Stop. Please honk.

Among the lot, I like V the best. She borders on insanity and that by itself, scores her my brownie points. Plus, she shares her cinnamon rolls with me and if there is only one left and she is equally craving for it, she will 'accidentally' cut it unequally and offer me the bigger 'half'.

And today was her birthday. Which we knew atleast a month ago. As is the norm on birthdays, the girls will get together, pick a place for lunch and another place for 'deserts only' and crawl back to our office space after two hours of official lunch break. But V, being V, proclaimed that she wanted her 54th birthday to be special. I asked her if she is dying and if so, what her last wish would be. Not her last wish, but one of her wishes, she said, is to visit India. With me. I told her that is not happening, she can go to India, sans my company. We left that conversation at that, to proceed to the details for her self-proclaimed special birthday. This time, she wants to take us all, to a surprise location. She will drive and we will haul ourselves into her wagon to be driven to this rendezvous lunch place.

No post on V will leave the box without the mention of her husband, Kev. An established lawyer, pots of money. Mentioned his obsessiveness with Indian food. Oh really?, I asked. And then offered onion-methi bajji's, that I prepared. Used crushed red chillies and fresh green chillies. After a good greedy bite into one bajji, his whole face turned beet red. Mango laasi was then hurriedly offered, which he gulped in two seconds. Spoonfuls of sugar, and lamaze breathing. He forgave me. A sweetheart of a man.

V mentioned that she is also inviting Kev, his law partner Stacey and her new boy friend, Ryan for the birthday luncheon. So there I was, thinking she is taking us to an expensive sushi joint or maybe a high end cho-co-lat factory....some place, where I was sure I will be billed half my monthly salary. That evening, I casually mentioned to Mr. Upsi that, 'oh btw, I will be going out for V's birthday lunch tomorrow", dripped in pomp and splendour.

I chose my attire for the day carefully. Don't want to look too Average Jane, do I? A little blush and heels would help me blend in to the crowd she will be taking us.

It was noon already and we were jam packed in her car, cooing 'oh where are you taking us?, pray tell!". I noticed that the rest of the girls were also dressed up for the occasion. Ha. I am smart, afterall.

The car screeched halt. "We are here, ladies". I look around, and see trucks all around. Dusty road. Viola! She took us to a truck stop. Truck stop - where the truck drivers, the truckers, stop by for rest and relaxation. Of course.The food, I was later told, was invarialy good at truck stops. V and Kev come here often, it seems.

We walk in to the front door, and is greeted by smoke. And men, middle aged men with pot bellies, beard and a cigar. Another few with one foot already on their graves. Couple of cowboy boots and hats. Most probably took a shower when the Halley's comet was last spotted. A whistle or two, as we walk past these gentlemen. "Sit wherever you feel like, y'all", I turn back to find the waitress. A well endowed woman (front and rear) in her forties, wearing a super tight Tee, five sizes too small, exposing most of her mid section, juggling mass of flesh and oh, the Tee bursting with her buxom, says "wish you were here". Which I am sure, most of the patrons did. I might have had that deer-in the-headlights look, when V shook me and asked me to place the order. The other waitress was better toned, and kept calling me 'honey' and 'chica'. The only thing, I think, the place lacked,
was a good defeaning dose of 'choli ke peeche'.

And I tell you, y'all, what a boost of cofidence you acquire, after having a couple of these real tough truck men call you, hot. Just what a mother of a 2 y old with sagging unmentionables should hear. They might be a little over the hill, so what, so is George Clooney.

C'est la vie.

Open wells and broken hearts

With cupped hands, I hold the water
and I find you, my darling daughter
your eyes, your nose, your lips and your chin
I tremble and the water spills
with it, my heart shreds

I go back,
to my chained life
the sun rays through the creaked window
reminiscing my life with you,
my darling daughter...
===

Wells left carelessly open. When will you start paying attention?

Where the Lil One makes his way to the two's

Yesterday, it was the Lil One's star birthday, where he turned two according to the Malayalam calendar. If one goes by the global calendar, then his birthday is still three weeks away.
But I tend to like the confusion and chaos that multiple birthdays bring and most importantly, if I grew up thus and the Lil One is my progeny, then obviously, the beacon has to be passed. That is only but fair.

So, lo I wake up in the morning, after fighting the inner demon who always nudge me ever so gently to snooze the alarm and get few more minutes of shut eye. And usually I don't scum. But not today, when the motherly hormones are in full swing and I emerge as Mother India. Well, Mother Kerala. Will save the Mother India part on his actual birthdate.

And what do you know. Mr. Upsi and the Lil One wakes up to the smell of payasam and poori, and brewed coffee. And no celebrations are ever complete without those customary calls, first from the Lil One's Mush in India. She has already been to three temples, did archana and naivediyam and was waiting for dawn to break in the US of A, so I would call and she could her the Lil One's voice. By the time his Bappa and Bappu called (maternal grandparents), he had already downed one poori and was licking paysam off the spoon.

The temple visit was scheduled for the evening. The Lil One was picked up from his school and duly brought home.I offered him some paysam as a snack, since dinner was only an hour or so away and we had to be in the Temple on time. He didnt want any and I didn't push. Gave him a quick shower and while he was mocking around, I pulled out one Kancheepuram, two bangles, one and only one mangalasutra, finishing off with sindoor. Red sindoor, if you ask.
The Lil One ofcourse had to have the kurtha, which was sent all the way from India, just for his second birthday, to be worn to the temple. He kicked and screamed and had a huge meltdown.
"Amma, paaaak...". Ofcourse, he wanted to go the park and not the temple. And ofcourse, he didn't want anything to do with the kurtha. He was never picky on his clothes, didn't care and didn't mind what was put on him. So obviously I was shocked. The Kancheepuram was a crumbled mess by the time I managed to put the shirt on him. You know, a little three feeter wrestling with me and I could not win. There was a dirty jeans lying on the floor and he wanted to wear nothing but that jeans. The matching pants for his kurtha lay tossed on the floor. Patience was never my trait and I was this close to smacking him. Mother Kerala! Phew. Bah.

So off we went, in creased Kancheepuram and jeans-kurtha combo, buckled ourselves in the car, whistling our ride to the Temple. Red Chillies live two homes away and I had packed some payasam for her and her family. Suddenly, from the back seat, the little terror shrieked and pointed to the tumbler, saying, yelling, he wanted it. He had no clue what was inside and was done solely to irritate me.
Then I realized that probably he is hungry. So offered a banana, which he happily devoured and within minutes, he was back to a happy camper, singing songs and pointing to trucks to me each time one passes by.

On the way back from the temple, we had dinner of course. Idli, masala dosa with sambhar and chutney, accompanied by filter coffee. At the cashier, we also got some meeta paan.

The Lil One slept on the way home.

This morning, he woke up happy. But two minutes into the day, he was acting cranky. Wanted to have my toothbrush to brush his teeth. Only Amma's toothbrush. I ignored him, which led to a meltdown, I continued ignoring and finally, he came around, asking for his.
Breakfast was waffles. I asked him if I shall cut it into bite sizes. He nodded. And watched me cut the waffles. I was almost done, when he got most upset and told me, "No amma, no, no", complete with hand movements, pouting lips and fat tears. He wanted an uncut waffle. Duh.

The two's are here, I guess. Say hello.