mary has two little lambs

Our new CM

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Thu, 14 May 2026 20:48:00 +0000

To my utter glee and happiness, VDSatheesan is taking over as the 13th CM of my home state after 10 days of wrangling between three contenders. As someone whose heart is always with the Congress, the UDF victory gives me hope. VD is educated, well read, principled and relatively young. He seems to have progressive ideas and a desire to take everyone along.

Dad would've been happy with the victory and CM choice.

Gymming

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Wed, 13 May 2026 21:20:27 +0000

As a tribute to dad on his birthday on May 11, I have joined the gym again after six months of walking.

Winter is beating a retreat and the Peninsula is gearing for summer. Hence walking in the sweltering heat is not my kind of exercise.

Relief

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Tue, 07 Apr 2026 21:20:00 +0000

As we say in Malayalam, what came like a mountain or landslide went away like a rat. Expecting a counteroffensive after Orange Man's latest deadline that smacked of a nuke, we told Ash he could sleep with us for the night and die together if the building came down 😱

Nothing happened and we woke up to news of a ceasefire. Hopefully the friction will fizzle out though Satan yahoo won't be the happiest person.

The other good news of the day is that Ash got his driver's license which is quite a feat here.

April is not the cruelest month after all.

Passion of the faithful

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Sat, 04 Apr 2026 21:23:00 +0000

Good Friday is usually a day-long event for us Kerala Orthodox Christians; the mass runs from 7.30 am to about 3.30 pm. It is a bit longer in the main churches in the UAE since much of the burgeoning crowds of faithful have to do the kumbideel - or worshipping/kneeling before the cross covered in white cloth symbolic of Jesus' burial - and it takes about 2 hours in the second half of the day. To me, that looks like the most sacred part though the procession holding a small wooden cross -- thankfully not hefty like the one carried by Catholics on the same day -- seems just as holy.

Much to Ash's relief, there was no mass braving crowds and the summer sun this year. Owing to the conflict, authorities directed the churches in the main emirates to hold the service online. Outdoor gathering was not permitted even on Palm Sunday, and we had to fit inside the church and auditorium. The two of us did a few token kumbideel while the father was away at work. I belted out the hymns for the day finding special meaning and satisfaction in the one that went "Jalathayezhum joothanmaraal..." (He was crucified by the arrogant/idiotic Jews - not sure if jalatha means idiocy or arrogance). It is more a feeling instituted by my granny whose narration of the crucifixion saga stressed on the Jewish insistence on having poor JC sentenced to death on the Cross.

The mass was over by 1.20 pm. We missed the kanji-payar-papadam combo at church after mass but I made the same for lunch.

Like Dawkins, I like to call myself a cultural Christian. Happy Easter, folks!

Grim times

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Fri, 27 Mar 2026 19:38:00 +0000

Obliterate must be the longest word in Trum*'s 200-word vocabulary. Whatever, he has been providing us much mirth in these grim times. Our lives continue to be uncertain though things are quiet here as of now. Will things change after Easter? Should I think of heading home before war reaches our doorsteps and the evacuation of 9 mn Indians in the Gulf becomes a Herculean task?

p.s. Back home, Brutus had to be neutered as he was becoming troublesome around his female caretaker.

Hubris

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Sat, 07 Mar 2026 20:30:14 +0000

There was a time in my childhood when we would rush out of the house and squint our eyes at the sky to spot a passing aeroplane. We've reached that stage again _ with flights and airspace closed, the occasional aircraft or drone is reason enough to gaze at the sky and fathom what's happening.

Sharjah has been relatively safe and we've had our usual life so far. One emergency bag is packed and a few essential items have been stocked.

May this madness end soon.

Kenya again

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Fri, 27 Feb 2026 22:52:00 +0000

A first cousin's 50th birthday was a good reason to visit Nairobi again from Feb 13_22. It was a week of endless partying _ the scheduled dinners at Capital Club, an outdoor venue and at home _ as well as lunch or dinner at other restaurants and clubs or at home.

