The Songs and Melancholies of The Stay-at-home Mum

There is a certain advantage to writing very long pieces that most people who add apologetic "long post" disclaimers ignore. When one has to ask other people what they thought of such a bit of writing, you realise a long post can always be conveniently described as "Long." with a "...and nice" added in afterthought. 

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So, much has happened over the last two months. Many things have changed. Literary critics (the few hundred who religiously scan my writing anyway) will note that I haven't rid myself of the terrible, terrible habit of starting new pieces and new paragraphs with a 'So'. But come on, I am no Kafka, and my metamorphosis does not involve turning into an insect, and/or a literary genius overnight.

About two months ago, my mum left for pardes to shower some TLC, good food, attention, good food, support, good food etc on The Sister In Another Continent. This whole trip was a coup pulled off deftly by my sister, her husband P, little old me, a dear friend S, extended family, my friend Kayone's (:P- Lit critics you may consider the smiley usage "the groundbreaking experiment of a stunning new voice in literary non-fiction") dad and his entire office. It took this small army of lobbyists to convince amma that her patriotism and loyalty to bharatmaata would not be diluted by staying over in a country where mums wore skirts (she would find that description very amusing; in a manner that substantiates her distaste for the non-swadesi).

After much emotional blackmail done by both parties involved in several international calls, Maa reluctantly relented, and packed her bags (Factually, I packed her bags. I'm a natural they say. George Clooney from Up In The Air like.) and went off to The Continent.

So far, so good.  (One more 'So' at the beginning of a paragraph, and I'll delete this bloody blog). That is the background to this heart-rending story of the last two months of my life, spent overcoming the very trying processes of managing a life(used liberally), a house, two thousand four ninety three bills and one depressed domestic-help. I will not even go into the emotional crises and throwing up thrice in an hour bits (I will, actually. But that later).

To understand the full depth of my reserves of strength and flawless character, one must understand why living alone is significant in this context. If you were born in the late eighties, you will remember the summer of 1999, when Summer in Bangalore meant horrific maximum temperatures of 28 degrees("The world will end in 2000, hundred percent! Even Readers' Digest says so!" echoed all over Lalbagh at 7.30 a.m everyday), cricket on the streets, finding abandoned pups, playing Mario three hundred times a day et cetera.

My memories of '99, unlike yours, reader, are stamped with vivid and detailed memories of V auntie's wedding.
 
That is not forgetting the six other weddings in the season all of which were effectively spitting copies of each other. The SAME things happened. I always suspected that the reason Hum Apke Hai Kaun was never remade in a South Indian language because it's IMPOSSIBLE to make any South Indian wedding interesting, let alone make a three hour film out of (Never mind a perfectly legitimate reason for Prem to walk around shirtless for the most part of the film).

I had the absolute pleasure of witnessing all these weddings and numerous other pujas that and many of the following summers because my parents didn't think it right to leave an 11/12/13/..18 year old alone at home. Apparently I would burn the house down, or not eat(right!), or have fun(That is a definite no-no).

It isn't without reason that none of my mother's adorable aunts tries to relate anecdotes from the '70s to me. They consider me quite a prodigy in these matters. I have heard it all. You would too, if you were attending weddings and pujas while your friends were beating your high score on Sonic the Hedgehog. It seemed like even the impossible-to-marry-off-thank-god-he-has-money type people were getting hitched those dreadful summers. My mother was ecstatic at seeing all her late-twenties nieces getting married. I was cursing my luck. Painful memories.
 

The point--some 1000 words later- being, I have never been allowed to stay on my own even for the briefest time by parent-folk. I was shipped off forcibly to live with aunts and grandparents when emergency, life-saving trips to far-off weddings/pujas had to be arranged. It was almost cruel how I was never thought capable of doing my own thing or managing myself.

Until...now.

Now, when I am grown, and boring enough for even my mother's aunts to avoid, and have zilch social life; when I am too old for faint rebellious streaks from the teens to remain, and when I'm decidedly too uncool to go do crazy things, my folks decided, was a safe time to teach the tenets of self-dependence at.

"What is the worst that can possibly happen? She will come home at 9.45 p.m. And that too because badly designed signals on the Ring road means forty five minutes extra on the road...ha ha" the adults would have reasoned.

Masterstroke, Ma, masterstroke!

But I am better than that, I will have them know. I did come later than 9.45 p.m. On TWO DIFFERENT DAYS. TAKE THAT! Who's all that?

These significant personal victories aside, there is much I have learned in the last two months:


1) You know your visions of having the entire house to yourself includes numerous pizza parties, playing loud music all night, coming back late? Mine did too, until the morning after amma left. I woke up to repeated door-bell-ringing of the annoying sort to find the domestic help storm in and shoo me off to the supermarket to buy detergent, brushes, new brooms, withdraw cash for her salary, and to please get rid of all the clothes on the floor. I was dumbstruck. This woman had asked me to do things my mother has always been afraid to demand.

2)Apparently yogurt/curd is milk fermented with spoonfuls of yogurt. Which means you do not dump two litres of milk into half a litre of curd unless you want to return home to be greeted by a ghastly white mass that you can swear will move any moment and attack you. Ugh

2.a) You do not lift a pressure cooker's lid until the weight is removed. WHO KNOWS THESE THINGS! Someone should write these down, somewhere no? 

2.c)Why the fuck do all the dals look like each other? Even in spite of Google image search.

3)"I will do the dishes tomorrow". Two very positive words: Yeah, right.

