So we had the first scan today, at 12 weeks. I was apprehensive about it for two reasons – any possible anamoly and more importantly, the requisite full bladder. Keeping a litre of water in for more than an hour, when I know my bladder is full is a feat I have never attempted before. My bladder generally works on a ‘see water, will go’ principle. The time I had to sit in a half-day long training with the coffee machine going ‘drip drip drip’ less than two paces behind …

Ever tried selling one of the stories from Ramayana or Mahabharata to a child today? Especially one raised on a PG or U certificate rating anywhere else but in India? Hair-raising, I tell you. For one, the stories are all way too gory for their bland tastes. Tell them so-on-so chopped the other bloke’s finger or head off and watch young eyes turn into saucers. The whys and whats and loud gasps would take days to stem, leave alone the increased Nightmare Alert.
If your child is not raised on an …

My son will grow up to be a great interrogator, am sure. He gets down to the res immediately, no faffing around. Last weekend, I was ten minutes into my weekly phone call with my mum when she mentioned that my dad has now taken this job of becoming a grandpa all over again so seriously, he has decided to go in for some false teeth. Apparently, there was some minor disagreement with a tourist bus and the car he was in somewhere on the Madras-Tirupathy highway re whose right …

You know they say “be aware of what you tell your children; it may well come back to bite you in your ass”? Well, it happens to me many a time but the ninny that I am, I keep spinning my web of lies and flounder as my son ties me in knots using the same slimy thread.
For instance, when P was very little, he once asked me why we got married. A thousand replies weaved through my head:
“To shove a thumb up your paternal grandparents noses”
“To have hot, monkey …

My son just told me he is bored. “Life is boring” are his exact words.
When a 5 year old chucks that line at you, what the hell do you do?
Any pointers?

(Announcer on the telly: “Name one reason why a woman would marry an ugly man?” — with Family Fortunes theme tune in the background)
P: “Well, daddy, you are ugly!”
P’s poor dad: “What? I am ugly?”
P: “er, well yeah, a bit ugly”
P’s dad: “What do you mean a bit ugly?”
P: “Well you wear glasses!”
P’s dad: “If I am ugly, then you must be too!”
P: “No I am not! I am gorgeous! Ask mummy!” 
From the mouth of babes…. 

My son is five years old and ever since he was 2.5, I have been getting subtle digs from the MIL’s side that have gradually become stronger over the years – about her looking after her grandson without me hovering in the background, cluttering up the picture. Before you ask, yes I have left him in her care during the day, in order to acqueise to her hankering, whilst I have taken care of some odd jobs nearby. So what is the problem? Well, she wants to keep him overnight. …

‘Get your Easter bonnets in by Friday, as we will be having the Easter Bonnet Parade later on in the day’, stated the missive from the school. Easter bonnet? What the hell! I had visions of P walking up and down his school, looking like Peter Rabbit. Why in God’s name would these boys wear bonnets in the first place anyway? After all, this is the land where the tiniest smudge of pink isn’t allowed anywhere near a boy (lest he become traumatised or gay in the future?) and here …

P is 5 today. Unbelievable! It seems as if it was just yesterday (how cliched does that sound!) that he was a wee baby and I was a mum going crackers. New place, new role, no friends, that was my state. Struggling with the day-to-day things such as breast feeding, mashing up the potatoes and carrots, and just holding it together from one day to the next. As I see my group of blogger friends, the mommy bloggers, the mom blog network and things like that, I can’t help wishing …

Every morning, just a few minutes before 9.00 AM, you would find me dragging self and P up the cardiac hills of Brentwood, to land up in a heap in front of P’s school. We would arrive, breathless, dishevelled and at least in my case, wheezing like an age-old steam engine, while all around me will be the cool mums and dads, dropping their children off and taking off to work, gym or the coffee shop, without breaking a sweat.
Some of the moms are of the yummy-mummy variety – …