I had not attended anything of this scale before. The crowd was intimate and fun - they included apart from a few of us relatives - mother, sister, first cousins and relatives from the wife's side -- his friends from his student days in Belgaum, US, France and his work life in Germany and Kenya. Ash got a special invite too since he has been in regular touch with the ammacha (uncle).

Just after I had booked on Kenya Airways, the cousin told us that he would like us to carry some 15 kg fish food for his koi fish; soon after, he asked Ash if he could bring his DJ set to play at the party. After some dillydallying, we decided to take in its original packing material -- discarding the box I got from Amazon. The fish food and set filled one passenger's luggage allowance, so the two of us managed to fit in our wardrobe for the week in the second suitcase.

We were not prepared for the long-winding, slow-moving queue at the check-in counter in T1 of DXB on 12th midnight; some carried bulky shapeless sacks probably filled with consumer durables and other goodies that would have a good retail market in Kenya. Our DJ set was specially marked fragile and sent separately for loading in the aircraft after we had paid a fee of AED 45.. The journey was thoroughly uncomfortable and sleep was difficult in the 5 hours we were in the flight. Food was overcooked and nothing we would remotely fancy.

We were accommodated at Novotel in Nairobi Westlands for the 7 days we were in the capital and Temple Point Resort for the 4 days we were in Watamu, a beach town that had the humid weather of Kerala and the development level of a North Indian small town. Apart from the complimentary hotel breakfast, we could troop to cousin's house near the embassies (the isrl one being the only ominous one with gun-toting security men and no photography signboards) which was an Uber ride away for lunch and a few dinners (the dinner parties on 14th, 15th and 16th were formal, casual and semi-casual respectively and grand affairs in their own way). Ash played his DJ on the third night -- an informal garden party at home that was half ruined by an unexpected summer rain.

On 15th, I joined a motley team for a city tour that included viewing the capital from a helipad. A hippie draped in a keffiyeh and a couple of African man sporting t-shirts displaying the Palestinian flag made a half-Palestinian guest among us happy and emotional. On 19th, my brother took us and his family for an early-morning safari in the Nairobi National Park where we saw three of Africa's Big Five -- lion, rhino and African buffalo. A huge baboon peeped in through the roof of our vehicle and went off with the breakfast that the hotel had packed for me -- that was fine; my only worry was the plastic caps and cases polluting the park.

The foodie that my cousin is, we feasted and drank like the gods on Olympus. As with the Australia vacation, it seemed unreal once I set foot back here. The only real and tangible parts were the goodies I brought home - tea and coffee packets, Masai-beaded mirrors and sandals, and other knick-knacks.

Photo captions (clockwise from left): Barbeque party in the garden; the big formal party in Capital Club; the outdoor party in Langata; atop the helipad with the hippie couple in front; cousin's multi-level home near the Karura Forest; my cousin Rose feeding a Rothschild giraffe at the Giraffe Centre in Nairobi.

Forced vegetarianism

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Mon, 23 Feb 2026 20:50:00 +0000

The New Year has started with travel. After returning from Kerala on January 14 - spending one night at the iconic Mascot Hotel by KTDC in the capital -- we played host to a Jain couple for 10 days beginning end Jan.

Though it was difficult for us to abstain from non-vegetarian fare except during Lent, we took it in our stride and decided to learn some pure vegetarian, non-onion, non-tubers cooking. We bent backwards to accommodate the elderly couple we knew from our Chennai days. I provided them the Ganesha figurines to make their morning prayers. The man was not interested in the Sivakami figurine I treasured in my collection, and placed the Ganeshas alone on a paper tissue in Mira's room. He also made it a point to turn the Masai family sculpture away to ward off evil energy in the room.

