Auto Raja

Office is on Bannerghatta Road. From there to the Canara Bank HO is a ride not too many auto guys turn down. But yesterday was a day when we had 3 auto guys turn us down, two of them because they didn't know the way!! For them not to know Hudson Circle/Town Hall/LIC HO, they must've been intern auto drivers. We were getting irritated waiting in the midday hot sun, when there turned up this auto guy...

He'd been waiting at an office 3 gates away, and had seen us being turned away by the 3 other guys and had driven forward. That being the case, we were sure that even if he agreed to go to Canara Bank, he was going to ask for the sun , the moon and the stars for the favour.  He stopped in front of us, and poked his head out.... A swarthy looking fellow, with long hair, and a very healthy handlebar moustache, the smell of beedi smoke that emanated from him ( he must've stopped  for a beedi break in between rides, when he saw us) was overpowering, but to our surprise, he agreed to take us to Canara Bank without any further ado. We got in. His auto had the Kannnada flag flying from a pole in front. The outside was festooned with marigold garlands, and pics of Rajkumar and Vishnuvardhan ( famous Kannada film stars) and several other Kannada film stars (I had no clue who they were) decorated the inside.  The portion above the windshield of the auto was embellished with all the gods of the Hindu pantheon. Some laminated sheets with Kannada writing was also hung up in front of the meter. The man had judiciously covered almost every inch of his auto with something or the other.

My colleague and I gave each other looks and settled down for the ride. But our man had other thoughts. He suddenly bent and delved behind his seat and with a flourish, held over a sheaf of some papers, startling both of us considerably. My younger colleague immediately said- nahin nahin curtly...at which the man looked at us in hurt surprise. I looked at the papers and found that they too were laminated newspapers. He explained that they were newspaper cuttings, and that it was of him and his auto, and to please read.

Reluctantly, fearing that, as he hadn't asked extra money from us in the beginning, this was going to be a ruse to get money out of us another way, I took the sheets. The first one was an English newspaper cutting, and there were several others underneath. All of them were on this guy - Raja - and his auto, on how he had been ferrying people across Bangalore, at no extra charge, ever. At how, he never refused to take anyone anywhere, no matter what state they were from, and what  language they spoke.. At how he refused to take money from his customers if the lady was pregnant, or if the trip was to a hospital. At how, on festivals, he treated the passengers of his auto to sweets and savouries.  At how, he considered his auto as his home, and all passengers as guests. At how he respected and treated all his passengers with courtesy.
It stated that he'd won some 40 odd silver medals from various organisations, as a recognition of his ( and his auto's) exceptional services. It also stated that all these awards were hung at the back of the auto.  I sneaked a look behind only to find more pics of film stars and others, but no medals. The newspaper cuttings were of 2010.  At the time, he was 40, and it had pics of his family as well, with 2 kids, and a smiling wife.Those medals must now either be at his house, no doubt being safeguarded from over-zealous passengers of his who tried to get their  hands on said medals, or he must've sold them when hard pressed for money- for his kids' education perhaps.

Having read the English sheet through, I handed them back to him with a wide smile, and a "thumba channagithe".He smiled back broadly, feeling happy no doubt that his bona fide credentials had been established. The smile behind the handlebar moustache seemed less disreputable now. We were about halfway to our destination now. He pushed the sheets back into their place behind his seat, and we settled back in our seats. Not for long tho'.

At the next signal, he bent forward and took out something else and handed it over to us. It was a photo album. Not wanting to say no, I took that as well. It was all photos of him, receiving various awards and others. Now I love looking at photos of people I know only slightly, but I draw the line at totally unknown auto drivers with handlebar moustaches. Having kept the album with us for the time it should take to view all the pics, I handed them back. Less wide smile now from me. Broad smile from him again.

And then he took out a Kannada newspaper ( laminated)  and gave that.
 "Kannada gothilla", I said heaving a sigh of relief.
 "Ah...!" Disappointed, he kept it back, then looked back and smiled, and asked- "Kerala"?
"Hmm", I smiled back, apologetically.

He scrabbled a bit behind his seat, and came up with a beaming smile. And handed over yet another paper. A malayalam one this time!!! There was no getting away from the good Auto Raja and his accomplishments. I slumped back in my seat and sneaked  a look at my colleague, who raised her eyes heavenwards and shrugged her shoulders. This time, I held on to the newspaper till such time as we reached our destination. There was no saying what else might have been stored in that akshayapatra of an auto of his, and I for one had had my fill of reading about Auto Raja's accomplishments.

