall reach

The last stop in this journey of mine

Till then my dearest Amma star

Your light shall always brightly shine...

Your loving daughter,

 Nimmou

23^rd Dec, 2014

THOSE FIVE DREADED WORDS

Everyday somebody kindly tells me those five dreaded words nobody wants to hear- 'You have put on weight'. I never know how to respond- with humble gratitude for pointing out something I confront daily in the mirror, with dismay and stern resolutions broken before I even utter them or do I go rabid and froth and foam in the mouth or should I be genteel and sarcastically note that I am still slimmer than them ( strangely the fatties are the first to point out weight gain, must have a nose for it like food, we will come to the ugly buglies later) and when I reach their size I shall kill myself but until that distant day I can live with this, thank you very much!.Or do I thunder out like a judge that they are dark and fugly (fat and ugly) and bald to boot but without a gavel in my hand I doubt if I can pronounce judgement on others.
 I usually find myself blank with dismay partly because, yes, I have put on weight and my first panicked thought on hearing their comment is "Oh no, they noticed!" and my second thought is "Why are they so nasty?" I am still trying to figure the second one out since I can never make a mean comment to anybody. Oh yes, I think mean comments like a dozen times per second, I tend to pass catty comments well out of earshot and far behind one's back but I will be darned if I go quaking to hell on the charge of making a person feel like shit.
We humans are unique in that we literally size people up and feel free to comment on that size and shape. I am pretty sure that in the animal kingdom when a bald eagle meets another bald eagle it's first comment will definitely not be " Little thinner on top eh?". Humans have that unique streak of cruelty not found in animals and weight is that sitting duck which makes anybody fair game.
What perplexes me and let's be honest, vexes me most is that I am not fat.Yes, I am not as skinny as I was in my teens, definitely not as svelte as in my twenties, certainly a far cry from the hour glass figure of the thirties but dammit I am in my mid-fifties and still have a flat tummy and a head full of hair. Yes, there is more meat on the bones, ( appealing I might point out in some cultures) but why should that be the focal point in any civilized conversation or made out to be a calamity one must deal with immediately?
If weight is the number one bludgeon of choice to beat one on the head with, a close second is the other five word dreaded question in our Indian society -Why isn't your son/daughter married? This question reduced me to a blathering wreck when I had a bachelor son- never mind that I nagged him to death about marriage or kept asking in shriller tones why wouldn't he get married and sniff disdainfully when he said he was waiting for his 'soul mate'.
Such a beautiful answer once you have married off your son but when asked this question by well meaning friends and relatives I could never come up with an answer that would loosely translate to "Shut the fu#k up!" Like the proverbial deer in the headlights I would freeze, then flounder, all the while in a panic mode thinking "Oh no! why isn't he married, this soul mate stuff is all very well but now these vultures are sniffing out a dead excuse..."
The schadenfreude is worst- you know, that bloody shadow friend who pretends to look out for your best interests at heart while secretly she wants to drive a stake through yours. If they have not already impaled you on the weight issue "You look healthy now (read fat!), you look young ( read plump!) you look nice ( read matronly!) all delivered in that smug, condescending tone that makes you want to make them into a shadow on the ground, they then stick you with the weightier issue- your unmarried progeny!.
But, halleluiah, there is a thing called Karma and it usually bites the bum of the meanest.When my older son was still an eligible bachelor and all our forays into various matrimonial sites only dug up mushrooms even a pig would disdainfully sniff at, one of my schadenfreude buddies kindly told me to "Stop running around in skimpy clothes ( I am a fitness trainer and my short shorts got her goat) and find a wife for your son". And, wouldn't you know, the match of my son's dreams, his 'soul mate' was found when I was in my skimpiest swimsuit and spoke to my swimming buddy about the bride hunt.That my son's wife was beautiful and I sealed the deal half naked made my 'friend' eat crow, sorry chlorine!
Now that I am still a couple of pounds (ok, ok, round it to ten and I refuse to admit to more) overweight and still have another bachelor son to 'marry off' I have decided that Karma is my best ally. And to those five dreaded words aimed like a bazooka at my head and heart I will not shoot my mouth off in return- I shall keep swimming in that skimpy outfit and let Karma do all the talking!
Nimmou Nilakantan

My Special Mother

Every year I used to ring up Amma on Mother's Day. "Happy Mother's Day!" I would trill. "Aiyyo" she would respond, "you are the only one who remembers to wish me". Now, there are four of us and Amma thought, like synchronized swimmers, we should do everything together. So, though Amma's statement was true at 7 am, I knew by the end of the day all four of us would have come good. For Amma, it was always ' that moment' that mattered.

"No one gives me flowers" was another pet peeve and later when a bouquet arrived from Suddha in Boston, she went into raptures about Meena Periamma's darling children, much to my annoyance. When I did buy Amma flowers, she scolded me for 'wasting Nila's money' ( it never struck her that I did earn a few paltry pennies of my own!) or she would say " Oh no, I have no vases ya, where will I put them?" .But Amma did love receiving flowers, second only to receiving phone calls with all the burning news.

Conversations with Amma had no beginning or ending. She never bothered with a greeting but just picked up from where she last left off. If she had  asked me to eat oats the previous evening, her morning phone call would begin with " Nimmou, did you eat oats?' and when I sarcastically retorted "And a very Good morning to you Ma..' she barely let me complete the sentence before picking up on two key words- "Good" and " Morning" and go off on her pet peeve... " Good Morning Pah! what bloody good morning, that bitch Pooja did not come and my heart is killing me..."

Then having said her piece she would ring off to pick up the conversation later in the day. I miss that most about Amma- her skipping the inanities and just cutting to the chase. Of course, when she was alive, i berated her constantly about it, not that she let it bother her. Her infamous weapon in her armoury of advice to Nimmou was " Eat oats and say Om"- neither of which I did and thus according to Amma suffered from poor digestion and a weak mind.

I miss you Amma. I hope the angels give you a bouquet of red roses in heaven and you are surrounded by souls who appreciate the wisdom in all your words. And, look down and know your daughter has never stopped loving you.

Happy Mother's Day...

CONSIDERATION- A NEW PERSPECTIVE

Treat your parent with love but more than that, treat them with consideration especially when they are old and you are an adult. What is consideration- Con Side Ration, which means you ration the con side when giving them any news.

When you were a kid, at the drop of a hat you ran whining and whingeing to them about your troubles. You always laid the dead rat at their doorway and they dealt with it. STOP DOING IT NOW.

They are old and they have enough trouble dealing with a thing called life without having a fractious ‘kid adult’ throwing at them problems regarding job/ spouse/ health ad nauseum.

Resist the urge to trumpet every achievement- they cheered your hideous art projects in school, sat through dull performances and now don’t make them clap with trembling hands.

Just because you are busy, do not be inconsiderate of their time. While the days remain the same length, time has slowed for them because they too have slowed down. Everything takes longer giving them less time to do it in and here’s the irony- they become busier doing less and hence their frustration.

Don’t add to it by taking chunks of their time with your problems. Your parents are not going to be around forever. Give them love without responsibility.

Now, behave like a responsible adult and stop crying on their shoulder- seek out your spouse and teach them the first lesson of marrying you- how to shoulder responsibility!

Nimmou Nilakantan