Chuck that remote!

I have a confession to make. I am fighting an addiction. and no one at home seems to have noticed. Perhaps, they are pleased that I am trying to recover from “TV viewing addiction” or specifically , I am trying to overcome my urges to grab the TV remote, park myself on the sofa and mindlessly surf through a hundred channels; counting each time in every possible language I know. (seemed to be a nice way to brush up linguistic and counting skills!). Occasionally there would be the intense craving to jump from one movie channel to the other or one news channel to another and follow it up with an analysis of their discrepancies and mismatches in the reports.

Having the remote in the hands seems to give a sense of power as to who controls the TV watching at home and that’s precisely why every-one else at home, kids included are happy. One person less means lesser tussles over channel preferences.

Now I have kept it up for a good one month. Psst.. I do cast furtive glances now and then whilst the idiot box is on, but the remote and I are playing dawn/dusk game. Whenever there is a craving for holding this remote, it is secured with another member of the family - and when it is free from the clutches of all, my craving is gone. Neither follows the other.

And believe you me! It is such a liberating experience. I have found so much time for books,walks, children and what not!

As for my husband, he is smiling blissfully, for he knows that this “no tv remote handling phase” is just a passing one, just like my obsession with tailoring, painting, making sweets and exercising and is definitely harmless when compared to a "trying out new recipes phase" which he once endured and a “no cooking phase” which he dreads I might undertake! He remarked rather philosophically, but with a twinkle in his eye, "In any case, it is very rare for a lady (Indian/ alien) wielding power to stay away from remote control "- pun intended!

Have we moved in,mommy?

Moving into a new neighbourhood could become a tough task, especially if the new neighbours wear a tough upper lip all the time. It really helps a lot in getting acquainted with your new neighbours, if you have small children. So I discovered when I moved into our present residence with my 2+ year old and 4 month old daughters.

The first time I spoke to one of my neighbours was about 3 days of moving in. I had to seek external support, and imagine my plight for having to do so from ‘not so ordinary’ circumstances. I write this not from my point of view, but from my neighbours’. Here is a person, just about three days into the neighbourhood, calls out through ventilator of the bathroom – perhaps perched on an upturned bucket –and says, “Hi, I am your new neighbour”. I dismissed all thoughts of having become ridicule, instead concentrated on seeking her help in extricating myself from the bathroom where I had inadvertently been locked in by my elder daughter.

Yet another neighbour dropped in late in the night to introduce her and offered help in comforting my wailing daughter.

Soon I was popular in the street as the “mother of those two little kids”. More opportunities to make friends emerged in the form of invitation to birthday parties. Looking back, I wonder if it was mere curiosity on their part in getting to know those “really naughty kids” and “the mom with poor parenting skills”.

All the vaccinations and regular checkups ensured that the pediatrician at the nearby nursing home knew my kids by name and me as the really harried mother who would rush to him at the slightest pretext of a cold. Things really got to an extent that during a relatively healthy phase of the children; when the pharmacist met me on the street remarked “Long time! Madam” Really!

Now months have rolled into years and years have passed and I have withstood all the “pleasurable” sufferings- having to drink a dose of water laced with mosquito repellent(my daughter's attempt at making me a juice), having to witness carpets burnt due to ironing, having to explain to the landlady the reasons why my daughters became surreal artists, started using oil, kajal, crayons as painting implements on the walls which became a big canvas. I too have become a much wiser mom.

Soon it will be time to move to a new neighbourhood and more to look forward to. Meanwhile, I just wish I could take a sneak peek into the minds of the folks here; particularly the lady who met me while I spoke from the bathroom ventilator… my daughters are growing older, but am still young with the memories of their deeds.