Thankfully, we reached Canara Bank in another 5 minutes. The meter fare came to 60 rupees. We gave him a 100/-, and true to the articles on him, he gave us back 40/-. We smiled back at him. Bangalore could certainly do with more auto wallahs like him. Even if it meant being bombarded with articles on them every minute of the way.

Coco loco

 For a land named after coconuts (keram= coconut in malayalam) , it is only to be expected that the people there are mad over coconuts. Literally every part of that useful and much loved tree is used for something or the other. And any self respecting house that has a few inches of space surrounding it will have a coconut tree!

I grew up in Kannur, in North Malabar, and one of our neighbours had an oil mill. In the evenings around 4pm, the  air around would be redolent with the smell of freshly made coconut oil.... We used to have our stock of coconut oil ( there was no Parachute around in those days) sent across from them.
While I enjoyed the body massages my mother used to give us once in a while, I certainly did NOT appreciate the daily head massages.  The shampoo bottle was confiscated after it became known that all that oil was being religiously shampooed away.  And we used to have to go to school with those oily locks that were the stamp of a mallu girl. Yuck!

But slowly, the goodness of coconut oil did sink in... When my sister's marriage was fixed, the good neighbour was approached for those dried cakes of coconut ( after oil had been expressed from them).Called Punnakku in malayalam, it was generally given to cows as fodder and as we had no cows, this was the first time I saw it. It was supposed to be soaked in water about half an hour before you had your bath and you were to scrub your body with the water logged cake. It used to be hard on your skin initially, but the more you soaked it, the softer  it became, and it had double benefits. The hard cake (before it became softer with the extended soak)  worked as a scrub, taking away the dead skin, and the soft residue worked to smoothen your skin and HOW! The results have to be seen to be believed. It was the best moisturiser ever! Needless to say, seeing the results on my sister, I started using it too.
Punnakku used to be ordered  post delivery of babies, for all the women in the family as well. (That bath (phew!!) is fodder for another post, another day).

I moved from home- to student's and after that working women's hostels, but coconut oil remained a mainstay of my (non-existent) skin care regime, though the neighbour's oil came to be replaced by Parachute. When I had a baby the goodness of coconut oil was reinforced once again. He had very dry skin and the doc recommended coconut oil instead of  all those 'new fangled ' baby oils.

So when I saw this contest for the goodness of coconut oil on women's web, I couldn't but add my bit about it. I can vouch for the  'jagaye love dubara' bit.. :-D

Of thinking before helping!

It was review time again. I had  my presentation ready, had packed my bags, set the alarm .....was woken up by the taxi guy calling up at the unearthly hour of 3 am, asking for directions... Our regional revenue reviews are held in Delhi, and start promptly at 10 am. The two and a half hour distance means that my flight needs to take off at about 6.30 am, which means I have to leave home for the airport at about 4 am, which in turn means that poor me has to wake up by about 3.30 am. Sigh! .

So as I was saying, I was woken up by the taxi guy at the unearthly hour of 3 am asking for directions to chez moi. I gave him the needful, and woke up, wishing I could cuddle under the razai and hug the warm body of my sleeping son and go back to sleep. But -this month, maybe the Revenue-Target God/Monster wanted to wish me a happy new year-  for I had over achieved my targets, and so this was one of the few times I was happy to be going for my review.

The taxi guy called again when I was brushing my teeth, saying that he'd arrived. I told him that I'd be down in another 10 minutes, and continued with my morning ablutions. I was about to start having my bath when he called again. I was irritatedly telling him that I'd be down soon, when another voice cut in and very apologetically said that- he was sorry to disturb me, but he was from my neighbouring  apartment complex and had to go to the airport to catch the 6.30 flight to Delhi, and he'd asked my taxi guy if he could share the taxi, but my taxi guy had told him that he could do so only if madam agreed. Without stopping to think, I said that of course it was not a problem, he could share my taxi. And he said thank you, and I said no problem, and we hung up.

And then I was like "EEEEEEEYYYYYYYAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!


