The Good, Bad and Ugly of Everything

A Planned Pregnancy, A Semi Planned Surgery and Some Unplanned Weight Loss

It was two years since we got married and we were attending a cousin’s wedding (one of numerous cousins). We were approached by a innocent looking middle aged woman and were asked about our procreation plans. We had no idea who the lady was but tried to brush her off without discussing our family planning measures. Her reaction was to threaten us on behalf of Lord Almighty, “You shouldn’t delay such things, God won’t give you the gift of progeny as per your convenience.” Although we were shocked by her declaration, we let it slide.

Our family planning involved waiting for two years of marriage and then starting to try for kids. So when I conceived right after we completed two years of marriage, it was a pleasant but unexpected surprise. On one hand, we were happy that unlike that lady’s prediction, God decided to bless us at our own convenience. But on the other hand, we were still unprepared for a new life to enter our lives. We found a gynecologist nearby to consult and confirm the news. Her advice when I enquired about consuming non vegetarian food was to depend more on salads and fruits and avoid non veg if possible. The pure non vegetarian in me started hating that doctor right away.

Within a week of confirming pregnancy, my struggle with nausea started. I wouldn’t use the euphemism “morning sickness” for my suffering. It was a 24 hour ordeal with me not being able to keep anything in my stomach. I was living on a diet of rice and curd or chapati and milk. Some of my favorite foods like chicken and chicken liver became my sworn enemies (I still cannot eat liver). Simultaneously I had cravings for Maggi and Chinese food which were on the no go list. Out of sheer pity, my husband used to buy these for me, hoping something would stay in my stomach. One bite, and I would rush to the restroom to throw up everything I ate from morning. We even bought a small stool to keep in the toilet so I could be more comfortable in my long vomiting sessions in there. The doctor discouraged me from medication for vomiting, which made me uncomfortable to consult with her further.

We came to know that there was a gynecologist in our neighborhood who was well known in Mumbai. We went to meet him. One check up and he told me that I have fibroids. The subsequent scan only helped to confirm two fibroids. It was quite scary because I made the mistake of Googling the issues with fibroids. Anyway, the dilapidated condition of the clinic and the fact that the doctor was male(Yes I am a bit conservative in this matter, thank you for the judgment) prompted me to find a new doctor.

By the time I had settled with my new gynecologist I had already lost almost five kilograms in the first four months of pregnancy. I had resorted to wearing thicker clothes to give me a false sense of weight gain. I was concerned that this weight loss was going to hurt my baby. My doctor helped me through this phase and ensured me that things aren’t as bad as I had thought it through in my head. It seems nausea and loss of appetite lasting throughout the pregnancy, even if not common, was not unheard of.

It was from the fifth month that I actually started gaining weight and started enjoying pregnancy (albeit with the help of nausea medicines). But by then, the next problem had started. I used to get constant pains below my chest, making it impossible for me to sit in a place for more than ten minutes. The doctor explained to me that my short stature was not allowing the uterus to expand upwards and was causing the discomfort. Consequently I had to take maternity leave from an early date (I had a desk job-what was the point of going to work if I couldn’t get any work done).

The phase of waiting for the little one to arrive had begun. My short stature also meant that I had an inadequate pelvis (pelvis not expanded enough to push out the baby). So the doctor had already informed us that it would be a planned c- section for me. I had heard stories of how a woman would be an ideal mother only if she survives labor pain. But I was never a fan of being ideal. So I felt no qualms in taking the doctor’s advice and settling for a planned caesarian. Although I was initially told that I was under the risk of early labor due to fibroids, the baby didn’t show any sign of coming out soon.

As per doctor’s advice, we had selected an apt date for the surgery and had packed our bags for admission. Two days before the planned date, while I was taking one of my early morning bathroom breaks, I felt like I had some discharge. I woke up my mother to take her expert opinion and she asked me to wait for some more time. I started spotting soon enough and I decided that it was time to wake up dear husband mine. I woke him up saying we had to get to the hospital soon. He just grumbled and wrapped his blanket tighter. Despite informing him that I had started bleeding, he didn’t seem too keen to be interrupted from his beauty sleep. Finally I had to resort to exhibiting a wiped tissue to make him understand the seriousness of the matter. We reached the hospital soon and after checking I was told that although the water had not broke, I had some infection and the surgery needs to be done soon.

An issue due to nurse duty meant that it was taking too much time for the operation theatre to get ready. By afternoon I had started experiencing labor pains and the baby’s heart beats had started declining. I heard my doctor barking orders to everyone and I was finally taken in for surgery. The baby was taken out a little after 2.30pm- a healthy little girl who resembled her father as though my uterus was a photocopying machine. All the nausea, the weight loss and pains were forgotten the moment I kissed my daughter for the first time.

I have heard people belittle women who have undergone c-section, saying they had it easy and did not have to go through labor pain. But the after surgery recovery pains undergone by caesarian mothers is no less, sometimes even worse. I have never felt any guilt for having to settle for a surgery. In fact, neither me nor my husband wanted to take any risk to chase the glory of a normal delivery. We trusted our doctor to do the right thing. At the end of the day, the only thing that matters is that you have a fine and healthy baby in your arms; the mode of delivery is a trivial matter.

I survived a pregnancy with unbelievably awful nausea, weight loss, UTI, fibroids, ear infection, burnt leg due to a kitchen mishap and an almost emergency surgery. Despite all these discomforts I opted to have another child. So from my experience I can safely say: plan your pregnancies, prepare for unplanned events during pregnancy and keep your fingers crossed for all the best things to happen to you but don’t get disheartened if things turn less than ideal.

A Letter to My Daughter

My Dear Child,

You came home yesterday evening from the playground, crying and complaining about a boy trying to chase you. I know the kid to be a bit of a brat, from your early interactions, but this was the first time that he had tried to hurt you physically. Your “strong like Thor” Appa, got dressed to catch hold of the culprit and give him an earful, but the boy had vanished. I caught up with him later and talked some sense to him but I doubt it would make any difference. Incidents like these are becoming common for you now. Teasing by kids in school bus, naughty boys snatching toys in playground, your own classmates taking advantage of you by making you do their art classwork, I am realising that you have not yet learned to fight your own battles.