V took physical and financial pains to take them around - Miracle Garden, Dubai Mall, the new Hindu temple in Abu Dhabi etc - while I escaped the first half because of a gig. My birthday also was marked by an eggless pista cake and some dinner at a veg restaurant nearby.

They left happy and content about a comfortable trip, blessing me before they made their way to immigration in Terminal 3. But would I have them again. God forbid.

Much as we call it cultural exchange and tolerance, I dont like the air of superiority of vegetarians. Come on, humans are meant to be carnivores.

Instead of meat and fish, we gulped down litres of oil and ghee under the lady's specialty cooking.

The maid and me mopped up the water they splashed on the bathroom floor outside the tub. I sent the pillows stained with coconut oil to the laundry -- some Indians like to apply oil on their hair after a hairwash.

Two days after they left, me and Ash packed our bags to leave for Kenya to attend a first cousin's 50th birthday celebration.

Three weddings

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Thu, 22 Jan 2026 21:03:05 +0000

... and a memorial service

In Kerala, a vacation well-spent.

BFIW 3

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Sat, 27 Dec 2025 11:23:00 +0000

The reception the next night was equally grand. The couple entered through a cloudy, smoky path created by dry ice. Food flowed while dancing, gifting and photo ops went on in the background. Even by the most stringent belt tightening standards, the expenses would've crossed 25 lakh.

I departed the next day with a return gift and a box of sweets stuffed into my suitcase. After a quick trip to Gurgaon to meet a school friend I hadn't seen in 40 years, I boarded an Air India Vistara flight to Dubai. It was one helluva trip; I particularly liked the fact that i could go on a solo trip to my favorite Mughal monuments in Delhi _ Qutb Minar, Humayun's Tomb _ on the morning of the reception! Random tourists obliged me to click photographs of myself.

Key takeaways from being a part of a big fat wedding: they lack the grace and sophistication of a present-day Kerala Syrian Christian wedding but they are earthy and fun. They don't work with any clockwork precision and lack the organised brevity of xian weddings _ but there's food to keep people entertained, so noone has complaints. It's not the mad rush to the buffet halls we see in Kerala. There's more generosity in the hosting as I experienced in the hotel booking and food; our folks would expect us to fend for ourselves. The family bonhomie on the surface (at least) is endearing. That people, despite the division and bigotry one sees online, are nicer, kinder and caring.

I came back feeling happy and much loved.

BFIW 2

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Tue, 23 Dec 2025 13:09:00 +0000

For the next 3 days, we had our meals sorted out. Special veg buffets on the terrace of the hotel or the feasts accompanying the sangeet on 26th night, the actual wedding on 27th or the reception on 28th night. I didn't miss my daily non-vegetarian protein intake and feasted on the paneer, chaats and Indian sweets. The sangeet had only the groom's party and i assume the bride's side had their own sangeet in another part of the city. The uncles, aunts,nephews and nieces danced along with the groom while most of us ladies queued up for the mehndi application. I smudged one hand in no time but despite the glitch, it brightened my palms for a few days.

On the wedding day, a beautician who came to deck up the groom's mother gave me also a touch-up _ it was no small makeover and had me looking like a kathakali artist who many layers of paint and a hairbun that betrayed my actual age. Seema looked stunning in a bright red sari while the other lady relatives turned out fancy in their best saris. By then, the whole extended family paid special attention to making me feel I was part of their family; either my Hindi was improving or their English was. I got on particularly well with Seemas mother, a retired teacher of English, and her quiet father, a college professor who didn't speak much English.

A bus transported us to the wedding venue inGhaziabad , and for a while we stood outside and danced around the groom perched on a white horse. The dancing went on for half an hour, I guess, on both sides of the road and outside the hall entrance before the bride's family welcomed us all in great fanfare. Little plates of snacks and bright colored drinks began appearing wherever we were, and the initial excitement of a chat counter son dissipated when I realized I had to leave a lil space for the main course.

