NOSE BACK TO THE GRINDSTONE

I sit in a class (after some 10-odd years) with 50 others, zoned out and trying hard to keep an expression of avid interest on my countenance. It wouldn't do to antagonize the presenters. After all I have been there, done that. To stay awake, I begin a mental list of things I am going to be missing out on, now that I have rejoined the class of "working moms."

-No more pajamas all day long. Color coordination is in, and if the buttons are all intact-half the battle won.
-Yes, I do need to figure out where the comb has hidden itself.
-Yeah, I have to look at the clock at intervals and not just to see if
> my favorite movie has begun on the tube yet.
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> -No more catnaps.
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> -No more eating whenever I felt like it.
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> -No more gaining malicious pleasure out of scaring salesmen with gunk on
> my face.
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> -No more dance class and prancing about the gym.
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> -No more walks to pick up my son and seeing the grin on his face as he
> races home.
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> -No more time or energy to listen to all the stories his vivid
> imagination conjures up.
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> -No more tea-time gossip sessions with mom.
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> Sigh!!! Is it all worth it in the end???
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HAIR TODAY GONE TOMORROW

Emergency situation that called for drastic action.

Appu’s head was beginning to sport a realistic afro and his tiny little face was lost somewhere in all those curls. Repeated entreaties to both men in the family were met with a “later, we are busy.”

Never one to give up once I got something into my head, I decided to take Appu to the nearby barber’s. This decision was met with a scandalized reaction from my dad. “What?” “Youre going to go into a men’s saloon?” “ Are you out of your mind?” “What will people think?”

“That I came in to get my son’s hair cut, that’s what.” Proud of myself for having come up with a witty retort at least this once and feeling distinctly superior for breaching yet another male bastion, off I went. As I parked my bike, I was filled with trepidation. Had I bitten off more than I could chew? Was I ok with being stared at by all the resentful men waiting for their haircuts? What if Appu decided to kick up a fuss and refused to sit still?

Praying to all the gods I could think of, I set foot inside the saloon and surprise, surprise!!! Not a single patron around. It was a Tuesday, when most people do not get their hair cut.

My heart rate returned to normal and I made myself comfortable while my son got his hair cut. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t move a muscle for the next 15 minutes. Were there any more surprises in store for me?

As I sat around waiting for the barber to finish, I looked around the saloon. No girlie pictures, not even a calendar. But every single brand of hair dye and bleach I had ever heard of was displayed on the shelves. It was funny to see all those female faces on the boxes in an all-male saloon. Whoever thought of fairness creams, bleaches and shampoos for men is certainly going to be laughing all the way to the bank!!

Made for each other

I, like hundreds of working women the world over, have a love hate relationship with my maid.  Or should I be saying household helper to be politically correct? 

I cannot fathom why she needs to have the simplest instructions repeated over and over again and I am sure she wonders why I nitpick so much;  and why I cannot leave my  frustrations at work where it belongs-in the office!!

However, at times I do wonder which one of us is truly the “emancipated” one.  She, who is unlettered, manages the household finances so well that she actually manages to put away a small amount each month for each of her children, while I, with all the resources available to me, still need to take the help of hubby dear even to declare my taxes!!

I have hit a wall trying to convince hubby dear that adopting a baby would be a good idea (relatives be damned!) while she, has gone right ahead, adopted one and brought her up to be a woman in her own right; able to stand up for herself.

So, imagine my shock when she, who was unfazed even when her roof caved in and her house was flooded (two separate instances) was reduced to a crying, shivering mass of nerves the other day.  The whole story, when it came out, reduced me to temporary paralysis too.  Her elder daughter, allegedly for no rhyme or reason, had emptied a cauldron of boiling hot sambhar over herself, and  my poor maid was informed of it  only three days later.

In between trying to get more information from the faraway Vellore CMC hospital and trying to get my maid there at the earliest, I was stuck by how fragile our lives were.  One wrong step by anyone in our orbit and all our hopes and dreams, all our calculations and plans can go up in smoke.   I havent heard from her in two days; while I am writing this, I am hoping and praying that her daughter recovers and that it was all an accident….the alternate is too horrifying to even imagine.