These days, dear reader, are not happy days, Forget happy, they are very unsafe days. Women were not safe accompanied by a male friend, on the streets. Bestial criminals tricked you by appearing to be aam junta going by public transport and committed unspeakable horrors. And here I was - having agreed to travel on the long, deserted, minimum one and a half hour stretch between Sarjapur Road and the Bangalore International Airport, with a strange taxi guy and an even more unknown fellow, of whom I knew nothing, except that he'd said he was from the neighbouring apartment. What had I been thinking of??? Or to be more accurate- what had I NOT been thinking of??

The Acha was not at home, he'd left for Cochin the previous night. My Mom and sister were visiting, but if I told them anything of this, they would
a) never let me hear the end of how crassly stupid I could be
b) surely ask me to call the guy and tell him that he could look for his own transport

And I agreed that it was crassly stupid of me, but I just didn't know how I could tell the guy I didn't want him traveling with me. What could I tell him?- No, sorry, but I'm afraid you will rape me, so am not sharing the cab with you???? Or worse still- No, sorry, but I think you and the taxi guy have been conniving together and this is part of your plan to rape me, so am not sharing the cab with you??

I would really not have had such dire thoughts, but - how could any person plan to go to the Airport at 3.30 am and not book a taxi or any kind of transportation? What kind of person would rely on methods like these to get to the airport? Surely it was unbelievable? Surely there was more to it? And these were, as I said, days when unthinkable things happened.

I I finished my bath in a daze of worry about what-could-take-place and how-could-I-possibly-avert-it. While lighting the lamp, all my prayers had nothing to do with the review, and everything to do with the impending journey to the airport. My thoughts went haywire- where was he going to sit? If  he sat in front, fine. What if he was going to sit behind? Should I call Security now and ask them to check out this fellow from the neighbouring apartment? I didn't know his name, apt number, or ANYTHING. Just that he was going by the 6.30 flight to Delhi. What if we started out fine, and in between, the car had a "breakdown"? Should I take a weapon of some sort with me? But then, if nothing happened, and I landed up at the airport safe, what would I tell the security check guys about the knife in my bag?

I am NOT AT ALL a follower of Asaram and his Saraswati mantras, but finally, I decided to leave everything upto God. Besides, one couldn't go on living life, with doubts that all men might be rapists. I said bye to my Mom and sis, kissed my sleeping son, and left the house. And walked with a thumping heart towards the gate and outside the complex. There were 2 figures standing near a car, that came forward as I approached. It must be the driver and the guy, I thought.  I walked forward hesitantly. One more guy came out of the shadows of the car.   My heart jumped to my throat. WHAT THE F***??? I thought, getting ready to tell the man that he could walk to the airport for all I cared.  By then I 'd reached close and saw that the 2 figures were -  a man and a woman.

What a RELIEF!  The man came forward and introduced himself and his wife. Phew! The couple were indeed from the neighbouring apartment and  apparently had meant to take the airport bus from the main road, but they'd overslept!! and were sure to miss the bus, which is how they'd started enquiring with all the taxi guys parked around our apartment.. and found my guy who said he'd only take them with my permission.

The times are not good indeed. But they're also not so bad..
She and I got into the back seat, he got into the front with the driver, and we set out.
And all's well that ends well. At least this once.

The Cotton Tree

The Early Years- Joy...

In the early seventies..... I used to be one among a line of 7 cotton trees that lined the playground of a convent girls' school.  A low wall stood right next to us 7, with steps leading down from the other side, down to a sand pit around a pair of gymnastic swings, in which girls used to build sandcastles.  I was the youngest and the handsomest of the lot, with sturdy branches that were low enough for the girls used to leap and grab from the top of the wall and swing on...

The day used to break with the chit-chatter of birds, for there used to be 7 of us, a jamboo tree (a favourite of the girls')and mango trees  in the yard nearby, and a dozen coconut palms lining the avenue to the bathrooms, and plenty of flowering plants and shrubs in the gardens near the classrooms. The girls used to come and have their lunch on those stone steps and many were the tidbits that'd drop from their boxes, only to be pecked up eagerly during the day or the next morn by my feathered friends.

The playground was flanked by classrooms on 2 sides and all through the day, I could hear girls- young and old-  talking and laughing and yelling, with the odd teacher also shouting above the din. In the afternoons, I was privvy to the many secrets that were whispered and gossips that were circulated. During the games periods, our trunks used to be the pillars around which the girls swung while playing pillar game and such.. And the weeks before sports competitions, the girls learned to throw shot puts and javelins from the ground and we learned to dread their (non)aim....