And then came the bride, in a lovely red lehenga and shielded under what looked like a flower-decked cot, raining flying kisses at the groom waiting on stage.

The actual wedding pooja happened in the afternoon after we had our fill. The bride had changed into another outfit by then. Everyone crowded around the puja pandas, and i settled for a second row seat and closed my eyes for a while. By the time i woke up, the wedding ceremony was over. I had expected some loud chanting through a mic but it was a hushed affair and the pujari was probably the most soft spoken guy I had seen. Most embarrassingly, the relatives had all seen me dozing and thought I was bored.

The big fat Indian wedding

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Tue, 23 Dec 2025 08:03:00 +0000

I flew straight to jaipur on an air arabia flight on Nov 22nd where I was eagerly and affectionately received by my brother's in laws, a retired naval officer living in an officer's campus, one of the few decent localities I found in the Pink City. The city had none of the charm that beckoned us from tourism brochures but was dusty, dirty and disorganized. But my host's bungalow had the most charming and beautiful interiors. I was meeting them for the first time in their home ground. They organized a taxi and one-day tour for me that covered Hawa mahal, Amer Fort, and a drive up Najafgarh fort from where we could observe Jal Mahal basking in the winter sun. The Palace was closed for renovation. Food was great at the restaurant we had lunch and at my host'sfor breakfast and dinner. I left the next day afternoon for Delhi in an Air India vistara flight, despite trepidations about traveling AI after the Ahmed -abad crash. A green yet polluted city welcomed me and took me in an airport taxi to RK PURAM where my friend lived. She welcomed me with aarati and sindoor, and I walked in to a house teeming with her relatives who had come from Indore and Neemach mostly. By night, many of them dispersed to other relatives' homes and it was just me and the groom's parents in the 50 year old government flat. Bro's friend Des and Farah took me out for dinner to an Assamese restaurant that served pork but no beef, so i settled for a chicken meal.

The next day morning, there was a spillover puja from the previous day's haldi ceremony. The pandit gathered the groom and his parents near him while the rest of us sat behind and most chattered away loudly defying the loud chants from the poojari who would occasionally hand out various things for the groom or his ps to hold or put into the fire. He had a sense of humor and cracked some jokes in Hindi which I didn't understand by everyone else laughed. He kindly let me do an aarati or circling a plate of consecrated stuff around the fire in the end like every other relative.

Soon after the ceremony, we shifted to a hotel in a Punjabi colony. The reception sported paper clippings of Modi wishing Sikhs on their auspicious day.

Delhi days again

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Sun, 14 Dec 2025 22:07:00 +0000

One of my favourite memories from my Delhi days in the 1990s was a young couple in their kitchen cubicle - the wife making rotis and curry after office and the husband keeping her company, talking to her in Hindi but keeping an eye out for the three young ladies in the adjoining room. I say room because that rented place in Katwaria Sarai belonging to a Jat gentleman -- who had a family and buffaloes living on the ground floor -- was the most rudimentary of architectural designs. There were four rooms on the first floor with kitchens and washrooms adjoining them. The working ladies and the couple had their rooms adjoining each other, so they soon got friendly. The husband was a good singer and he would occasionally look at our room and sing "mere samnewali khidki mein ek chand ka tukda rehta hein (There is a piece of moon living in the window in front)". I assumed he referred to my roommate who was pretty but later the couple told us that it was a tribute to all of us girls.

Whatever, the bond grew and by the time I left in less than an year's time, we had got so close that they looked dejected when they came to bid me farewell at the New Delhi railway station. Though I did not return to Delhi until a decade later, our correspondence continued and we developed a bond that was strengthened by our love for English literature and love and romance in the books we read and in life in general. I discussed my real and imaginary romances - beginning with a knight in shining armour who rescued me from being pushed into the tracks by a desperate commuter trying to board the moving train at Chengannur where I alighted after a 3-day journey -- and my steady changes in life over inland mail in the initial years and by email and much later WhatsApp. Curiously, in those years I never knew her caste or political affiliations - it never really mattered unlike these days where people's differences are more out in the open.

