Momspiration πŸ’•

#momspiration

One of the perks of living alone, my mom says, is finding things where you left them.

Now, after decades, I can understand why this meant so much to her. Nothing is more frustrating than reaching into a drawer when you are all set to cut something and find the scissors missing 🀬

She does things her way and very few things get broken by her hands.

I don’t have ‘Butter fingers’, she says, unlike me, she means πŸ˜”.

I check out my hands, they seem pretty capable to me, but my eyes also don’t miss the ‘feviqik’ marks on many of her old curios, because of me.

She discards very little, especially if these are gifts from her children or grandchildren.

Then, there’s the question of questioning everything.

The ‘whys’ are unending, especially when related to technology. Earlier, she could not keep up with the string of ‘whys’ her children subjected her to, now I feel inadequate. She cannot understand this fast-changing world and she couldn’t care less.

Getting her on the ‘WhatsApp’ was a victory. Deciphering her, ‘nopunctuationnofullstopnocapitalletter’ message is a major defeat on some days 😊

I received a Friend request from mom on Facebook. I was shocked. But I also knew that one of her grandkids was visiting, fuelling her on to take the FB plunge! I sent her a gushing welcome note full of enthusiasm… I still haven’t heard from her. It’s been two years.πŸ˜”

“How do you find so much time? β€œ
β€œDon’t you have anything to do?”

Are some of her FAQ’s when we meet.

The final one is,

“Do you have nothing else to write about?” after reading yet another article in which she is the protagonist 😁!

#mom #memories #maza #πŸ’•UMOM

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The Driving Test πŸ˜‚

So. I went to Sheikh Sarai to get my licence renewed.😎

The all important Window No 1. looked empty from a distance so I increased my speed to a double trot, not believing my good luck.😁

Once there, the reason became clear… Starting 26th Dec, all tests were going to be conducted from Sarai Kale Khan πŸ™„.

When I broke this news to my driver he was shocked…. But that’s so far, he exclaimed.

I would have nothing of it. So off we went in search of this elusive place. Upon reaching I was introduced to a full-blown, complex, complicated course, designed to make you fail!

The instructor incharge was a man of few words.. 

I will not repeat my instructions, you don’t follow, you can leave. You touch the embankment, you leave. If you cannot make a tight, looped, 8, leave, if you cannot parallel park, you know what to do… I thought in my heart, When do we stay!??

To make matters more interesting, as it happens in India all the time, when there is a high probability of people making a fool of themselves in public, a large group had gathered around the boundary walls of the driving course.. (my driver included 😢).

Having driven most of my adult life, I was working out my cuts and turns in my head, visualizing amazing grace and dexterity in my every turn πŸ˜‡. It didn’t help that the three drivers ahead of me were disqualified for climbing on various embankments πŸ˜₯ within minutes of each other. 

When my turn came, I reached the instructor efficiently… Only to be told,

Seatbelt kaun bandhe Gaa???

Looking suitably shame-faced, I buckled in and tackled the course, with minor hiccups 😏.

I remembered to give the indicator everytime the road turned, I was neither fast, nor furious (πŸ˜‚) just a picture of calm on the outside.

When the result was announced, I felt no less than Miss World!!! I could’ve thrown flying kisses to all the hangers on, who were showing me the ‘thumbs up’ sign πŸ˜†πŸ˜

But I didn’t.

I was just glad that I hadn’t failed the test that my son had passed!!

To be in Foreign Lands..Β 

Saadi Saga..!!

We are both speaking english but we both don’t understand what the other is saying. Each is believing that the other is lacking basic intelligence. We stare at each others lips brazenly in the hope that the moving parts will reveal something more for the ears to comprehend. Magically, we both stop at the same time. This conversation isn’t going anywhere.

I restart, taking in a deep breath and gathering all the patience that only a mother can muster up in situations that can drive others insane.

“Dew. yiew. haive. ainy. vege. thaarian. aaptions. puhleese?” I enunciate slowly

“Aaaah! Oui!” she says excitedly, “feesh??”

….And it starts again…

I want my words to be light and breathy, like foam over a perfectly made cup of cappuccino, but alas, change doesn’t happen over a days time. My words feel clunky and large, as if they are taking too much space in the air when they come out and they do not float like wispy clouds, but instead fall like stone pellets. There is no way an Indian can take out the breathy lilt that a French can so effortlessly. Their tongue curls in inhuman ways, injected with treacle and ice in equal measure. My ears are tired of trying to understand them, as I am sure theirs are too. And whereas I am dealing with just one, they have to deal with a huge number of interesting situations. 

An old grandmother walks into the plane with a grandchild on her aging hip and three polythene bags over her shoulders and arms. Her hair is dishevelled, as is her dupatta. She asks the prim, french stewardess, “Main kitthe javan?” The lady is bewildered to say the least. Very patiently and inhaling deeply she asks for the boarding card. The grandmother promptly puts all her bags on a vacant seat and asks her to forage through them to find it while she proceeds to resettle her slumbering grandson. The stewardess raises both her hands, as if faced with a grenade instead of stuffed polybags. 

“Eye kan’t do thait!” she says in a panic. Meanwhile the grandmother fishes out the limp boarding card and presents it.  The lady reads it and proclaims, “twenty nain!”

“Kee??” asks the grandmother

“Unattee,” I pipe in, suddenly, I have dropped into the situation like a knight in shining armour. The stewardess looks at me with new respect as I take charge.

“Twanoo madad chaidey?” I offer. the grandmother looks immensely relieved. I pick up her many bags, like a seasoned coolie and guide her to her seat.

“Chould you help us here puhleeze?” they ask me when I return. A passenger from another part of the plane has made her way to the washroom in this section. The accosted lady is looking apologetic and saying,”Utthe bahut bheed seegee, pressure kabu nee horiya…” Okay, I don’t want to take the risk of translating this for sure! So I nonchalantly tell the posse of staff, “She’s good, won’t be a minute.”

The much relieved lady hurries into the loo and takes her time… A very long one at that!

I know they are staring at me, but I bore into my diary and scribble furiously with my pen and look very busy…!