The years went by in a medley of joy and fun, gentle breezes from the neighbouring trees mingled  ours, and with the laughs and cries of the children.... we saw the children and even the grandchildren of the earlier students and smiled to see the resemblances..

*To be continued....*

Tirupati over the years...

My Dad had a close friend who owned a printing press at Sivakasi. And as a housewarming gift for Dad, he brought a HUGE golden engraved print of Balaji. We'd of course been to Tirupati, but till that day, this God hadn't featured largely in my prayers, as his photo wasn't there in our prayer room. There was a Siva and a Krishna and a Ganesha and Saraswati, but Venkateswara..... No. So the photo - by virtue of sheer size- got a prominent place in our puja room. This was when I was in the 9th std.

Gradually, over the years, the picture grew to be a part of the lords called in to assist me in various things. But still it was not quite THERE in the front row, until, I finished my MBA, started working, fell in love... and faced opposition. I moved from Cochin to Bangalore for work, and then a colleague in Bangalore told me that if you promised Balaji to climb up the hills and perform a kalyanotsav for Him , He'd take care of matters. That was really when Balaji gained prominence in my prayers. To cut a long story short, I finally got to marry my best friend, and we kept our promise.

Since then, almost every year, we've been to see Him, offer thanks and get His blessings. By ourselves, with the husband's family, with mine, ....by rail, by bus, and for the last 3-4 times, by road. Friends have proved invaluable in helping to make arrangements for darsans- especially a blogfriend I've never seen or spoken to even, only written to.. God bless him!

There's this saying that- you cannot get to see the Lord at Tirupati, unless you get a call from Him. Over the years, I've seen this to hold true, but never so much as this year.

So this year, when I wanted to go and offer thanks for a good year at work, I was trying to see if there was anyone who could arrange for a darsan ( my Mom was with us, so the bus package was out). And I didn't want to bother the blogfriend every time ( especially when I was not even blogging regularly) , so was hoping to find some other way... In the middle of a conversation with a vendor (one who'd become a good friend as well) at Hyderabad, I mentioned that I'd been wanting to go to Tirupati  and asked him if he could help..He said he had an excellent contact at Tirupati, and he'd arrange matters.  But then, he called back- the friend had been transferred and couldn't help. 

However, he said he would check for alternate options...He said he'd check with another friend of his who was with the police force at Tirupati. We were to leave on Fri, and I had to travel on work to Chennai the previous Wed and Thurs. I was at the airport waiting for my (as usual delayed)  flight back home on Thurs night when my friend called me to say the police friend would somehow arrange for darsan and that I should leave the next day.
We'd made tentative plans with a cab guy, however, in the morning when we checked, the initial driver who agreed had signed up for another trip and we had to make last minute arrangements for another driver/car.
Darsan in place, cab in place, but -  it was a working day and I had not applied for leave, as I didn't know if I'd be going or not till late the previous night. Called up my boss and got my leave approved within an hour of our going.( Kaala teeka-this does not happen always, actually NEVER)
We expected to leave by around 12, so that we could be at Tirupati by around 7 pm, but the cab driver was delayed by more than 2 hours. And then it was raahu kaalam , so my Mom said we could not leave till that was over.  So finally we left at 3.30 finally. We hoped to reach Tirupati by at least  9pm and accordingly informed my friend . He said it would be ok..We made good time till we reached the Andhra- Karnataka checkpost. And then, AND THEN, we found that the driver didn't have the correct papers with him!!!!!

'This cannot be happening!!!!' was what collectively ran through our minds. Our driver had his interstate permit alright, but he didn't have some other paper, the term of which had expired just 3 days prior to our trip- and had not been renewed, or at least if had been renewed (as he insisted ) , the papers of which were certainly NOT in our car.We were halfway across, ( to Tirupati!) and it looked like we'd have to return!  Being good Indians, of course we checked if money exchange (sic) would solve the problem, but apparently, it wouldn't. The husband called up the cab guy's boss, and had a discussion with him. The man was most apologetic, said that it was the driver's mistake.... and the husband said that all that was fine, but what was a solution?? We had an old lady past 70 and a young boy past 8 in the car with us. We could not POSSIBLY be stranded halfway like this.  End of discussion - it was decided that he'd send another car with another driver, and we'd go back a bit, and at our meeting place change cars and proceed.