Back when we were in China, most of your friends were boys, some of whom were very keen on resolving disputes through muscle power. Being a bit shy and passive, you have been at the receiving end of some hits and scratches. On all those occasions I have stood up for you and intervened. But now that you are growing up, I cannot be there all the time. You are still wary around boys and get upset for even silly fights. I have never seen you raise hands at anyone and I am not sure how well equipped you are to defend yourself from physical altercations. How do I tell you, my naazuk pari, that you needn’t be at the best of behavior all the while and can be a “bad ass” once in a while?

Back when we were younger, girls were told to be well behaved. Picking up fights, talking back to others and basically standing up for oneself was considered a bad thing to do. We would also be told “Women should be responsible for their own safety”, “Who asked you to wear such inappropriate costumes when you go out?” and such, if we complained about gropings or eve teasing. I promise not to do the same to you. I will equip you to stand up for yourself and will stand by your side and fight for you without placing blames, even if others don’t.

The world we live in is not safe for little girls like you. It isn’t safe for big women like me either. You are too young to understand the dangers that lurk around you. All you need to know is that your Amma is your safe place. You can run crying to me, you can get angry at me, you can even throw a few stuffed toys at me when you feel angry or sad. I will not teach you to repress your feelings. You need to cry, you need to laugh, you need to shout without being judged for being a girl. Above all of this, you need to say “NO” if something/ someone makes you uncomfortable. I will make sure that your NO is taken seriously and dealt with.

There are people who would make you feel bad about being a girl. They would tell you to dress in a certain way, walk in a certain way, not go out after certain times and behave in a specific way they think is right for a girl. Never allow such people to dictate how you live your life. Be strong and build your personality in a way that people would think twice before messing around with you. Despite your efforts, if people still irritate you or insult you, come to your parents. We will be your knights in shining armor, as long as you want us to be.

I apologize to you for the world that I have chosen to bring you in to. Although not under my control, I might have contributed in a way to this world: by choosing to ignore minor abuses, by staying quiet when I saw abuse, and enjoying movies that trivialized abuses (this is long before Kabir Singh, which I haven’t even seen yet). But changing the world would take time, effort and drastic measures. That is why I want you to change. You are six years old, still too young to form opinions of the world you live in. I want you to always remain alert. I want you to be more assertive with your likes and dislikes. I want you to build up physical strength. I do not want you to shy away from physical altercations. I do not want you to blindly trust people. I don’t mind if you are not a perfect girl all day long, you are allowed to have meltdowns and you are allowed to have bad behavior marks in your diary. What I do not want is for you to be scared by bullies and fail to bring them to the notice of either your parents or your teachers. You have been taught about good touch and bad touch; remember to bring bad touches to my or your Appa’s notice immediately, no matter who they come from.

A few years from now, you might get into epic fights with me, when I tell you to come home by 9 pm. You might slam a door on my face when I forbid you to wear a short dress. You might hate me when I tell you to stay away from people who I feel might be bad company. Amma might do things that you resent, I might even end up embarrassing you in front of your friends. But all through it you need to know that I love you and I do certain things for your safety. I went through the same phase with my mother and today I am thankful for her intervention in my teenage years. With my impulsive nature, I wouldn’t have safely made it through my teen years if not for some strict parenting by my mother.

I do not want you to think that all is bad and unsafe in our world today. I hope that you only get to experience good people in your whole life. Alas, that can’t be guaranteed. Please don’t allow bad experiences to judge the world as ugly. Sooner than later, I will have to let go of your little finger that I hold on to. Soon you will grow wings and fly to face the world. No matter how much you grow up, you will be my little baby and your Amma would always be concerned for your safety. Don’t hate me when I call you every night just to know if you are fine.

P.S. I baby proofed the whole house when you started crawling for the first time. Every time we moved houses, yours and your sister’s safety was my main concern. I want you to show at least as much concern for your own safety. Because I can only baby proof the house, I cannot baby proof the world. I just hope my parenting can help you to world-proof yourself, my baby.

With lots of love and a bit of concern

My Not so Chubby Kids- #myjourneyofmotherhood #mytribe #amwriting

Chubby cheeks, dimple chin

Rosy lips, teeth within

Curly hair, very fair

Eyes are blue, lovely too

Teacher's pet, is that you ?

Yes! Yes! Yes!

I can’t even begin to explain what is wrong with the rhyme, but let me just focus on the first line- chubby cheeks and dimple chin. Haven’t we all dreamed of having of the chubby baby that is adored by everyone with awws, oohs and aaahs? I did for sure. The reality? My older one had gone under 5 percentile for weight at 6months and the younger one isn’t doing much better.

“Kuch khaati nahi hai kya?”, “Aww, she looks so small.. “. I listen to it all and answer in my mind “Nahi iska khana bhi main kha jaati hoon.”and “She is a baby, she is supposed to look small.” But all I do is smile and just nod my head. You see, I have been there, done it, twice. Both my kids hate food, no matter what I try to feed them. Expecting kids to be chubby and bulky on a diet of air and water is unrealistic. I have pestered more than enough pediatricians with my concern, only to be told not to worry since they both are otherwise healthy and still gaining weight.

I remember my younger days with my mother going through a similar predicament. Although my elder sister was of average height and weight, I was lean and short. I could hear people advising my mom on what and when to feed me to make me fat. I was also asked to exercise to gain height. It was as though they somehow assumed that my mother wasn’t doing enough to make my grow at a faster rate. It really wasn’t her fault that I was the fussiest of eaters. It was when I visited my maternal grandmother’s home that I used to eat without much fuss. It was a big family and everybody had to eat whatever was on the table. Nobody had time to cater to my whims and fancies and since non vegetarian food was available almost everyday, I ended up eating more. For this one reason, my father never had any objections to us staying with our grandmother for a day (or ten).

I think it is karma that is paying me back for all the heart ache that I caused my mother all those years back by being a fussy eater. I have two fussy eaters at home, along with a husband who has his own set of food rules. I also have been advised diet plans and distractive techniques to feed my kids. It was just recently that my younger one went into a bhook hartaal mode for a whole month prompting a doctor’s visit. I was told to make her eat adults food by giving it on her own plate. If swallowing five grains of rice counts as eating a meal, then yeah, that was a grand success. Each day she refused to eat, I was the one getting stressed. I kept checking her weight and was horrified to find that she lost a quarter of a killo. Along with the worry of her losing weight, I was concerned about what would people say if she looks leaner each day. Would they judge me as a bad mother? This agony of mine went on for almost a month after which she decided to start eating normally again.

