PARENTS ARE PEOPLE TOO!

PARENTS ARE PEOPLE TOO!

Everywhere, you have groups who take up cudgels for the weak and worthy. You have PETA for animals and I have just formed mine called PAPT- Parents Are People Too! Just a little reminder or rather a spoiler alert for all those ungrateful offspring that God did not put us on earth solely to sacrifice our entire life for the well being of our children once they have become adults. So, here is the list as a reminder, that parents, especially mothers, were not put on earth only to ‘nurture’ (read pander to every whim and fancy) of their offspring and not all were named Theresa....

SPOILER ALERT #1

Your Dad is not an ATM though countless T-shirts with that cheeky slogan have set the cash registers ringing. Make your own money and spend that. Filial love does not extend to funding outlandish dreams, buying expensive gifts or giving a false sense of entitlement at the risk of Dad’s ‘fiscal’ health.

SPOLER ALERT #2

Your mom’s higher calling was not just to fill that empty well that masquerades as your stomach. Once you turn 21, learn to cook! That way you do not need to banish your poor mom with a ladle in her hand to that hot hell hole she escaped from the day you left home. She has since joined a Bird Watching group and so far has not yet spotted one aged bird feeding it’s adult progeny a single worm leave alone a gourmet meal! The nest is empty and the kitchen is closed- get it?

SPOILER ALERT #3

Your parents are not a confession booth nor are they a garbage chute. Confess to your priests all those misdeeds- your Dad is not ordained nor is he interested in every little bump in your life. As for your mom- the maternal ear would rather hear the soulful rendering of a 'bhajan' rather than all that whining about bad food or the endless commute Go directly to Facebook and share with those virtual friends- all 867 of them...

SPOILER ALERT #4

Our heart leaps up when we behold a rainbow in the sky, a little puppy or a freshly baked cake made by somebody else. It plummets when you give us the ‘good news’ that your plans for a holiday involve camping in the parental home that you could not wait to leave as a teenager. Suddenly, we have assumed new and infinitely more appealing avatars- cooks, babysitters, fund managers and innkeepers. No, no, no, no, no ,no! Yes, we parents love seeing you children and your children in any place on earth but our own house. So, let’s fix that neutral venue where one person is not catering to the needs of a dozen others- also called a hotel...

SPOILER ALERT#5

Stop holding us hostage to those imagined childhood injustices. Okay, okay, we were monster parents but still in spite of all the scolding’s, slaps (truly sorry for those pinches) and implanting that gigantic chip on your shoulders. But, still, miracle of miracles, in spite of all that bad parenting, all of you turned out into decent, law abiding citizens. Nobody was maimed or scarred so laying that emotional burden on our doorstep just ain’t gonna work. That guilt trip has been undertaken and the charges have been dismissed for lack of any discernible evidence. Here is an idea for redemption- try being the perfect parent. If the shoe fits, wear it and walk in it...

SPOILER ALERT #6

Here’s a newsflash- we do have a name other than Amma, Ma, Mom, Mamma and though we love being called that do remember that we were not christened Ma or Pa. Our parents called us darling, sweetie, pumpkin, honey, chellam- all the names we call you (plus a few unprintable one’s when goaded) and what you will call your kids. All we ask, no implore, sorry, beg you is to remember we have an identity that goes with our given names and mom is the moniker that came with parenthood...

SPOILER ALERT #7

And this most important of them all- before we became parents, we were, hold your breath, husband and wife AND (cue drum roll) we were happy! You kids were icing on the cake but before you’ll arrived life was pretty damn good with just cake too! Do keep that in mind when bringing up your own kids- you can have your cake and eat it too! Happy Parenting...

Nimmou Nilakantan

(Mom, darling and Nimmou)

AN AYE FOR AN AYE

AN AYE FOR AN AYE!

The best punishment for your children is- children! Their own! Just as you fight fire with fire the only way to conquer an ailment is with a dose of its own germs. Sorta like homeopathy. Give small doses of the toxin to negate the ill effects of the same. You catch my drift? All we parents need to do is bide our time, cease the nervous drumming of our fingertips, stop the question that reverberates in our head ‘Do you even know what sacrifices we parents make?’ and just wait.

Time will pass slowly but surely and the cycle will be complete. The relentless march of time will be unstoppable and the clock will complete the circle. And then you will have closure because what was done unto you will be done unto them. First, by those little hands and later by invisible fists of fury in the form of hurtful words. “You just don’t get it”, “As if you care”, “You are irrelevant”, “STOP INTERFERING”- all the angry blah blahs hurled at you like pointed arrows which stabbed your maternal heart will reverse trajectory and find its mark.

Like a postcard without enough postage and stamped ‘Return to sender’- parenthood is a complex route where the goal is not the destination but the journey. Many times the parent does not know that the journey has come to an end and it is usually when your ‘kid’ has become an independent adult. You just have to LET GO. Whether it is anxiety that spurs the advice or love that goads the action, if you find that the postcard is being returned, STOP and do not RESEND.

Take a good look and withdraw. If you persist in breaching the perimeter you are likely to be shot down. The hardest thing for a parent is to be a mute spectator while their flesh and blood self-destructs. Whether it is their physical health they are abusing, their fiscal health they are callously decimating and their lifestyle choices- we have to be like the third monkey and seal our mouths. Look, listen but do not speak. At least that way no one can make a monkey out of you!

Nimmou Nilakantan

HOW TO SURVIVE AMERICA- THE LAND OF SMILE AND NOD!

Somehow you thought being an Indian made you an ultimate survivor- deprivation does that. And then you came to America- the land of surfeit and sensory overload. And, you began to flounder like a fish out of water. No Scout’s motto could ever prepare you for this much opportunity in one land. So, just hop on the bus and enjoy the free ride...

