• Suma watch this, he says. A million times a day. Sometimes to seek my attention, sometimes to share the excitement of having found a lost toy, and at other times to show something that he has discovered. Atul doesn't call me amma these days. Appa has taught him all of amma's pet names, and he has decided to add one to the list.
  

• Suma, why did Obama win, and not McCain, asked Atul. That's because more people voted for Obama, was my response. Why did more people not vote for McCain, came his follow up question. I told him, more people thought Obama's choices and rules are better than McCain's, so they voted Obama to be our leader. Then he asked, Suma do you think I make good rules and choices. Yes, I do Atul, was my reassurance. When I grow up to be a big boy, I want to be a leader. Do you think more people will vote for me? asked Atul keenly. So my friends, in another 40 years or so, if you happen to hear Atul Hari Venkatesh as a presidential candidate, please remember this post, and do vote for him.
  

• Out of the blue, one day Atul asked me, where did you buy me from? A little startled my spontaneous response was, I did not buy you Atul, I made you. Did you make me at the sensory table? Did you make me with play doh? asked curious little Atul.
  

• Why is my skin brown? The last time he asked me this question, it was matter-of-fact, and I was able to come up with a matter-of-fact response. Atul, do you remember at the farm different horses had different colors. In the same way, different people are made of different colors. But this time around, he was more emotional about it. Why are all kids in my class painted white? Why is nobody painted in brown? I want to be painted in white like my friends. I tried telling him that it doesn't matter how we look or what color we are made of. What matters is how we feel inside. I don't think he was too convinced, which means he will come back again with that question. I better be prepared before that.
  

• Some days I am so tired that I retire to bed earlier than Atul does. So I ask him to tuck me instead of the other way around. On one such night, he tucks me in, kisses me on my cheek, and with a sparkle in his eyes tells, sleep tight sleepy head.

My dad fell down and fractured his left wrist while he was innocently carrying on with his dusting and cleaning routine at home. Poor thing, he has been in acute pain for the past few days and will have to undergo a minor surgery to correct the damage. Today as I spoke to him letting him know that we will be thinking of him, praying for him, and sending positive vibes along, I could sense the shakiness in his voice. Rightfully so.

I have lost count of the number of surgeries my dad has had in his life so far. He knows too well what a surgery entails and what being in physical pain means, which is why when I was bed ridden after a c-section, my dad's words and reassurance mattered the most because he knew what he was talking about.

Appa is my role model when it comes to taking care of one's health. He is someone I will always look upto and draw inspiration from. I have not seen him once succumb to temptations and cravings. He is very particular about eating healthy and nutritious food, keeping up with his daily walks, and taking his medications. He would not push the limits of what his body can do. Inspite of doing the right things, setbacks do happen, and what does one do. As hard as it is, accept and face it, that's what I learn from appa's experiences.

If appa has endured a lot physically, amma is the one always by his side bearing the burden of being positive and taking care of the practical aspects without being emotionally drained . It's not easy being on the other side of the surgery room knowing that your loved one is under the knife. It's not easy seeing your better half writhing in pain, and knowing that there is not much you can do to make it vanish.

Although we are half way across the world, the knowledge that my grandma, aunt, uncle and the extended family are there means a lot to me and my brother. We are immensely grateful for their presence and moral support.

Appa, you are likely in the surgery room as I type this post. Here's wishing and praying that all goes well, and that you have a super speedy recovery.

Days roll into weeks, weeks into months and months into years, all too fast. Here's wishing that you get to relish every second of it in the coming year and always. A very happy and prosperous 2009 to one and all.


A child-like excitement envelopes me at this time of the year. Last year, I had two to three pages of resolutions made, a minuscule of which I accomplished this year. I am fairly sure I will improvise on those resolutions and have a whole new list pasted on my wardrobe as a daily reminder for 2009. Think of this exercise as an annual clean up of my mental clutter.

Thatha's passing away was my brush with death of a loved one. Life did not come to a standstill, even on the day that he passed away. But there are random times that I think of him, and the realization that he is not there any more feels like a fresh wound. I managed to find a letter he wrote to me that began in his classic opening style, “Invoking the blessings of Sri Rama..”. That was so him. It put a smile on my face, and I know I will reach out for that letter in the years to come. My way of coping up with his physical absence.

Professionally, I made decent progress this year, and there are miles to cross in the years to come. It's an exciting time to be working for a company that predicts bankruptcies. I do hope for all our good that the automotive manufacturers, the retailers, and other market participants come out of the gloom and doom sooner than later.

Parenting got a tad challenging with the kiddie bombarding questions on topics, all and sundry. Why is my skin brown and M's white? Why do only old people die? What is voice message? What do you mean by fascination? Atul teaches me to be silly, to giggle and to live in the moment. As I explain things to him, I get in touch with some of life's fundamental truths. He challenges me to be honest, reasonable and fair. 

2008 has been a mixed year for me with its share of ups and downs. More than ever, this year taught me to count my blessings, and cherish my treasures. That there is a big difference between letting go and giving up. That the human mind is more powerful than the human body. That life is seldom black and white, and sometimes the only things in your control are your efforts, attitude and faith. Sometimes all that is left is to persevere.

P.S.: 2007 and 2006 round up here and here respectively.

