What's That Rubbish Your Kid Is Reading???

Right between Johnny Johnny Yes Papa (moral: Lie all you want and get away with a big smile) and Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew (moral: students in the West have an awful lot of spare time), there is this stage when every kid reads cutesy stories with hardcore morals in them. Some memorable morals are that in all Russian families, there are 3 sons and the youngest one is the most kind, intelligent and forgiving, small animals are kinder than large animals, demons are vanquished by the cute and not the brave, and anyone with three kids is either gonna die and leave them squabbling, or face a lot of sorrow in life.

I read an awful lot of moral stories too, but the one that probably defined my attitude to life was an unfortunate little book, of which, for some inexplicable reason, we had two copies at home. Probably some wise kid, not realizing she was inviting two sisters to her party, gave us both the same book as a return gift… there is really no other explanation.

Now in my ripe old age, the title of the book has escaped the zoo of my mind, but the story was roughly this: there's a barnyard in which there are many little animals, and they're all hungry, so Mother Hen says let's bake some cakes… I now wonder where barnyard animals got their fascination for processed food from, but at the time, hen-made cakes sounded like a good idea. So she and her kids gather some grains, and nobody wants to help them….she asks some random critter to thresh the grain, and he flat out refuses. She approaches someone else to knead the dough, and they make excuses; for baking again, nobody helps and she makes it herself…ultimately, the hen and her babies do everything, and the cakes are ready. Now almost-ready cakes give off this nice cakey smell, even those made by hens…..so all the barnyard critters are sooper excited and run up saying hooray let's have a cake party!

And then comes the masterstroke: Mother Hen tells them all to bugger off and has a party with just her kids! No being nice to lazy asses! No being charitable! Pure, unadulterated, triple refined, iodized justice! I dunno if the book was intended to teach me the steps of baking or the basics of the English language…what it entrenched deeply into my kiddie brain was that if you're working your ass off, what you get out of it belongs to you.

And therefore, despite spending 14 years in a school that made kids have debates on topics like"which is better: sharing & caring OR loving & giving?" I am a staunch believer in earning and keeping.

Grr

Since nobody else is updating this blog, I'll just have to do it myself, won't I? Huh!

With the new long working hours, I feel like a machine. All my waking hours at home are occupied by non-voluntary activities, and that makes me mad. Never ever have I sat in one place for as long as people expected me to. I like to think I work faster than most, and can finish most exams in half the time allotted for them. I also rarely have problems meeting deadlines, so I think I deserve and extra star, or atleast the flexibility of leaving when I am done. The school teachers who did not let me leave after I finished my paper were plagued with the crashing sound of my sketch-pen-castle collapsing in a silent exam hall, or elaborate drawings on the question paper, which they had to scan for "cheating" material embedded into the artwork. I am still thinking about how I can make an entire office miserable so that they'll let me go home. It's tough.

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One night last week, a bunch of people stopped us at the Brigade Road-Residency Road junction around 9pm. The group of two men, two women (in bright pink saris) and two kids (ten and one) asked us for some money for food, since they had not eaten for a while. In my usual Dilli ki Bandit Queen style, I walked past without paying attention, but the darling Husband stopped to listen. He offered to take them to a restaurant instead of giving them money. The only place we knew of nearby was closed, so we walked up Brigade Road to a shady-ish place. They sat down and we ordered Dal, Sabji and Kerala Parotas (is that how it's spelt?) The Husband paid up the bill and we waited for the food to arrive.

Ten minutes later, there was no sign of the food, and knowing we had a long walk ahead of us, we were keen to leave. However, Cynical old me was convinced this was a scam and right after we left, the folks we brought in would leave too, either with half the money from the restaurant manager, or without anything, coz they'd get thrown out of the place. So we decided to step out and stand in a place from where nobody in the restaurant could see us, and watch what happens.

As I had suspected, barely ten seconds after we stepped out, a guy from the restaurant came out, saw us, appeared to walk past, made a call, stared at us again, and then went and sat on the nearby steps. We stood our ground for a few more minutes, and then walked past the restaurant again. This time, we saw the waiter laying plates on the table. No food was in sight still. The spy was still sitting on the steps, looking at us.

We gave up and walked back home. We'd like to believe everyone was honest, the folks got fed, and the spy guy was probably doing something else. But I think the reason we walked away is because we sort of knew that would not be the case…

Can’t Bank On Nobody!

So after the grand success of the marriage registration, we moved on to step 2, getting each other's name added to our bank accounts. The husband took the initiative, and we submitted our papers one Sunday to ABN AMRO (Pronounced Yeh Bhi Hain. Aa Maro!). Fifteen days, two visits and many phonecalls later, we were told that no such request has been received. As I sat in the waiting area playing City Bloxx on the phone, the bank lady (there's only one person in the branch on Sundays, and employees take turns to do the Sunday shift) had the following conversation with my husband.

 

Sir, who did you hand over the form to?

One of your staff members, she was sitting in this same seat. You must have records of who did the Sunday duty on Aug 24.

What did she look like?

Umm…medium built, no spectacles….(my wife is sitting right here you idiotic woman….)

Did she have long hairs? Like till here? (pointing to hip)

(most uncomfortable) I think her hair was long…

Only one girl has the long hairs in our office, rest all have short hairs (this girl herself had fairly long hair, by the way)

I can surely recognize her if I see her…Do you have photos of all your employees? I can tell you right away!

No sir… but did she look like she was from here… was she pertaining to Bangalore?

Umm..er…maybe she was from here…yes

Oh then it must be XYZ!

Yeah I don't know her name….the next week on Tuesday she was sitting there (pointing to reception)

Oh PQR! You gave the form to PQR!

 

I have lost all hope of ever getting my golden debit card from here. The husband is also quite shaken, and we are thinking of shifting to HDFC (yeh chadhi, yeh phansi) or ICICI (Hai! Syaahi Syaahi!) bank. If you are pertaining to Bangalore and are knowing of any bank with equal hair length employees who may or may not work on Sundays but who do not lose forms, please let me know!

Gone Home To Mommy Daddeeeee!

Baby Brush has already flown South, but we had/are having an awesome time!