The sheer friendliness and cheerfulness of the people gets to you. Here in India if you make eye contact with even a stray dog it growls at you. Not so in jolly America. Be prepared to be nodded at, smiled at or have a cheery “How you doin’?” aimed at you the minute your eyes meet a stranger. And, no, you cannot walk with your eyes on the pavement even if you are a grump puss who wants no contact with other humans because you need to read the ‘Signs’...

Remember how Manoj ‘Night’ Shamalan made a movie with the same name- ‘Signs’? Americans believe in signs- big bold ones written in red. You come to a road and there’s a big red one saying DON’T WALK and in case you are illiterate it has a big red hand telling you to STOP. Now to an Indian this is highly irritating. No one tells you what to do- only you do. You hold up your hand to stop traffic in your country as you coolly waltz across the road.

What really confuses you is when the light turns green for the pedestrian to cross it is also green for right turning traffic(Americans drive on the left side of the road). But, the polite American waits patiently for the old, weak, and infirm and the brain dead to slowly cross the road. No honking, no gunning of engines, just the jolly, patient American with the blinking signal waiting for you to cross the road before he turns.

Here you have perfected the ‘Sidewalk Salsa’ learnt while evading death in the hands of the Bangalore motorist where one misstep will result in a lost limb. With cars honking and scaring the living daylights out of you as you put one tentative step forward, one back and salsa till you scuttle across the road in abject terror.

It is easy to spot an Indian in America- just look for the one who looks frenziedly right, left AND over his shoulder expecting to be run over any minute at a pedestrian crossing...

Nothing prepares you for the trash an average American family generates. With everything disposable, especially incomes, the amount of plastic waste generated is incredible. In India only a rag picker will have such a huge bag of dry waste slung over his shoulder after a marathon foraging effort. Everything that can be used once and thrown finds its’ way to the gargantuan household garbage bag in America...

Everything works so beautifully in America- no chaotic traffic, no garbage strewn streets, and no obvious signs of poverty or rank corruption. Then why does the Indian living in America still hanker and yearn for home? What is there not to like in America?

The answer my friend, came to me blowing in the dust and dirt free wind- there is everything to like but nothing to love. It is the ‘Land of the Found’- they have found the secret of an easy life but somehow lost the plot on how to live. America is all wealth but no heart. It has glitz, glamour and beauty but the ugly truth is it has no soul. And that, one just cannot survive...

Nimmou Nilakantan

THAT DARN CLUB- MOSAP!

You look back to those teething, burping and crapping years and you feel like crying- you would exchange any amount of crap filled diaper changing to the s##t you are facing today. At that time motherhood seemed such an awesome responsibility. You were solely in charge of another human being. And, how they turned out rested on your bent shoulders. Well, straighten up and face reality. It seems now that the human being you thought you were raising right seems to be incapable of finding Mr.or Ms. Right!

That’s right- I am talking about the specter that is haunting old parents and frightening them to death. The crusty bachelor or spinster who stares you in the face, stubbornly insisting that they are fine with their single status. Yeah, why not? They still have their old mom to run to and unload all the petty woes of their blissful existence.

You lie in bed staring at the ceiling in abject terror at their loveless existence (or so you imagine!). “Why aren’t they married?” “Why aren’t they married?” beats like a crazy drum, relentlessly, in your head. Never mind that moms of married children who refuse to have kids are having cymbals crashing in their brain! The worst sin in India apart from the universal horror expressed loudly “OMG, you have put on weight” is “Your son/daughter is still not married?”

There is no escaping that Cyclops eye of censure. It is there to track every shortcoming in your life and never sleeps. Like a crazy offshoot of the Israeli elite force, start a Club called MOSAP- ‘Mums of Single Adult Progeny’. You can then enjoy a crib fest of unresolved, unmarried issues with a lot of eating, drinking and making merry.

Or, you can firm up those sagging shoulders and just shrug. That’s it! With that one snip of the umbilical cord another life began over which you DO NOT have exclusive rights. Now if you fear censure just look at that Cyclops eye and poke it! There are none as blind as those who will not see....

Nimmou Nilakantan

GREEN OR WHITE

Like water, we must flow wherever our path in life takes us. The minute the first barrier in the form of some hardship or privation appears and we stop, that is when we become a stagnant cesspool. Life becomes murky and that becomes a breeding ground for disease. It does not matter what our age is or what stage our life is at. We need to keep the flow- alter our course, re-direct the stream, go high, go low, bend, curve, bubble but never stop and be still. We stop doing this when we grow old and tired or when confronted with the hurdle of ill health. We then build a mental dam and stagnate. We stop examining our own lives and instead peer through a microscope and search for bacteria in the life of those around us.

Usually the first targets are our adult offspring who come under our scanner. The worst trait a parent is guilty of is to criticize one offspring to another. You can be sure if your parent is grousing and carping against your sibling, hold that glee at the thought of being the flavour of the month. What is done unto others will surely be done unto you!

What makes some old people so bitter? The ones who are content are those who have friends, hobbies and good relationships regardless of the state of their hips, knees or eyes. They have that cheery spirit as they hobble along, like a brook that babbles along its stony path regardless of the rocks in its path.

 The toxic old are those who cannot let go of past glory-that important job, the exalted status, and the revered head of the family- all in the past and now they feel reduced to trivial battles of facing a long, boring day.

 So what does one do if you have a sharp mind, a sharper tongue and a dull old body? Turn your laser pointer and pinpoint the flaws of your near and dear ones? Simmer and seethe as others busily flow towards the ocean while you are a dark pool of discontent in that lonely forest.

Green scum coats the surface of a stagnant pool but cream also rises to the top.

 You always get to choose the colour of your life- Green or White?

                                                ___________

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