Some time early this year, Seema told me her only child, who had chosen to become a professional singer, had found the love of his life - a singer herself. Though I initially agreed to go, I later told her I had a few other financial and travel commitments that would make it difficult. But when she sent me the wedding invite in October I decided to go, with ample encouragement from bro. V agreed though he wasnt really aware until much later that I had booked tickets. I decided to spend a day or two sightseeing in Jaipur to make the most of the one-week Delhi trip. I was somewhat apprehensive about sharing space with right-wing strangers in the Delhi hotel they had reserved for us but when she told me I would be sharing a room with her cousin Bobby who I knew from my Delhi stint and Seem herself, I was relieved.

To be continued

Post-partum caregivers

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Tue, 14 Oct 2025 21:52:00 +0000

After two weeks in my hometown during Mira's mid-semester break, I boarded an Emirates flight from Kochi. For a change, I opted for the window seat; aisle seat is my preferred seat as it gives me better freedom of movement and less claustrophobia.

But I had not bargained for two older ladies as companions - women who were already in winter clothing appropriate for their destinations which were so bulky that it not only inconvenienced the wearer but me the neighbour. Its layered material encroached into my space while her feet in newfound shoes stole part of my leg space.

Once I had finished admiring the skies and the land below, I turned to study the lady next to me. I surmised she was heading to meet her offspring most probably to help with her pregnancy. My sarcasm towards the kin of the new breed of Kerala immigrants to the West did not prevent me from helping her with her food tray. Her battle with the chettinad chicken biriyani further limited my space - she held akimbo the foil on her left hand as she attacked the chicken. A forlorn fork fell to the ground; I advised her to fetch it later as I didnt want her tripping the whole tray on me.

Once we had finished our meals, I decided to corroborate my findings. And boy! wasnt I right?!!. She was en route to Ireland to take care of her pregnant daughter whose due date was two days later. And her companion's daughter had given birth a day earlier. I only got her native place wrong. She hailed from Nagercoil and her friend from a town near Kochi; the latter seemed a little more flight savvy and English literate (enough to follow the cabin crew's queries). She had travelled all the way to Kochi airport instead of Trv airport to have a flight companion.

"This jacket is too hot," she told me as she removed it after her meal, revealing her dusky figure in a green sari. I smiled sympathetically.

But I wasnt prepared for the tale she narrated for the rest of our four-hour journey. Her daughter was a nurse who migrated from Saudi to Ireland. She had worked as a daily labourer to bring up her three children after her alcoholic and abusive husband passed away. And no, this wasnt her first flight journey, she had been to Qatar to visit another daughter.

Have you been to Dubai before? No, she said, though my son lives there. He has been incommunicado for the past three years. He lives there with his wife and child but doesnt call me ever. Her eyes moistened as she talked of her son. Her daughter had promised to take care of her.

She kept talking until the place touched down in Dubai. I wished her all the best and went my way as she waited for the wheelchair to transport her to the connecting flight.. That is a ploy not only to avoid the long walk inside dxb airport but also to navigate English illiteracy and related bottlenecks.

Lives of people are more complex than we take them to be.

C to C

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Sat, 11 Oct 2025 08:15:00 +0000

Mira had a 10-day mid-semester break in early October that coincided with Pooja holidays. She landed at Chengannur station on September 27, a week after I came. As luck would have it Manju met with a freak scooter accident - she drives up and down every day on a Honda Activa - and a hairline fracture that warranted a week's rest. So Mira could not have the variety food she fancied and along with her fussy granny, she susbsisted on the puttu-banana I cooked up every morning or the quick side dishes our substitute help Ammini rustled up between her hospital visits and SHG and NREGA activities.