The household is getting geared up for Santa's visit tonight. Atul and Arvind have been tracking Santa since this morning here. Atul was worried that if we don't bake cookies, Santa would eat his presents instead. So we fervently baked some oatmeal cookies and have saved a couple for the saint. We huddled by the fireplace, Atul in his sleeping bag, and I in a velux, reading Christmas stories and later listening to Christmas songs. Our little fiber optics Christmas tree adorns the living room and is awaiting to be surrounded by goodies from Santa. Here's wishing that Santa brings all of us the much needed positivity, faith, and cheer. A cashmere sweater, a crockery set or that woolen socks that I have been eying for would not hurt either :-).  On that note, Seasons Greetings to one and all. 

Thanks to an intensive work schedule, weather induced lethargy, and a new found addiction to House, I have been reading No Onions Nor Garlic for donkey's years. This is a debut novel for Srividya Natarajan, a Tamizh brahmin who teaches English in a Canadian university. This hilarious novel is a potpourri of parodies that touch on several topics- caste conflict, reservation system, red tapism, academia, NRIs, romance, and lesbianism, to name a few and ties them all together in a classic Tamizh movie style. I would characterize this novel as a slapstick comedy that can at times gross you out with its toilet humor and at other times leave you overwhelmed with its garrulous narration. To appreciate the sattire you have to be from Tamil Nadu or academia. I rate this book as above average.

This book also brought memories of one of my first disappointments in the real world. After my 10^th exams, I opted to study in the Commerce group (which involved studying commerce, accounting, economics and the like). After successfully graduating from high school, I thought my grades would without a doubt land me in a college where I could pursue a degree in B.Com. Aha, you wish, voiced reality, loudly and clearly. Studying in a Central Board, and having to compete in the open category proved to be a double whammy. More often than not, CBSE school results were published later than state board results, by which time the open category was filled up. That's precisely what happened the year I passed out of high school. I vividly remember hopping from one college to the other in Coimbatore with appa, amma, and chithappa hoping that there would be at least one school that would be willing to admit me based on merit, and oversee the constraints arising from reservation policies. No such luck. No regrets either. It gave me an opportunity to discover the enigmatic world of economics, and make life long friends along the way. You see in the end it all evened out. 

Arvind, Atul and I joined hundreds of people that gathered tonight at the Boston City Hall Palaza to light a candle each as a mark of respect for the innocent lives lost in last week's terrorist attacks at Mumbai, and to register a silent protest against those miscreants that intended to terrorize us through their barbaric acts.

Yes, we are all shaken, and the world does not feel all that safe anymore. But when I saw the sea of faces around me, from different walks of life, belonging to different ethnicities and faiths, from all age groups, I couldn't but help feel reassured that we are in this together. That we may be small and powerless as individuals, but collectively we can make our voices heard. That going forward, I will not confine my prayers to the well being of my kith and kin, but the greater world because we need each other to make a difference. Samastha Lokah Sukhino Bhavanthu (May this world be established with a sense of well-being and happiness). 

Raising Atul has made me acutely aware of how a child derives his sense of self-worth from his parents. He is very sensitive to an icy look, a stern tone, a sigh, a blank face, or even disinterested conversations. He probably thinks that it was something that he did that caused the behavior, which could be true sometimes but not necessarily all the time. He would coax, and cajole me, “Don't keep your face like that (imitating me), I want you to smile.” I would respond, “Kanna, amma doesn't feel like smiling. Some days are like that.” Still determined, the kiddo would say, “Smile amma.” Knowing that I do not  have a choice, I would fake a smile. He would see through it, “Don't smile like that. Smile properly.” By now, his genuine need to see me smile, to convince himself that all is well in the world, to know that amma is happy so that he can be happy, would wipe the crankiness out of my face and voice, and unintentionally I would smother him with hugs and kisses. In a state of bliss, the kiddo would go skipping and hopping with a 1000 watt smile on his face, and a couple of cars in his hands. (yes, he and his car/trucks are inseparable.)

Slowly I am beginning to realize that like Atul, I tend to measure my sense of self-worth through his actions and responses. The other day , listening to Indian rhymes, he popped a question, “Amma, what does Sundari mean.” I responded, “It means beautiful”. Pat came the response, “Mommy, I think you are Sundari.” Awww....!! needless to say I was flying high in the air, as though I had won the Miss World title. Here is another incident. My face was all loaded with tension while backing the car out of a tight parking spot, and after some trial and error, I manged to pull the car out. Sensing the relief on my face, the kiddo screamed, “You did it mommy.” Who else would be my cheer leader and take pride in my itsy bitsy accomplishments like he does! How about this incident. It was one of those days when my tolerance level was at its lowest , and I kept snapping at Atul at the slightest infraction. The kiddo declared, “You are not my friend any more”, and I retorted, “Ok, good.” After a few minutes, I cooled down but was writhing in guilt for my unreasonable behavior. So I took him on my lap, and confessed that I was wrong and apologized. The kiddo magnanimously said, “I am sorry too. But it's ok, it happens.” He probably picked it up from school or from us, and used it in context. But that day, I needed to hear that to assuage my own guilty consciousness. To know that it's ok to lapse. To be me.

Tomorrow is Atul's fourth birthday. Four years have gone by in a jiffy, but not without a lot of changes, small and big. Atul is becoming more independent, can stand up for himself, comes up with tricky questions, has learnt to see loopholes in rules, knows to care and express concern, and is more patient with us than we are with him. All these with the innocence that you would expect from a child that's discovering the world.

A Very Happy Birthday to you Atul, our precious. Appa and amma are so proud of the person you are becoming, and are thankful for your presence in our lives. We wish you a truck load of happiness, a wagon load of fun, and good health (I know you would have liked me to add a car filled with presents, but remember how we talked about company is more important than gifts. I know you still have years before you can understand that. No hurry, take your time to grow up!)