I have heard from my mother-in-law that both my husband and his elder sister had similar issues with eating and she had resorted to mixing rice soup in their milk to make them eat healthy. A look at their old pictures showed me that they too had a similar body structure growing up. It was after they reached adulthood that they started gaining weight, just like me and my sister. Now all of us are looking to reduce weight. Even my daughter’s pediatrician felt that my younger one might follow my genetics and end up on the shorter side (I am barely 5ft). So I have come to accept the fact that no matter how much I worry, my kids are not going to be in the 90 percentile for height or weight any time soon

While there is this craze for chubby kids, once they turn 7 or 8 years, people prefer them to be in shape. Kids who look plump are asked to play more, run in the ground more and subtly told to eat less. They are not allowed to be to skinny either. They need to attain the perfect balance between fat and lean to be considered a child with good physical development. Being fat would mean being ridiculed by the whole school, with mota-moti, hulk or elephant being your nickname. Being thin would earn you names like matchstick, patlu, agarbatti and such. Kids are forced to live up to the standards prescribed by the society at a very young age. While adults talk of being proud of ourselves and owning our body, the same is not being taught to the kids.

Babies can be chubby or lean-they are all good as long as they are healthy. Kids can be fat or skinny-nothing bad about it as long as their doctors say it is fine. Adults can be XS, S, M, L, XL, XXL, XXXL or any other combination of the alphabets. Please don’t allow yourself or your kids to be made to feel ugly for their physical attributes or any other attributes for that matter.

Of Rude Kids and Hapless Caregivers

Rude Kids and Helpless Caregivers

“Abey loser, tujhe khelna nahi aata. You can’t be in my team”. “He is an ullu. Maths aur Science mein usko Zero mila hai, toh obviously ullu hi hai na who?”. “Oyee, paani leke aao, mujhe mud pizza banana hai”. “ Aree aaj mere friends aaye hai, toh mein unke saath kheloongi, tumse katti”. “Jaa be Marathi” (I am a Malayali who moved to Mumbai in 2011, but this made me cringe)

Such are the conversations I get to hear among kids nowadays. There are no constant friends or constant enemies but there sure is this consistency in the rudeness that is dished out by the self proclaimed “smart kids” towards the “ordinary ones” in their eyes. More often than not, these kids are accompanied by their didis/ caregivers who are paid to take care of them but not empowered to discipline them. In fact, they are treated much worse by these brats. So parents like me whose kids often find themselves at the receiving end of these outbursts from kids are forced to discipline them, notwithstanding the consequences.

We had just shifted into the complex when my daughter started interacting with this boy of a similar age. He seemed to have trouble controlling his temper and used to hit the kids for all and sundry reasons. After one or two such incidents involving my daughter, I forbid her from playing with the boy. It was three months since the incident and once again my daughter came to interact with the boy through some mutual friends. I kept a keen eye on the boy knowing his temperament. I wasn’t wrong either. He drank a mouthful of water and spat on my younger daughter’s face. Her fault? She was a 9 month old infant sitting in her pram, enjoying her evening stroll and looking at her sister play. It was the first time in my life that I got angry at a kid who was not related to me. But I knew that if I didn’t put my foot down, this bullying would continue. Complaining to his caregiver was of no use at she herself was being called “paagal”, “kutthi” and much more by the kid. I talked to her a few days after the incident and came to know that the boy behaves in similar manner at home too.

I remember my stay in China and observing the kids there. China had a one child policy for quite a long time. So most of the kids that I met there were single children. With both parents working, the kids are mostly taken care by their grandparents. And like grandparents all over the world, Chinese grandparents too are putty in the hands of their grandchild (most often their only grandchild). They wait on them and run around them all through the day, feeding them, running behind with hand fans and buying them whatever they ask for. Most of these kids, having grown up all alone with not even cousins to bond with, behave extremely selfishly and didn’t even know the meaning of sharing. So incidents of altercations in parks and play areas became a daily event there. I used to feel so proud of parents back home whose kids are taught to be polite, encouraged to share and spanked for acting selfishly. I came back to India after 2 and a half years in China to find out that things were changing in India too.

Being a stay-at-home mom, I often get asked if I have a nanny to take care of my kids. They seem surprised when I answer in the negative. It has become a norm in most households to have nannies for kids even if parent/s or grandparents are at home to take care of the kids. It gives the mothers much needed me-time and makes the kids less dependent on them. But it also means that the kid is mostly under the care of people whose nature might mold the behavior of your child. I have observed kids undergoing radical changes in their talking pattern, food habits and social behavior influenced by their caregivers. I see didis running around their wards spoonfeeding them in between their play time when they are more than capable of feeding themselves. By making our kids less dependent on us, we are making them and ourselves more dependent on their nannies- the same nanny who has no right to discipline your kid in case of misdemeanors but has to listen to your taunts in case the kid complains about her being even a bit critical of his/her behavior. It would be advisable to discretely observe your kid’s interaction with his/ her playmates to understand if you are unintentionally raising a rude kid. Empower your nannies to at least stop your kids from bullying younger ones.

I was a product of a generation that advocated corporal punishment. Rap on the wrist, cane on the limbs, standing on benches and impositions – I have seen it all. Any unacceptable action or behavior was dealt with promptly either at home or at school. But today the moment my daughter complains to me about how her teacher gave her a black mark in her behavior chart, I start questioning the teacher’s behavior. We are scared to discipline our own kids for fear of their reaction. So you cannot expect more from their nannies than to follow your lead. The kids have been cocooned into this soft treatment that they react very badly at any indication of disappointment from their parents. I do not advocate for a return to the days of corporal punishment. But neither do I support the view that wrongdoings only deserve a note in the diary or a mark in the behavior chart.

Being a parent is a huge responsibility, not just to your child and family but also to the society at large and consequently the whole world. What we choose to teach our kids defines how they grow up to be. If good behavior is not encouraged with a pat on the back, if bad attitude is not nipped at the bud with a slap on the wrist, then sooner than later we would end up complaining how ugly the society is turning out to be. Let’s teach our kids to be more caring, less selfish, mindful of others’ sentiments and make them stronger to face their lives ahead.

Of Having a Girl Child, Again

Please put down the stones that you are planning to throw at me for daring to diss a girl child. I am a second girl child who is a mother to two girls and I consider my them as my biggest blessing. This is a take on my learnings as a second girl in the family and how I am trying to imbibe those lessons to ensure that I don't allow myself to treat my daughters unfairly.

