Pachchaaak!!!

So some or most of you know that I have this thing for shoes right. Most or all of you also know that I fall. A Lot.

I fall down stairs, on hard wood flooring, on carpets, on the road, in restaurants, in theaters, on the badminton court, in class, in my new class... As you see, everywhere. Sometimes I trip over stones, I twist my ankle, I fall off my high heel shoes (when I manage to walk in them, I mean) and sometimes I can just be perfectly still for a while and then magically my feet will ache to fall, and then they'll ache some more.

You pretty much know what my shoe closet contains. Even when I travel, I carry all kinds of footwear. Mostly inappropriate. High heels when I have miles to walk and flat, open sandals when going into the Absolut Ice Bar. But they are all mostly pretty. Except for this one. This one ghastly clunker they call "work shoes". Hate it.



They fit weird. Bumping my toes and yet loose around the heels. The are heavy. They drag along the floor. But they are supposed to protect my feet if a knife or a huge twenty quart mixer falls on them. They have anti-skid soles that keep me from falling on my ass on the slick, oily kitchen floor in front of everyone. Ha! Keep me from falling on my ass. My ass indeed!!!

Last night. We were just finishing with all the clean up in class. All the utensils were being washed, the floors swept and mopped. My french instructor was standing very pleased. He probably had his eyes closed and enjoying the beautiful scent that was enveloping the kitchen. The beautiful smell of Bleach. Some one should really manufacture chlorine scented room fresheners and gift it to him. And then it happened. The Pachchaaak, and as my brother mildly put it, a mild earthquake too, which he felt all the way in Bangalore.

The Pachchaaak was me falling really hard on my hands and knees on the very hard cement kitchen floor. The wet floor was all dried up. I wasn't carrying anything in hand. I was standing still and then took a step. My left foot turned on it's ankle somehow. One second my hands were flying and the next I was on my palms and knees.

It was probably the loudest Pachchaaak I've heard. And it hurts.

Diwalification

Diwali is my favourite festival. Yes, favourite, not favorite. Not Yet!

Everything about it is fun. The noise, the pollution, the new clothes, the shows on TV, waking up at half past four in the morning, racing to be the first to light a fire cracker in the apartment, the oil baths. Then there's all the great food, the 7 cup cakes, the thengai burfis, the laddoos, the jaangiris and all the namkeen. There's a reason why we make the Inji Marundhu. Digestion.

My first year in Seattle, I spent Diwali with my aunt and her family. The second year, my mom was here. So both times Diwali happened on automatic mode. The house was cleaned up. All the food was prepared, I was woken up early, the TV was already blaring the Pattimandram... you get my point.

This time, it was MY Diwali. I called all my work - Diwalification. The cleaning up, the new bed sheet, the new table cover, the preparation of my 'proxy' proxy pak, the rangoli, the mehendi, the flowers, the lamps, the exchange of wishes both at IST and PST, the new saree, the glittery salwar kameez, the boy's help prepping all the food, the boy's new clothes, the boy having to hook up the laptop to the TV to watch my tamil channels online, traditional lunch with friends, fireworks in the evening, antaakshari and pot luck dinner. All Diwalification.

I missed having things done for me and yet loved doing them all myself.
Our warm Diwali wishes to all reading this. Hope you had a Blast! Literally too!

Unpacking and Packing

So we got back yesterday. One week with our one year old Queen was pure joy.

You know we always think that we need 4-5 people to sit around a baby, making funny faces, singing, dancing, making her laugh or giggle or eat even. But we are so wrong. It was on our flight back that the boy and I realized how much we missed her entertaining us throughout our trip.

She'd open and close her fists to the tune of 'Twinkle Twinkle" and would put her pointy and thumb fingers together while trying her best to sing "Ish-wish"... Spider. She'd spit out any water fed to her with a spoon, and when we used a cup, she'd blow bubbles. We'd laugh when she cried Crocodile Tears and really felt horrible when she actually cried. We brushed her teeth and thanks to that, that song wouldn't leave our heads. And that is the only thing I'd complain about my London trip.

London was beautiful. The city, the life there, the buildings, the Themes, the Lord's, Wimbledon, Buckingham Palace, the jacket potatoes and beans, meeting an old friend, lovely Paneer Wrap at the Selfridges, learning that Greenwich isn't pronounced Green-witch, the cute little market there, shopping at the Harrods, afternoon tea with piping hot scones and clotted cream, wonderful stuffed bhindi masala, riding double decker buses, taking the tube, admiring the perfectly dressed people, Saravana Bhavan, and of course wonderful the clotted cream ice cream with honeycomb bits. All Beautiful.

Yesterday we unpacked. Put away all the clothes and souvenirs we bought. Today I have to put away my Golu. I'll wrap the dolls in clothes that don't fit me any more and bring them out next year.

I also have to do my laundry and iron my chef's uniform to prepare for the new quarter. This time around, it's baking, European cakes and tortes and purchase and product ID. My prayers this time around? To have a fun team to work with.