So we turned around. And went back the way we came. We called up the other driver and ensured that he had also started out. It was Fri evening and the city was bound to have horrendous traffic at that time of the day, all heading out of the city. Finally at about 8 pm, both of us met at Kolar. The owner of the cab had also come along with the driver- to apologise once again.  Apologies and replacement car accepted, we decided to have dinner from Woodys there and start out again. Phew.
Once we'd had dinner and were on our way again, we felt a bit better. Called up the sister and related our travails and LAUGHED in sheer relief over the ridiculousness of it all. Also called up the friend and told him about the delay in our plans. As per plan, we were to reach Tirupati by around 7, or latest 8 pm, so that we could see whoever had to be seen and get the accommodation sorted out.  But now, we would reach almost 4-5 hours later. The friend said he'd call up his friend and explain the circumstances of the delay, but we felt bad. We couldn't expect anyone to wait for us indefinitely.  We requested the driver to drive the fastest he could so that we could reach early. That's when we had our next surprise. Apparently at 12 midnight, the ghat road from Tirupati to Tirumala is barred till about 3 am. 

This was to allow Balaji at least 2 hours of rest from all those tireless petitions from devotees, so all devotees had to wait at Tirupati till the roads were opened up again at about 2.30.  Was this the Lord's way of testing us yet again? Now we really started alternating between counting milestones and looking at our watches anxiously.  Would we reach, or would we not? We were never gladder to see the Garuda at the bottom of the hill than that night!  Yay! There were still vehicles passing. The time was 11.59 pm.  We passed through the security check and got on the ghat roads, and gave thanks to the Lord!
Now it only remained to see the friend's friend and sort out the accomodation for the night.  We went to the TTD office praying that it would still be open. It was! ( Later, we learnt that the office was open 24/7) And we went in and told them that we had a booking for that day and gave our names.  Yes, the man knew about us, yes, there had indeed been a booking, but next hurdle- the booking had been made for Fri. This was now Sat morn, the next day!  Technically speaking, the booking was not valid as we'd not reached the day the booking was made.

We were utterly dismayed, however, the man listened to our incoherent explanation and finally agreed to let us have the room. PHEW!
Reached the guest house room and collapsed on the bed.  Messaged the friend that we'd arrived without further mishap and had gotten accommodation as planned, many thanks.
The next day dawned nice and fresh. We had our darsan after nearly 6 hours of waiting in the queue, but it didn't matter too much. We waited patiently, it was just a question of waiting, there was no uncertainty to the wait unlike in the previous day/night's happenings. And we had a good darsan.

The moral of the story is- the Lord always shows you a way.  Just that He doesn't let things come to you too easy. There are plenty of twists and turns to spice up the journey. :-) While going through those twists and turns life seems horrible, but at the end of it all, its fun to look back on and say - see we triumphed through all odds... with God's help :-)

No casual read - The Casual Vacancy

So there was this curiosity when I heard that JK Rowling had written another novel. Which grew when she mentioned that this was definitely not a novel for kids. And then as luck would have it, the husband happened to be in Justbooks when they received their set of The Casual Vacancy. Spanking new! So it came home and of course the husband registered his prior claim on it.
And then, I forgot that it was there at home!!! And just remembered the last week.

Its a long read.
In the beginning it rambles a bit, and you tend to go back pages wondering who was who, for there seems to be no connection whatsoever between some of the characters.  But as you progress, the tenuous connections become clearer, among people who are as different from one another as chalk from cheese; and incidents become more and more inextricably linked. Like how in Harry Potter, subsequent books throw more light on the who's and why's, in The Casual Vacancy, each chapter throws more light, or rather, more darkness on happenings in the Parish.

The book is a stark comparison between the haves (Pagford) and the have-nots (The Fields ) . It tells of people who want to make a change to the status quo and those who are determined to let it be.  Of parents and their so imperfect relationships with their kids.  Of flawed relationships and neglected responsibilities. Of the utter hopelessness of a junkie's life. (Makes you wonder if some of that was a bit autobiographical)....

Parish Councillor Barry Fairbrother is a man committed to bettering the lives of the less fortunate in his community. With his sudden death, things seem hopeless for The Fields and its citizens. The Pagford crowd seem likely to get their community 'unsullied' by the junkies and thieves and riff-raff of the Fields.  But then, Barry seems to come back from the dead. As the election towards the vacancy created by his death looms closer,  his 'ghost' sets ripples in motion, which go on to become dark undercurrents in the Parish.
Secrets get leaked.
About Simon- one of the persons standing for elections- stealing a computer (among other things) from office and being unfit for elections.
About Parminder-the doctor- actually being in love with Barry, which was probably why she supported him in his efforts to keep the drug de-addiction clinic going,
About Cubby, the headmaster of the local school being a possible child molestor.