I was born as a second girl in my family. I have always heard about the story of how my mother cried a river, when she came to know after her delivery, that I was a girl. Times then were such and I don't blame her for that reaction. I also heard that I wasn't given a traditional naamkaran function like my elder sister was given. My parents always tried their best not to differentiate between the two of us- similar food, dresses, education and love. But I have heard people pitying my parents for not having a boy.

When we announced the birth of our first daughter in our housing society, the common response from many of them was, "Koi baat nahi, Lakshmi aayi hai". I had wanted to have a girl child and my husband and family too were looking forward to have a healthy child, no matter the gender. My mother -in-law has a passion for embroidery and stitching and was hoping that she would have a grand daughter to shower her handiwork on. Since my sister -in-law had two sons, the family was looking forward to welcoming the first girl in the new generation. While, we were all overjoyed at the birth of our little girl, the pity party had started among our maids about it.

4 years later, I was pregnant again. This time I wanted another girl for sure as I was used to taking care of a girl. I felt that I would be ill equipped to take care of a boy. My husband was indifferent to the gender of the kid but mentioned that he didn’t mind having a boy just for variety’s sake. My elder girl was adamant that she wanted a baby sister. She got her wish granted when I delivered a baby girl on a July morning. All of us were happy. My husband went home and informed my maid about the baby and her reaction was, "Doosri baar ladki hui, is liye aap bhabhi se naaraaz toh nahi hai na?". To say that my husband was flabbergasted would be putting it lightly. Similar reactions could be seen among lots of other people too. "Dono ladki hai kya? Theek hai, aaj ke zamaane mein ladkiyaan bhi chalti hai" When we try to tell them that we wanted another girl some people said, "Ladki hui hai is liye aap aise bol rahe ho, ladka kisko nahi chahiye". I get so tired of the pitiful look on people's eyes when I say I have two girls, as though having a boy is the greatest achievement that a woman can ever accomplish. I can imagine what my mother would have had to endure 30-35 years back with two girls.

We are very quick to compare our kids, among their siblings, cousins or friends. My sister was always known as a calm, docile, well behaved and well dressed girl aka sundar- susheel ladki. I was on the other end of the behavior spectrum- outspoken, ill mannered and shabbily dressed (more tomboyish than girlish). So it was quite natural for people to advise me to try and be more like my sister. I have heard stories of my wretched behavior in my childhood- I used to insist on my mother carrying me everywhere and never allowed anyone else to carry me. I also used to cry "Amma thinnanda"(Mom don’t eat) so that she wouldn't keep me down even for eating. My father bought a cane to discipline me. If I was a boy, all these would have been written off as being the naughtiness of a little boy. But since I was a girl, I was labelled as an attention seeking and spoiled child. I was always expected to be as good or better than my sister in everything I did. When you have a school topper to emulate in studies, life isn't that easy in school. I was always "Nithya's sister" first and everything else later. Even today, my teachers wouldn't know me if somebody said Sonya M H writes blogs. But they would instantly recognize if they are told, Nithya's sister, writes blogs.

While I crib about being compared to my sister, I am committing the same mistake of comparing my younger girl to her elder sister. While Alithea, my older girl, is a calm and mostly well behaved child, my younger one, Zaraiah is a very different person. She has left me crying with her tantrums and food aversion, at least 10 times within 15 months of her birth. She is much more demanding than Alithea was. While Alithea used to smile so much when she was younger, Zaraiah is “Miss Grumpy” on most days. She is much more naughtier than Alithea as well. I chide myself for thinking why can't Zaru be more like Ali. Zaraiah can't be like Alithea because they are two different people with very diverse personalities, just like Sonya and Nithya were. Being a second child myself, I used to feel bad when I was compared and chastised as less desirable than my sister. Then why am I doing the same to my second child? She shouldn't have to live as per the standards set by her elder sister. She should have the freedom to spread her wings and find herself, independent of what her sister is. I am sure when she starts school (hopefully in the same school as her sister), I would witness the comparison saga again. What happens outside of my home is not completely under my control. But I can try my best to ensure that both my girls are given enough opportunities to expand their horizon without the expectations and comparisons from each other restricting their march.

Being a good girl isn't easy either. My sister was always an epitome of good behavior. Any bad reaction from her side would be treated as a crime, but my established run of bad behavior ensured that some of my ugly outbursts were given nothing more than a rolling of eyes. So as difficult as it seems to be the second girl child in the family, my sister and my elder daughter could also write an essay on how difficult it is to be the experimental child of the family.

Of Halloweens, Baby Showers and Thanksgivings

A recent news piece I read on a couple’s romantic pregnancy photo shoot at a very in-vogue location in Kerala had me checking out the comment section out of curiosity. And there they were, the judgmental lot, who labelled the couple attention seeking, trying to ape Western culture and women writing essays on how they have also been pregnant but never showed off like this. I breathed the sigh of relief… my homeland is still the same-not ready to accept anything that seems new and modern, ridiculing women who chose to act against established norms and unwarranted moral policing.

It was just around 2 years back that I had a baby shower for my second child. My family back home in Kerala had not heard of such a thing and asked me for details when they saw the pictures. They were quite welcoming of the new pregnancy celebration. But I am sure many friends on my FB list would have discussed with their near ones on the “thonnivaaasam”(mindless acts) that I was doing. Yes, the baby shower is a Western custom. But we do have our own godhbharai/puliyoonu rituals that does the same thing – celebrate a pregnancy and wish well to the expectant mother. But when it is called baby shower, it becomes something to be opposed owing to it’s Western influence.

It was Halloween yesterday. I had plans to organize a Halloween party at home as my daughter seemed very fascinated by the idea of Halloween. Since it was the middle of the week, I dropped the party plans. And since she was on Diwali vacation, my daughter too seemed to forget about it. It was when she went down to play that she realized that it was Halloween and she missed out this time. It was already too late to make dinner plans either. You would ask me why I am so enthusiastic towards a Western tradition for dead people. For me Halloween is a glorified fancy dress party which aids the purpose of de-mystifying the concept of ghosts and making it sound funny rather than scary. If my kid has fun getting dressed as a ghost or a pirate or any of her favorite cartoon character, why should I allow my or the society’s prejudice against Western celebrations stand in the way of her happiness? She spent the first three years of her life in China- a country that despises religion and any traditions thereof. She had one of her best Halloween parties in her school there. All of us dressed up as pirates and enjoyed the day without thinking of the fact that the day is about remembering the dead. Considering it an attack on Indian culture and a move to lead our children away from their religious beliefs is just pitiful. It is alright, if you as a parent do not want to celebrate Halloween. But before writing the “no, thank you” note to the school or the friend for the Halloween party invitation, take a moment to ask your kid if they want to join in the celebration.