One morning, we went to Aranmula to talk to the metal mirror makers, and Mira hopes to find an interesting, not-yet-explored news angle in it for a class assignment.

p.s. After a two-year wait between application and reception, M gazed at her Aadhar card like she had won the Dubai Duty-free lottery.

Brut and us

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Fri, 10 Oct 2025 08:14:00 +0000

Our days partly revolved around our labrador Brutus. I had to set alarm to wake up at 6.30 am to let him out. He would then head to a few plants and water it with his urine before settling down beside me as I read the paper.

He is a high-energy, cantankerous dog and likes to paw us the moment we pay him some attention. Then he would get even more aggressive with his affection, so the trick is to not pay him any attention and get on with our work. He would then rest his head on the floor and be lost in thought. Most often, he looked like he was waiting for dad, and would choose to rest beside the chair he once sat reading the newspaper.

Mira has a lot of gram-worthy info on his behaviour and diet. Mom of course refuses to heed our gyan and insists that he be fed a bowlful of rice and some beef three time a day.

Mom's garden

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Sun, 05 Oct 2025 08:13:00 +0000

These were the first pictures I took when I reached home. The red hibiscus-like flower mesmerised me but I didnt dare touch as I was told its leaves and stems were prickly. Everyday some 10 flowers bloomed brightening up the garden.

Mom takes a lot of interest in her garden and it gives her much happiness, I feel. The garden extends to the road giving the roadside a neat look. In one part of the premises, sweet potato creepers have invaded some part of the ground.

Onam, the equalizer

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Tue, 09 Sep 2025 16:53:00 +0000

While mom had her Onam sadya with her helps, KK and Manju , our guests of honor included my Sri Lankan maid; it was her first real sadya.

Saviours of the poor

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Mon, 28 Jul 2025 20:23:00 +0000

Mom's home nurse Manju has shifted to her new compact home built with government funds, their savings and some aid from us in cash and kind. Looking at pictures of the house with marble flooring, new shiny curtains, and appliances that make life easier, one would mistake it for a rich man's house. But it is a house built painstakingly with their sweat and blood, and dignity that has been made possible by the communist movement in Kerala which gave the oppressed classes equal rights and the freedom to dream of a better life.

Kerala lost one of its revolutionary stalwarts last week - former CM Achuthanandan, better known by his initials VS. Someone who came from modest and difficult surroundings, and who fought for the rights of the backward castes and classes and that of labourers. The massive crowds at his funeral though he died at the ripe old age of 101 was unprecedented. We might call him the last good communist but it might be better to say the last popular good communist.

If Manju's progeny can cut a birthday cake like any other rich kid or buy new clothes for Onam, the struggles of these mass leaders have not gone in vain.

M's husband Vish... spent 10 years of his growing up years in my family home. His father was our family help, a kind of man Friday who had some odd job around the house on a daily basis. He kept the yard and the fields tidy. Vish first came to chase away birds in the fields during sowing season. He then took up residence with us on granny's suggestion sleeping on the big table in the work area that doubled up as an ironing table on weekends. For the young lad of 10, it meant three square meals, wholesome and tasty, cooked under granny's guidance. He went to the government school nearby but also tended to the cattle at home, fetching hay for them or stoking the fire under the huge cauldron that cooked their special meal of puliyarikanji. Vish was also our playmate, joining us for football or badminton. He taught the masters' sons cycling and tree climbing as they would lovingly vouch years later. But books and studies were not his cup of tea, and he spent 2 years in every class. He quit goodbye to books after failing in Class 10.

Today his elder daughter is doing well in school, and her teachers expect her to pass with distinction in grade 10.

For Gaza

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Tue, 08 Jul 2025 20:47:00 +0000

Contributing my bit during a visit to the fish market.

Eid outings

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Sat, 21 Jun 2025 20:48:00 +0000

Early June brought home Mira and the Bakrid break. We also had a visitor from Saudi _ Vs sibling. It was reason enough to explore new places despite the summer heat. One evening, we went up the country's highest peak in RAK emirate, and another day we went for a picnic at Love Lake in Du-bai. Both were enjoyable.

