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Mother of Another

17 Aug

Me: Okay, Zoroastrianism 101–What was the Prophet’s name?

The Boy: Zarathushtra.

Me: Correct. What was his mother’s name?

The Boy: Umm….Amma?

More Ghatlet the Cutlet

3 Aug

Mamma, when you go to god’s house, will you leave your i-pad for me?

~ Baby K, who, less than four years since he made his appearance, is sorting his mother’s will and gently hastening her along the road.

Want more?

A Beautiful Year

25 Jul

By popular demand, the Boy is back to write a birthday dedication, but before you proceed, HOLD IT!

1) Look closely:

2) I am NOT cloning him

3) Now read:

Imagine walking into the Louvre with your own framed doodle, wondering whether to place it next to the Da Vinci or the Monet – and then finding oneself terribly outclassed. That is probably close to what I feel right now as I pen this ode to OJ on her birthday. But then, this post is not about me. It is about the one I love.

Ardent readers might remember my birthday dedication an year ago, which basically confirmed the fact that everyone’s favorite blogger likes beautiful things. But instead of adding to the list of beautiful things that OJ likes (which is pretty easy) – this birthday, let me hazard to explain how she makes the world more beautiful.

Let’s say we’ve woken late and lazy on a Sunday and we decide to head out to iHop for a late and lazy brunch. Given how much I love pancakes, I move like the whirl of the wind and am ready at the door twirling the keys to the Honda, dreaming of Canadian maple syrup. But not OJ – who despite harboring an even greater love for the aforementioned pancakes – will carefully “prepare” for the outing. Nothing will be chosen to be worn at random, not a hair will be out of place and not a piece of jewelery will be unwarranted, redundant or excessive (like my adjectives). Finally the perfect handbag will fit in like the 999th piece of a gorgeous 1000 piece Ravensburger puzzle of the Castle Neuschwanstein. And when she appears from the bedroom, not decked up, but just perfect – I look at her, hang my head and promptly go inside to change whatever arbitrary piece of clothing I had selected, to something that, quite simply, is more appropriate. And the 1000th piece? She will reach with practiced ease towards the little box of Altoid Minis and pop two in the mouth, the corner of her lips curling upwards ever so slightly with the satisfaction, that yes, everything – including her breath and her husband – is now beautiful.

To prove this point further–let me describe to you, O reader of the jammies–how OJ makes children smile. All her preparedness as described above, will dissolve into a blob of silly putty in the hands of a sad child. She will hold the despondent child in her arms, enveloping the kid in folds of exquisite softness until any pain or sadness has gone away. She will then just play silly, making them jump and throwing them in the air and giving off her inimitable laughter – with a real rare kindness that would melt the hardest of hearts. Children don’t stand a chance against this – it is like a chocolate fountain, a Chuck-e-Cheese ball pit and Dora the Explorer all rolled into one. And really, what is more beautiful than a child’s rippling laughter?

There are many more examples of how she creates beauty, beautifully unaware of the fact that she is doing so. I am lucky to witness these every day and every moment I spend with her. And if anyone asks me what I miss about her when I am far away from her on work – it is just this: If she is not around me, it is as if everything that is beautiful disappears from my life.

Happy Birthday, my love – here’s wishing you another beautiful year ahead.

Made for Trade

13 Jul

Take my sister. I’ll give you 10 bucks.

~My 5-year-old nephew, making me a business offer oh-so-casually, as the 18-month-old commodity in question waddled about us.

And He Wears a Beret

26 Jun

My friend Phi: When you write, silence your inner critic. You know, that little man on your shoulder?

Me: Little man? Girl, my inner critic is 90 years old and morbidly obese.

So what does yours look like? Share share.

If They Ain’t Got Bread

12 Jan

OJ (peering suspiciously at a blob): Is that potty?

4-year-old K: No! It’s cake….

…..that just smells bad.

 

Horny teenagers should be put through my work life.

Free birth control, wheeee!

The Sharpest Tool

3 Dec

Me (sniffling over the phone): I have a code.

Cousin B (jubilantly): I always knew you had it in you to be in the intelligence field!

 

Family. Gotta love the way they love you.

It’s That Time of the Year

25 Jul

Hello readers of Orange Jammies,

As will be (painfully) obvious pretty soon, once you have detected a not-so-subtle change in writing style and conspicuously poorer use of English – this is not OJ. No siree, the honour of writing this post has been given to her worse half or, as he is known in these parts, the Boy. And this honour is not to be taken lightly, because it is indeed an onerous task to fill her shoes as the “Sutradhar” of the crazy world of neon pyjamas. I shall do my best to not let her blog down… but I do sincerely solicit your patience and tolerance just this once – because it is OJ’s birthday!!

Yes, twenty some years ago (or was it thirty some years ago…can’t be sure), this mistress of spices arrived into the world in a beguilingly simple manner. Though I was not present at that point in time, it is said that free OJ was distributed in the halls of the Parsi General Hospital in the leafy confines of South Mumbai. These are just rumours – but I would like to think this is what happened. With the free OJ, all the nurses, doctors, the infirm but lovable Bawas and the fruit vendor across the street were handed an issue of the latest edition of People magazine, a scented candle which brought about visions of Autumn in Bavaria, a bottle of industrial-strength kitchen-top cleaner, a pound of Norwegian (not Alaskan) smoked salmon, a Bottega Veneta crosshatch handbag, a gilded copy of “The Women of the Raj” and a vial of the strongest of good intentions. On receiving this puzzlingly odd collection of stuff, most were confused, because little did they know that this was just the beginning of a beautiful life filled with beautiful things.

That is my wife. A study in contradictions, but only those which make life interesting and worth living. There are many things I have learned about her, over the relatively short time I have known her – but if there is one thing I can mark with a flourescent highlighter for everyone to see it is that she relentlessly searches for beauty in this world. Whether it is through her amazingly crafted prose, or her selfless support of those in need, or her ability to change her own point of view, or her search for the perfect handbag/industrial-strength cleaner… it is all to make this world a prettier (and cleaner) place. A world her Nana would have been proud of.

And if it is her birthday, I for one, have many reasons to celebrate. After all, twenty some years ago (or was it thirty…does it matter?) on the 25th of July, the world suddenly became one heck of an interesting place to live in… that is worth celebrating, isn’t it?

Happy birthday, my love… may God bless you with health, wealth, happiness and lots of beauty.

Oh Knot Me

1 Oct

Look, try it, won’t you? It’s just like a relationship. Comes with strings attached!

~A girlfriend trying to convince me to switch to tampons.

~

Any opinions/experiences/suggestions?

Just a Couple

23 Sep

Aunt OJ: Gubby, how old are you?

The baby formerly known as Ghattu (beaming & pointing to the sides of his head): Two ears.

Happy 2nd and God bless, my most precious bundle of gurgles. I can’t imagine what I did with all my love before you came along to be squished, nuzzled and proprietorially smothered.

Like you promptly trot out on demand, “I laaau you!” You’re the happiest thing that will ever happen to Masi outside of her uterus.