Until a few years back, celebrating Valentine’s Day was vehemently opposed everywhere, the reason being cited was that it was against Indian culture. Valentine’s Day was never about making out in public places or sneaking out of your home to elope with your boyfriend. It is about love, not just between couples but also between families, friends and even foes. It is just a day to celebrate your love for everyone in your life. It has been commercialized to make it bigger and lots of marketing gimmicks are on display on the day. But it’s still a good day to celebrate, put some effort to reach home early, dine out together and be thankful for the ones who love you.

We celebrate Vishu, Easter, Onam, Diwali, Christmas, Rakshabandhan, New Year and Holi at our home. The absence of Muslim festivals in the list is not due go any religious bias, but due to sheer absence of knowledge on how these festivals need to be celebrated. Thanksgiving is one tradition that I am yet to adopt into my family. But since it involves eating Turkey and other interesting food, my husband might just convince me to celebrate it this year. I do not really know what Thanksgiving signifies in American culture, but I can adapt it to my household to mean that I am thankful for the full plate of food that I get to eat all through the year.

No nation, society or culture can survive as a standalone entity in today’s world. With immigration, exchange of information and increased ease of traveling, there is bound to be some crossover of customs, traditions and rituals across the world. Opposing a tradition just for its origin seems as bad as opposing the entry of a foreigner into your home for fear of him erasing the traditions of your home. While we adopt Western traditions and celebrations, our Holi and Diwali are being celebrated by lots of non-Indians across the globe. We have wholeheartedly adopted Western concepts like New Year celebrations, continental dining and even Western commodes. Then, why close our hearts and mind to some celebrations that just give you some more opportunities to meet your near ones or meet new friends. Why does it have to be judged for it’s religious and regional connotations, rather than being treated as an opportunity to eat, meet and greet? Isn’t that basic purpose of any good celebration?

I love to meet up with my family and friends for one reason or the other as long as the reason is a good one. As long as I am not celebrating Adolf Hitler’s birthday or the death of some person, I don’t think anybody should have any objection to what customs I choose to follow and judge it as bad. Why does everything have to be an ugly spat about our culture versus Western culture. Both cultures have good, bad and ugly aspects; adopt the good aspects, improve and learn lessons from the bad and work towards eradicating the ugly.

Of Plastic Cabbages and Cosmic Rays

Food adulteration is a serious issue that we face in our everyday life. Pesticides, colorants, MSG and numerous other pollutants threaten our healthy living goals. Even the so called organic options are not completely trustworthy. In such an environment, it is quite natural for people to be misled by fake news.

I recently saw a video showing a lady trying to prove that her cabbage is made of plastic by burning it on top of a gas stove. This was shared in a prominent FB group and there were clamors for sharing it worldwide, mothers asking for ways to identity real cabbage and some even claiming to have seen videos of plastic cabbage manufacturing in China. I didn't trust the video, so I did a basic research that I do for suspicious news- I googled burning cabbage- I found that cabbage was exactly supposed to burn like that because of it's high water content. Being mothers, it is natural to jump into conclusions in matters concerning the health of our loved ones. But taking a moment to think logically and enquiring about the veracity of the matter at hand makes you not just a responsible mother, but a responsible individual too.

At different points of life, we encounter different genres of fake news or propoganda. Be it the lotus root picture being shared as a skin infection, plastic rice produced for shipping purported to be invading Indian rice market, numerous young women dying in Tata Memorial Hospital from sanitary pad infection, cosmic rays harming everyone tonight, miracle cures for cancer or uncorroborated cyclone warnings, the list of fake forwards and news just goes on and on. People have always been prone to hoaxes like crying Mother Mary, milk-drinking Ganeshas and business enhancing babas. As with any other field, technological advances have induced research into innovative methods to scam people as well. With the advent of internet, there really is no filter on the dissemination of information. But the same internet can help you to weed out fake information, if only you are ready to take some time out to verify news before pressing the forward button. When unverified news and videos forms the basis of even our political decisions, the nation as a whole suffers. So considering such forwards as innocent errors and deeming them harmless, is a grave mistake

I, myself have been guilty of propagating fake news on a few occasions. But in case of information received to the contrary, I always make it a point to correct myself in my posts or forwards. I believe this should become a standard social media etiquette for all of us. Most of our parents are comparatively new to social media and are prone to believe fake news and get scammed because of it. Sometimes we prefer to ignore such messages from elders, thinking it would offend them if we try to correct them. Some of us even make private jokes with our peers on their social media behavior. I understand that it might be embarrassing for them to be corrected by their kids but that embarrassment is any day better than losing money through scams or facing a health scare by trying out miracle cures.

Most of us have kids/ nieces/ nephews who are new to social media. I am sure all of us have at some point advised them on the need for responsible usage of social media. Let's make it a point to drive it in that forwards are not always harmless and they may clarify with an adult if they find some links or news suspicious. I can't even imagine the sort of news that are going to float around once our kids grow up. We would then be the generation that forwards barmy articles and gets ridiculed by kids. Guide them now, so they can hold our hands through our mistakes when we grow old, without making ourselves feel belittled.

It feels good to hear that you have won a million pounds from Coca Cola through a lottery. It doesn't even sound bad when they ask you to remit money into some random account to aid the foreign remittance process. Things only turn ugly when after remitting your hard earned money, you are left with not even a phone number to contact Coca Cola

Of Being in an Interfaith Marriage

I was brought up as a Hindu and I still am one, for all practical purposes. My husband was brought up as a Christian but I am not sure how much of a Christian he is now. Joining a Christian family in marriage brought along a lot of apprehensions in my mind. What would be expected of me? Am I supposed to go to the church on Sundays? Am I expected to join in the daily prayers? Am I allowed to still worship my own deities in the house? Turns out, much was expected from me but they were ok if I didn’t do any of it either. The whole family comes together only once or twice a year. So while we are together, I try to live up to the etiquettes expected of me.