W.A.

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Mon, 12 May 2025 07:56:00 +0000

The 26th wedding anniversary was made sweeter by Bhima once again with a chocolate cake. A marketing tactic prompted by sales and future sales. Had exchanged some old gold for something more contemporary in design.

We celebrated the day with a homemade lunch where vinod made the fish fry and ridge gourd curry, followed by a trip to the Cinemas to watch Thudarum, and rounded off with dinner at Habib Beirut, a Lebanese restaurant that also serves Italian food.

Wishes on Facebook and whatsapp completed the day.

The less privileged

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Sun, 04 May 2025 10:52:00 +0000

The book fair is a wonderful place to meet people. What I miss on an average day and what I enjoy...

This time had its memorable moments including the Ugandan security guard.

Then there was this smart young boy behind me at the students session with podcaster Varun Duggirala on Wednesday who kept raising his hand to be a volunteer or fire a question but wasnt seen most times much to his disappointment. He told me he is called Shahrukh Khan in school, and his friends vouched for him. I held him close and asked his name. He was Muhammad and his friend was a mohd too while the chap with bhasmam (holy soot) next to him had a Hindu name. Did a short SRK dance for me :)

The next day, there was another students' interaction, this time with CG Salamander. Of the 3 schools, one was NIMS shj. And there was this boy seated with his friends on the second row wearing tattered sports shoes. He spoke in Hindi to his friends. I couldn't get chatting like the previous day. After all this was Grade 8 boys unlike the Grade 5 boys the previous day.

I got the accompanying school teacher's number after the session and messaged him later asking if I could get the boy a pair of shoes. He thanked me and said it's against school policy. Damn, I should've chatted with the boy and got his mom's number.

But I hope the school will do something.

It pains me when we bring up privileged kids at home who don't use an umbrella beyond an year or wear a top beyond a semester! Haha, that's Mira. Of course she has changed in APU ( the social science effect plus living with kids on financial aid) and no longer hankers after brands or want too many clothes.

Books to Uganda

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Sun, 27 Apr 2025 19:09:00 +0000

It is that season when Sharjah once again celebrates the children's book festival. Parents come with their kids in tow or school buses transport kids on weekday mornings. They buy books, take part in workshops or enjoy the cultural programmes and snacks on sale.

For us in the media room, there are sumptuous food packets three times a day with sandwiches, biryanis, fruits and cakes. But there is a silent team at work - the cleaners and security people at various locations in the venue.

One such person is Alex from Uganda, who mans the lift leading to the media room and prayer room. I say a hello or smile vaguely. Yesterday, he asked about the books on sale and said he cant think of buying them for his kids back home as they are very expensive. I told him I will see about it. Today I packed some of my children's books in mint condition - Geronimo Stilton, Secret Seven, etc. -- and gave them on my way to my work room. He was thrilled; later he told me that he had messaged his wife and sent pictures of the books he would be bringing for them.

So I decided to get him a new book for his younger kid aged 5, and found a book of fairy tales at Big Bad Wolf which has some good discounts. He was doubly thrilled. I hope the children will be too when they receive a new book.

A friend lost

noreply@blogger.com (Ladybird) — Sat, 26 Apr 2025 18:55:00 +0000

Another untimely death has claimed the life of an old dear friend. My roommate and MCCian in Madras years ago and dad's colleague's daughter died in an accident when her husband rammed their car early morning into a stationary lorry; he is believed to have dozed off behind the wheel and their car apparently did not have air bag, an optional feature in India.

My grief has been compounded by the fact that I almost met her on my last trip to Kerala. We were to meet but since our timings clashed, she said we will meet next time. At least I had been able to chat with her; she had called when my dad passed away and we had been briefly in touch. A connection we had lost when she got married first and got busy with her life.

God bless her soul.