4)It doesn't help my age-related insecurities to realise that I take my Mother role very seriously. Be it when my friends Kayone and Kaytwo(:P :P) were home and denied food until they showered and changed or when one felt weepy and unable to muster strength to cook only for the self after they left. Ma, I know just how you feel when you say you can't cook when I'm not around.

That apart, cooking for people you love is so awesome a feeling that I don't mind  admitting it and risking sounding like a housewife from a sunflower oil t.v ad(Those women look younger than me anyway).

5)In life, one does not have to spend precious time and energy cleaning up the mess if one doesn't create any. The exact same wisdom applies to kitchens.

6) Thank you South-Indian, rigorous, Brahmin, Brahminical (Everywhere I write, those words go together. Always.) upbringing. The most intense moral dilemma about black-white, right-wrong, am I evil guilt-tripping came when I was...wait for it...chopping onions. (Aside, that book No Onions Nor Garlic by Srividya Natarajan sounds very unconventional and interesting. Anybody read?)

7)Living with friends is AWESOME. Kayone, Kaytwo and Kay especially. They are much fun after food and drink. Take videos. ALWAYS. Hyuk Hyuk.


I will not forget the time we walked a few kilometers at 10 in the night. With Kayone cheerfully riding my bike around and Kaytwo and I dragging our feet and doing girl-talk. It was the night we made Maggi at 2 a.m on. Kayone must be the best Maggi-maker I know. She can wail about gooey Maggi all night however. After years and years of failing at pulling off all-nighters with Physics books for company, I realise it is much easier to stay up until 6 a.m with your best friends.

Kaytwo gives fantastic perspective. Kayone is a terrific listener. Both of these discoveries were made at around 3 a.m in the night. I could marry these women. Unfortunately, they have other plans.



8) Do not consume agents of inebriation. If you must, do so not until the point of someone having to sing to you to stop your wailing. Or to the point of throwing up thrice. Because, remember, amma is not around to lovingly make mensin-saaru and tell you all will be well the next morning. Also, switch the phone off and flush it down the loo. You will not remember a thing you said. Worse, you may end up calling wise aunts who may not be very drunk when you call them.

8.b)How the fuck do you get rid of bottles? I nearly got booked as a murder suspect in the process.

(Aside: A special mention must be made to our man Shark. He can handle anything (except girls who cry). Respect!)

9)If you manage to do all of the above, be a little understated and sound disinterested about it. What if you gingerly relate all this to your Sister In Another Continent and she excitedly suggests you have a House Party soon? Have some self respect. Scare your family while you can. Who knows when they will turn cool and shatter your dreams of being a "disgrace to the family".My sister has set up a countdown of the number of days of possible debauchery I have left. Poor thing. She doesn't know I slept at 11 last night.House Party it seems. Someone tell her it isn't our culture. Pah. Thoo. Chee.

 10)There are many things in the course of life that you will not begin to appreciate until the time is right. When the heavens decide you are ready to move to the next level, emotionally. It seems that this was my time. I was finally ready for...

Maggi. The one thing you cannot appreciate until you stagger, nay, crawl into the kitchen, looking everywhere for a scrap to eat. I still struggle to finish all of it, it still makes me gag. But let it be known that I gag with new found respect.


11) Instant coffee. One word. Sucks. I also discovered why there is such a large contingent of tea-lovers. I am a recent convert. Laziness to head out and buy milk each day forced me to turn to amma's tin of amazing lemon tea. No really. It's awesome.

12) So(uh oh)metimes (phew!), it scares me how much I love cooking. Agreed I can only cook two things, one of those being rice, but that takes nothing from the thought away.

Most of my exploits in the kitchen start when tiredness and hunger have reached a killer crescendo. Read that as post 11.30 p.m. But I cannot stop being awed by the aroma of cumin frying in oil. Or the magic that mint leaves can do. All these smells through the processes of cooking are delightful hints of what is to come. Gives me kicks. 

I can say with a lot of experience behind me to all the ladies who swoon over Curtis Stone, and worship the likes of Kylie Kwong, Nigella Lawson etc., that with some time spent cooking simple home-food for yourself, you will learn to appreciate the genius of Tarla Dalal. Because when one has limited grocery and can kill for food at 12 a.m, looking delish does nothing for hunger pangs. (There Curtis, that's your entire career razed to dust) Ma Tarla, I salute you.



The Stay-At-Home-Mum in the title refers not to my mother (who has, according to last update, been hitting the town merrily), but to me. The Me that comes home late in the evening and realises that there is laundry to be done, bills to be paid, grocery to be bought...It never fails to amaze Me how food doesn't cook itself either. Me has had evenings when she realised to her horror that there was no power because she had forgotten that there was such a thing as Bescom to who bills had to be paid. Me has spent whole days just lying in her bed, ill and without the strength to move only to wake late in the evening to decide what to cook. Me has toiled a few times to keep things in order and learned how easily nobody noticed (To be fair, she hasn't bothered much about 'order' for the most part). After having worked for hours on engineering-type stuff that made you (Me) feel stupid and small, there were vegetable vendors who ripped you Me off just because she wasn't thirty years old. Me gaped and tried to think of a smart answer when they asked Me what 'variety' of 'badnekai' she needed. knowing full well she was clueless. She could swear they all grinned while pulling this malicious in-joke of the consortium of vegetable vendors.

Being alone isn't easy. Neither is taking care of a house and a spoilt ingrate. Come back Ma! I promise I'll help with the dishes.