So in effect, my life hasn’t changed much owing to my interfaith marriage. I pray to my Hindu Gods and say a Hail Mary every day after my bath. I go to a temple on occasions and visit a church on rarer occasions (which was the case earlier too). I celebrate Onam and Christmas with equal élan as it was before my marriage. And I call to my Lord as “bhagavaane” or “karthaave” like I always did. Don’t let all that fool you into thinking that all is hunky dory after an interfaith marriage.

A lot had changed for me on a personal level. I identified myself as a Hindu earlier, but lots of people just assumed that I have converted to Christianity because of my marriage. Although I do not face any issues in Mumbai, temples in Kerala, mostly stipulate that non Hindus be denied entry. I am a Hindu by my interpretation but I have not stepped into a Hindu temple in Kerala since my marriage for fear of being chastised for entry. I wear a cross on my thali (mangalsutra), which is too tiny to be detected but makes me feel vulnerable to scrutiny. Maybe I am paranoid and should catch the bull by its horns and face the consequences, if any.

Another issue I have faced is my comfort level with my “maiden family”. There used to be a closeness and camaraderie in my interactions with my extended family and cousins, which took a downward plunge after my marriage. But I believe that has more to do with the fact that I went against my family to get married to a man they didn’t approve of. I am neither invited nor expected to attend family events on my side because it always involves some religious event to go along. I wouldn’t say I was surprised by this, as I was forewarned by my parents on the perils of marrying outside the community. I had accepted my fate with a pinch of salt. While I gave up on the comforts of my family, I have been fortunate enough to be welcomed with open hands and hearts into my “new family”. In fact I have grown closer to my sisters-in-law than I ever was with my own sister. My mother-in-law seems to enjoy talking more with me than her own son owing to common interests like cooking, crafts and flowers. The extended family on my husband’s side is literally quite extended with more than 20 cousins and none of them have made me feel like I don’t belong.

In an alternate reality, I would have had lived a sequestered life in a marriage arranged by my family with societal norms prescribing my attire, my weekend plans and even my social media activity (an assumption made on the basis of observing my extended families’ and cousins’ lives). So in the balance sheet of life I presume I have ‘’broken even’’ or maybe even started making profits.

When our daughter was born, it was assumed that she would be baptized since her father is a Christian. A lot of arguments ensued, but my husband was adamant that we do not want to label our kids’ in any religious way. We even named them religion neutral (Alithea meaning truth; and Zaraiah meaning blooming flower). We decided to give them the freedom to choose their religious beliefs once they are old enough to do so. This doesn’t mean that they are living a life with no God or prayers. We have a framed picture of Krishna with a rosary wrapped around it that acts as our guardian angel. My kids know that their parents follow Krishna and Christ and they are free to follow either, both, neither or any other God of their choice. We believe in making religion a personal matter that needn’t be of any significance in their social, professional or married lives. Our brief but very enjoyable stint in China helped us further this thought.

They say love is blind. But it doesn’t make one apathetic or emotionally blind. I learnt this lesson the hard way when I got married to the love of my life, all by myself. While people reminisce their marriage with awe, love and unbridled joy, I remember the endless tears, being all alone in a stranger’s house the day before my wedding and the fact that I walked down the aisle without my parents to bless me. The presence of my elder sister, my brother-in-law and two cousins on my wedding ameliorated my distress a bit. I married a non-Hindu against my parents’ wishes and no matter how much time has passed, the pain of abandonment doesn’t subside. I am guessing it is mutual too for my parents as they might still be feeling cheated by my decision to go against them despite all the comforts they provided me throughout life. Could I have done things differently? Maybe. Maybe not. But I will always regret hurting my parents for my own happiness. I do not know how my future would have been if I broke up with my husband (then boyfriend) for my parents’ sake. Maybe I would have lived in the guilt of cheating on my boyfriend for the rest of my life or maybe I would have moved on. But it would have been just as bad as my current predicament of feeling constant guilt of having disappointed my parents.

Apart from the occasional phone calls, it took two years for my parents to actually meet my husband. It has been 7 years since that awkward meeting and still the relationship resembles a broken twine mended with a clumsy knot. Kids have enabled the smoothening of our relation; but for all to be well it will take time and effort. All through this, my husband has stood by me as a stoic pillar of strength. He has never picked up a fight with me about our religious beliefs. He vehemently opposed suggestions that I should convert to Christianity before marriage. He was most vociferous about not baptizing the kids. He has never pushed me even once to mold myself into an ideal Kanjirappally achayan’s wife (except for upping my ante in non-veg cooking).

Family is a good source of motivation and support when the dynamics in the family is genial. However, any bloat in the stability of familial relationships can lead to bad blood and even the simplest banter would feel like pointed accusations. Unresolved tension between family members can turn ugly in no time, leaving you wounded beyond repair. A mended relationship may not be a smooth one but would save you the heartache of not having your family in your lives for the rest of your time in the world. I strive to be a mender for the sake of my peace of mind and a congenial environment for my family.

P. S.: One good thing I have had because of marrying a Christian is that I don’t need to refer to my “periodic table” 😜 before I plan a family event. No more heartbreaks on missing events because of “those days”.

Of Being a Breastfeeding Mom

Motherhood brings along with it a whole new set of expectations, experiences, challenges and priorities. When I became a mother for the first time, I remember having to stay in the hospital for a whole week because my daughter had infant jaundice. I, along with my husband, cried when we saw the little one under the UV lights in just her diaper and a mask covering her eyes. We hoped we could just take her home and everything would fall in place. Little did I know the emotional rollercoaster ride that I had signed up for.

The first day at home had relatives visiting the baby and providing me friendly advice on baby care. It wasn’t even preaching or finding fault in anything I did but listening to the easy manual to ideal parenting made me so overwhelmed that I cried on my husband’s shoulder for an unreasonably long time. I knew I was a disaster mom in the making.

I expected breastfeeding to be a challenge for me. But my daughter got the knack of it from Day One and she got into the habit of sleeping off while feeding. Sure there were days when she would keep on crying despite the feeds and I had to walk around to shush her, but feeding was the easiest method to make her sleep. I used to get a good night’s sleep because we practiced co-sleeping (like every other Indian household). Little did I know that this dependence on breastfeeding will bite me in the ass soon. We had these grand plans of shifting abroad within 3 months of our child‘s birth. It didn’t work out as per schedule and I had to join back work when my daughter was six months old. She had just started on solids and refused to drink anything other than breast milk. She hated the bottle and didn’t know how to sleep without latching on to my breast. To say, we had a disastrous few weeks, would be a gross understatement.