To me however, the book is about Krystal, ....  The teenaged daughter of a junkie, in whom Barry sees potential and whom he sets out to redeem. Who is amazingly resilient, and who, determined to rise above the filth in her life, responds slowly but surely, to the confidence shown in her abilities. Who in the face of heartbreaking neglect by her junkie mother, strives to give her little 3 yr old  brother as much of a home as she can. She tugs at your heart at how, with so less, she tries to make so much more of her life.
It is amazing how one drug addiction clinic can affect so many people, in so many utterly different ways. If Barry Fairbrother is at the heart of the novel, Krystal Weedon is the soul of it.

The book reminded me of Agatha Christie's the Moving Finger, in how a small sleepy village held so much of  the passions in the world. And how inspite of having nothing to do with one another, all of their lives were so interlinked. But the difference is that in this one, there is no murder. There could almost have been, except that at the last minute another tragedy interrrupts.

Like I said- while in the beginning, it fails to hook you, towards the middle, you start getting intrigued and later, you want to know how it is all going to turn out. What will happen to Krystal? Is there redemption for her? Who eventually takes Barry's place? Will Bellchapel (the drug addition clinic) get relocated? What about Sukhwinder(Sooks)? Does the tenuous friendship between her and Krystal survive the malicious rumour that Krystal's grandmother dies owing to the wrong drug being prescribed by Sooks' mom Parminder?

All of their lives are so interconnected and you can only marvel once again that Rowling has managed to think everything out with such precision and attention to detail. Her amazing characterisation. Its not a book you would read again and again, like the Potter series, - its too dark for that. But it does have its moments.
And it ultimately makes you reflect about how in our selfish preoccupation with our lives, not many of us realise what a difference each one of us can make. How a little help given at the correct time can make such a difference to so many lives.
Certainly not a book for kids, very much a book for adults, definitely worth a read.  Go for it, people!

Back to school 2012.

It seems like I opened my blog in the last decade. Forget blogging, I don’t think I’ve had time to even breathe properly in the last few months. Shifting  house, shifting roles at work, finding new maids.. you name it, maybe I’ve had that stress the last few months.  Work has been crazy, with increased responsibilities, travel every week , maybe more ….. The only respite has been that in the first month of my new role, Sonny boy was packed off to his Ammamma’s and in the second, Ammamma came back with him.

School started 2 weeks back, bringing with it the usual things to get hyper over. Sonny boy who thoroughly lazed his hols away was exceptionally reluctant to get back to school routines, especially with me (bad cop) being absent almost a couple of days every week.  This weekend was the first that I’ve sat with him with his books, with the result that tempers got frayed on both sides. I’m the bad Amma, who yells at him, who doesn’t allow him to watch tv, forbids games on mobile fones, grounds him… It’s infuriating - when Acha scolds, Sonny boy accepts that he’s done wrong, but when I scold, I’m ‘ALWAYS scolding!’ Huh?  

His attention span has decreased abysmally, and I put the entire blame on his tv watching. Not just tv, the child doesn’t do ANYthing that lets him exercise his brain or brawn a bit. Its always staring spellbound at the tv, or the laptop or the mobile fone. Cartoons, or games. Where the thinking, the action, is already laid out, and he just has to inertly lap it up. And I’m the only one to make an issue of it. The Acha joins him on the couch and fights for the remote. Long back, I’d written a post on how the tv had slowly become my souten. The damn tv is now coming between me and my son! Gah!  I think, if I divorce the Acha, one reason would be his encouraging the child in these activities. I’m becoming increasingly resentful of the fact that I’m perceived by Sonny boy to be the spoilsport who never has time to play games. That I’m the one who always takes him to task for things big and small. Or forces the Acha to take him to task.  

Sigh, I got sidetracked.  I started writing, thinking I’d blog today about Sonny boy, who told me mutinously that I was always scolding him while I never scolded Trinity. I replied that that was because Trinity was more obedient than him, she gobbled  food down the minute it was set before her and didn’t make me tell her some 20 times to eat her food, she didn’t watch tv  at all, plus last, but not least, she didn’t go to school and didn’t have any homework that she was too lazy to do. Ha!