Exactly a year back, I claimed to be two hundred and forty seven years old. By that calculation, I am three hundred and forty seven today. Yes, Saarang time again. Three solid hours of "Jeez, do parents even know what their kids are wearing? That girl there has a strapless t-shirt thingie, and no bra inside. That guy has his jeans torn in a strategic location of his anatomy. Why are these boys eating like barbarians? Gawd, I think I am going to get a heart attack".
Disappointment 1: The entire gang could not make it together. Disappointment 2: No mehandi stall, no tattoo stall. After a year of psyching myself up to get a nice complicated design on the forearm (temporary, of course, you wouldn't believe I would let people mark me permanently, would ya?) Disappointment 3: No play area. Remember the tyre swing of last time? Nope. Disappointment 4: Food court a few zip codes away from the nearest car park and the kid whines "I have been walking for MILES". Disappointment 5: No chocolate fountain. No cakes. No sugar cane juice.
The crowd was a lot less. That probably speaks badly of the success of Saarang 2010. However, for parents with primary graders, a welcome situation.
A nice folk dance by a Gujarathi group.
Decent food. The food appeared more hygienic than last time. Note the word "appeared". The actual effect would be seen in the toilet tomorrow.
The kids polished pizza. Try making them eat puliyodharai with sutta appalam at home. Sigh !
One parent ate two popcorns. (No, you read that right).
One parent drank a cup of bad chai.
Another parent ate and drank nothing.
One mom that you know through here ate (a) two kuzhi paniyaarams (b) one and half kulfi (c) cotton candy (d) bad chai. (And later, a few bites of the burger she bought her dude).
This last parent's daughter refused to eat cotton candy. And ate half a kulfi (accounting for the extra half kulfi in the mom's account). Genetic variant, what else can I say ?
The kids won small gifts in a "how-long-you-can-hold-breath-and-shout" stall. 10 seconds, 7 seconds and 7 seconds it seems. They can actually hold a note for longer, I should know - I make them do it for voice training in music class, but I guess it was the nervousness of performing to strangers.
There was some music in the background, probably with obscene lyrics, but we could not make it out unlike last time. A sure sign of aging.
Five Star Fruit and Nut, acetaminophen, Waterbury's compound, three projects running neck-to-neck, pms and Ocean's Eleven at bedtime can be a seriously deadly combination.
I am at Syracuse. My Masters is done. I am waiting for a job and depressed about the fact that I don't even have my resume ready. I suddenly realise that I am swamped with three projects and why-the-h am I looking for a job? I need to hurry back to India to finish up the projects that are due shortly. What on earth is keeping me in a country I don't belong in? I am wondering how to get to the university to say bye to my advisor Dr. S. Somebody (I can't remember now who) says that he is on his way to the university and I can join him if I want. So, I leave in a hurry and we ride our bicycles through the highways - at least he is wearing a helmet. I am not. I amble along realising that in my hurry I left my purse back home and that all I have on me is a quarter. I am hungry. I know there is a foodcourt somewhere and I wonder if I could get a chocolate for a quarter - a fruit and nut would be good. I wonder where Dr. S's office is since it has been 14 years since I saw him last. I find that there is a heist being staged in the basement of Scitech. I ignore the heist and take the elevator to the fourth floor, where I vaguely remember Dr. S's office to be. I get off at the third floor to go to my lab, and find that some one (again, I don't know who), an Indian guy, tells me that Mukundan is still doing his post doc. (Mukundan is the brother of a friend of mine - wonder why his name popped up, the last time I thought of him was 15 years ago, when someone told me that he was dating someone I knew, I remember wondering which of the two I should feel sorry for !). My head splits, and I wake up to find that all of this except the headache was a dream.
On the way back from school, V and her carpool buddies have the following conversation:
S1: I am so hungry, I am going to go home and eat the entire house. V: I am so hungry, I am going to go home and eat the dining table. S2: I am so hungry, I am going to go home and eat amma and appa. S1: If you eat amma and appa, who will pack your lunch tomorrow?
Talking to my six-year-old is like reading a book (a clichédbook at that) these days.
On being asked to get ready to go back home from the grandparents', this girl says "I am turning red with anger".
On seeing me upset/preoccupied with my own thoughts/worries, she hugs me and says "Is that comforting to you?" (ahem, I believe a six-year-old, whose native language is NOT English, using the word "comforting" in a casual conversation is a bit strange)
"I am not crying. I am weeping" (?!)
"Tears are streaming down my face" (Excuse me while I pick myself off the floor laughing)
With a live entertainment channel like that, who needs T.V?