Fast forward to around when my daughter was two years old. She was still dependent on breastfeeding to go to sleep. So the number of feeds had gone to just two (one for afternoon nap and one for night). Theoretically she was weaned off the breast but practically, I couldn’t stay away from her even for a day as she wouldn’t sleep without being fed. I started taking long walks in the afternoon with her on her pram and she started to sleep in the afternoon without feeding. But night feeding was still an issue. I used to sit with her watching TV for hours into the night to make her sleep off due to tiredness. Never worked! I used to let her cry to sleep to avoid feeding, but that too didn’t make much difference. Lots of nights were spent holding her and walking around before she finally decided she was done with breastfeeding. I had expected it to be a relief of sorts but instead I ended up becoming an emotional wreck as I felt my baby was no longer dependent on me and that somehow would make her grow apart from me. Although I missed the closeness we had, I was finally relieved that I didn’t need to dress to feed while going out.

Breastfeeding in public places had always been an issue for me. People look at you like you are doing some crime by choosing to feed your child out of your home (men and women alike). Even if you are wearing a nursing bra which covers most of your breast and additionally cover yourself with a shawl (even at the inconvenience of suffocation to the baby), there seems to be this disgust in people’s eyes for someone daring to feed where other people could see. The primary function of a female breast is nourishing her offspring. But the sight of a bit of skin on a mother’s breast is embarrassing for everyone while the same breasts in a skimpy bikini is ogled at openly by even the so called ‘sanskaris’. Of course there are designated feeding areas in some places, in case women feel uncomfortable to feed in public. But what if I am not uncomfortable and choose to sit along with my family and enjoy their company and feed my little one simultaneously? Is that something to be frowned upon? Breastfeeding mothers face a lot of problems owing to their choice to breastfeed instead of depending on the bottle. Leaking breasts, engorgement pains, mastitis, absent or irregular periods and breast soreness all take a toll on a breastfeeding mom at some point or the other. A supportive environment would go a long way in making this journey easier for her.

My journey of breastfeeding took a totally different turn with the birth of my second child. She didn’t immediately take to breastfeeding like my older one. Two weeks of birth, and she still couldn’t latch on properly. She lost almost half a kilo from her birth weight. Pumping and feeding by spoon was the only option I had. It was taking a toll on my sleep and thereby my emotional well-being. I broke down in front of the pediatrician, feeling helpless. I was a second time mom and I was expected to master these issues the second time around. But there I was bawling like a 2 year old in front of a doctor, who I guess was younger than me, about something that really wasn’t under my control but made me feel like a bad mother all the same. My gynecologist prescribed me some anxiety medicines considering my worrisome nature. I even suspected that I was going into a postpartum depression. Thankfully after two weeks of struggling with her technique, she finally started sucking and drinking to her stomach’s fill. But even at 15 months, there are days when she decides that breastfeeding to sleep is a boring thing to do and cries for an hour or two to let us know who the boss is. Although she has mostly maintained a peaceful symbiosis with my breasts, I would have preferred to not have myself chomped just after she turned three months old, with her teeth erupting earlier than expected. Slowly but surely I had entered the second phase of “feeding the baby to sleep”.

You would think I learnt my lessons on the banes of making the child dependent on your breast for sleeping. But I am basically a lazy ass who chose to have a good night’s sleep instead of spending it on making the baby sleep by alternative methods. So at 15 months, she still sleeps only when breastfed. She absolutely hates eating solids because her walking milk dairy is always around. I am again in a situation where I can’t stay away from home for more than a day. Keeping my fingers crossed for a better weaning experience this time around. Taking long walks is out of question in Mumbai. So I have to be a bit more innovative in my second war of weaning.

I have never regretted my decision to breastfeed both my babies but at some points I have asked myself if I should have got them used to formula simultaneously to aid the process of weaning. My heart goes out to mothers who find it difficult to feed because of supply issues. I also support women who choose to bottle feed on their own accord. The reasons for the same are known to you and as long as you are convinced that it is what you want for yourself and your child, I would be the first to stand in your defense if someone questions your choice. Motherhood is a challenge: you can make it good by trusting your instincts and acting accordingly; you can make it bad by doubting yourself and second guessing your choices; you could even make it ugly by allowing yourself to be guided by what the society thinks is right for you and you decide to be a perfect mother as per industry standards (read society). Unlike any other job, there are no perfect mothers. You make mistakes and try not to make those mistakes again. You learn from your peers and use those lessons to improve yourself. And you do your best, say your “Hail Marys” and pray you didn’t f**k up.

P. S. I have heard of people donating/selling their excess breast milk to agencies who collect it and sell it to mothers/caregivers who have supply issues. Some might see it as commercialization of a noble aspect of motherhood. But breasts (or tits or boobs, if you prefer) have always been commercialized for public display requirements. So why not use it’s by-product for a bit of commerce, if you have it in excess (no pun intended 😜)?

Image credit: https://www.growingyourbaby.com/6-ways-breastfeed-baby/mom-breastfeeding-cradle-hold/

I just noticed my name handwritten on a club membership card and was wondering why they couldn't write it more neatly. It was then that I realized that the lady handling club membership had written only the membership number and had handed it back to me, so that I could write my name myself. So the badly written name was courtesy of my bad handwriting.

It was during my fourth standard Social Studies class, that I was made aware of the fact that my handwriting was like a crow's footmarks on sand (I guess this was the precise description given by my teacher, while I tried to catch hold of my notebook that was flying towards me). From there on, I could hear similar comments from other teachers too. No matter what the language was, my writing required lots of effort to be deciphered. I was teased that I was already practicing to be a doctor 😂

We had to submit handwriting practice book everyday for quite a few years. But for me, it was just writing practice. Even if I could write readable stuff in this ritual,the same couldn't be replicated in class notes and exams. Handwriting competitions were huge jokes as far as I was concerned. I appeared for the sake of it but never expected to get even a participation certificate for it. The funniest part in all this was that I was never ashamed of my bad handwriting.

Everyone said that I could improve my handwriting by practicing more. I was practicing more than enough through lecture notes, dictated notes and exams. But no improvement was visible. All my teachers felt that I was a good student with a bit of ozhappu (devil may care attitude). They felt that nothing could make me push myself to be a class topper as I was more than happy to be one among the top 5. But all of them knew that I couldn't be expected to be a topper in Board exams because of my handwriting. In school, my teachers were ready to put in that extra effort to decipher each and every word that I had written in the answer sheet. But the same level of patience can't be expected from a valuer in a paper evaluation camp when he has targets to meet for each day. So I was already on a back foot when it came to Board/ University exams. This was evident from the disparity of marks in internal exams and external exams.

I remember my Chemistry teacher checking my model exam papers and telling me how I was well prepared for the exam but needed to be more systematic in writing and the obvious need to write more neatly. When the results came, I had fared well in all subjects but the marks were on an average 5-10 marks lower in each paper compared to the model exam results. The same issues followed me during graduation as well: good marks in internals and bad in externals ( Majoring in Economics meant that there was no scope for practical marks or mark for steps).

I often wondered how my handwriting ended up being so bad. My mother had good handwriting and father's was good enough too. My elder sister's writing  (a doctor by profession) lives up to people 's expectations of a doctor's handwriting 😝 but hers too is better than mine. Maybe, I just didn't have the patience to put in so much effort for a cause that seemed so trivial in my younger years. The job of writing names on envelopes for wedding gifts (shagun) went to the person with the best handwriting at home. Unfortunately, my father himself had to write these most of time as his writing was better than both of his kids'. Thankfully not many of my relatives knew about my struggle with writing or else there would have been more pressure to improve. Having a bad handwriting is often equated to being careless and girls are supposed to have a good handwriting.

I must have been one of the most happiest person when typing became an acceptable mode of communication through emails, social network sites, printed report submissions et al. The last letter I wrote with my hands was back in 2003-04, when my best friend had moved to Mysore for studies. Today, the only writing I do is ABCD on my daughter's scribbling pad, that too when she is in the mood to sit down and listen. If someone asks me to write a one page essay on paper, I will struggle to finish it. (The reader would struggle more to make sense of it)

I am not sure of the curriculum followed in schools now. I believe it still consists of taking notes and writing paragraphs for marks. With the world turning more digital in it's dealings, a serious rethinking on this mode of teaching should be contemplated. It is good to know how to write but writing isn't the only mode of testing one's knowledge. I heard from one of my friends, that her son's international school insists on a laptop for every student and all their assignments are submitted by email (the kid is in 5th grade) Putting pen to paper is becoming a thing of the past and putting fingers on keypads is becoming more popular.

My daughter is taking first steps in the world of writing now. She can draw a straight line, an ok looking triangle and a yet to be perfect circle. It remains to see if she takes after me or her father in the aspect of handwriting. If it turns out to be ugly like mine, she can always use me as an excuse. And  if it's good, then most probably, she would take all the credits of that. But then, it needs to be seen how much writing she ends up doing.

“You don't meet Malayalis, they happen to you" Anonymous

I was born and brought up in Kerala and have spent a lion's share of my life there. Being a Malayali is a boon in itself, for you are already bestowed with the best of nature. But all is not well for a Malayali when he steps out of Kerala. My first experience of being outside Kerala was during my MBA days.

Being a Malayali, it was assumed that I would speak my native language and English. So expectations of knowledge of any other language was never a burden. So it was a surprise to most people when I spoke in Hindi and that too quite fluently. I have always faced this stereotyping everywhere. I am expected to speak bad Hindi "Mai janta hai" "mere ko aati nahi" etc. and that too with the typical "Madrassi" accent. Despite living in a foreign country now, I go through the same surprised looks when I talk to people in Hindi.

A problem that every Malayali has faced many times is getting himself distinguished from his other South Indian counterparts. Everyone south of India are addressed as South Indians or more commonly "Madrassi ". The fact that many of us haven't even visited Madras (for God's sake, it's Chennai now) doesn't bother anyone. South India is not a state. Kerala is one of the states in South India and it's residents are Keralites or Malayalis. Rajanikanth acts in Tamil movies and we do not have temples to worship him in Kerala. Our movies are made in Malayalam and we have a totally different style of appreciating movies.

Please don't expect me to be eating idli, dosa, pongal everyday for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I don't even know how to make pongal. I make all these once in a while, but I also make poha, appam, puttu, sheera, French toast and rotis too. I don't drool at the sight of dosas (Ok, I do once in a while as dosa is not available in restaurants here). But most of all, I am not a vegetarian. I eat non veg. All kinds of non veg. I cook a mean beef fry as well. I guess that should be enough to differentiate me from others from South of India.

Being a Malayali doesn't guarantee you a stylish surname like Menon, Nair or Pillai. We use our father's name as our last name or even initial of our family name with our first names and this might cause some unnecessary confusion while addressing us. Please feel free to address us by our first name or else you may be talking to our father or husband inadvertently. Some of our names would sound as though we have two first names and no surnames. We can't help it. That's a Malayali for you.

Please do not ask us for treat on Pongal, Ugadi and Diwali. We don't celebrate any of these festivals (Diwali to some extent, yes). But it's Onam, Vishu and Christmas that's huge in Kerala and most of you won't even know when these dates come and go. We carry our Malayalam calendars along wherever we go to keep track of these events. We wouldn't know much about Karwa Chauth or Bhai Dhuj, and we are not ashamed to admit it either.

Yes I have heard the benana chibs joke and the gelf going joke as well. Of course we love our banana chips, fish fry, coconut oil based preparations and we have at least one relative of our's working abroad. We love our liquor sessions and consider ourselves intellectuals by taking a very keen interest in politics all over the world. We know there are many mallu jokes going around (mostly revamped sardar jokes). But we laugh at ourselves quite a lot. (Comedy skits mocking ourselves are a big rage in Kerala and we keep trolling ourselves before others do). So instead of frowning at the Mallu jokes, we might even contribute to it and laugh along.

There is a belief in our part of the world that you are never too far from a Malayali. Even Neil Armstrong was said to have bought a tea from Nair's tea shop when he landed in moon ;). So next time you meet a Malayali, please don't run away expecting him to talk to you in our native language. Most of us understand Hindi and can keep a conversation going without getting you bored.

Like any section of people, we have our weaknesses too. Just as there is good, bad and ugly among all people, we too have our share of goodness and badness. We are supposed to be the greatest "paara" for each other, wherever we go. And we tend to get really offensive when there is an attack on our communist heritage or when someone asks us to stop eating beef. Stay away from these topics and we are one of the most friendliest creatures under the sun.

P.S. I haven't met a Malayali yet in Guangzhou after 15 months of being here. I hope a Malayali happens to me soon. A world without Malayali is like uppillattha kanji or elastic illaattha kalasam.