Pieces of Home

The pictures are painted on tile and are (from left to right):

1. A typical Portuguese-built home's window. (Spardha tells me the art form is called azulejo - thank you!) 

2. The Basilica of Bom Jesu where the body of St. Francis Xavier is kept.

3. A typical village cross.

4. The church of Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception, a Panaji landmark.

These tiles were bought at the GTDC (Goa Tourism Development Corporation) shop in Mapusa, manned by a very unfriendly and strange man who didn't seem to get a word of what we said in either Konkanni nor English nor Hindi, but kept talking at us and about us to someone else who was in the shop! The tiles were a steal at Rs.200 each! They came with a pre-attached hook at the back, making hanging them up very easy. Their new home is on the beam that runs halfway down our kitchen ceiling and they look very pretty there, if I may say so myself!

Cross-posted here by the lovely M.

Belated Happy Birthday My Darling Papa

Please don't be mad at me. I didn't forget your birthday - only skipped wishing you publicly. Don't get me started about my connectivity woes!

We went home this year, but it wasn't the same without you. Your side of the bed. Your shelf in the cupboard. The place you kept your 'prayers'* and glasses. Empty. 

We did celebrate your birthday, though! It was a lovely day when the family got together in Savio's new home and had a fabulously fishy lunch in celebration. You'd have been very pleased. It was a lovely day spent chilling out and reminiscing, but, above all, being happy together.

One more year without you has flown right by. It hasn't been without its share of drama, and yet, I am grateful for all the good things that have come out of it. I am slowly, and sometimes painfully, learning your admirable quality of serenity. You always said, what will be, will be. I miss you and wonder where you are and what you're up to. I talk about us often - you and me, what you would've said, what you would've done. I still have a good cry every once in a while, but, on the bright side, Dot has taken on the role of official tea-maker in our home and is filling your shoes admirably - you would be very proud of him! 

I know I don't need to tell you, but please continue to keep an eye on us. And when life is not going the way I want it to, remind me to look at the bigger picture and to focus on what matters.

Stay cool, my old man. I love you.

*My dad had a little wodge of religious paraphernalia held together by a rubber band which he called his 'prayers' and never went anywhere without it.

The Bag Lady

So, I've been on this mission. To try and make local friends of the 'desi' variety. It's a mission born out of much thought and deliberation - a whole four years' worth. The background is too tedious to recount, so I'll cut to the chase. 

This morning, I got into the bus at my usual stop, and I spotted the only empty seat, next to this girl I've seen on the bus before. She is most definitely from the subcontinent, and, most likely, Indian. I went over and thought, "this is good - finding a seat and seizing an opportunity to make a new friend - well done me!". I smiled warmly and she did smile back - great start. She began to look away, outside the window. I was killing myself trying to think of something to say to break the ice and then I spotted the perfect pretext to chat. She was carrying a beautiful dark red leather bag - the one I've known to be available in handicraft shops or the likes of Delhi and Calcutta; the ones printed with flowers or a pattern of some sort, with contrasting colours. It did look absolutely lovely.

The conversation went something like this:

Me (Saying): That's a beautiful bag you have there

Girl (Saying): Thank you, it is from Australia".

Me (Thinking): Score! We have Australia in common! This is going remarkably well! 

Me (Saying): Wow - it really is lovely!

Girl (Half-smiling, turning to look outside the window, and probably thinking):  I love my bag. I am so cool.

Me (Thinking): Uh oh! She's probably a woman of few words. She didn't say anything further so there go my chances of Australia bonding.

Me (Saying): Erm....did you buy it here or online, or in Australia?

Girl (Not smiling and saying): No. It was a gift from Australia.

She then proceeded to clutch her bag really tight and physically turn to the window to reinforce the message. I was left feeling like a right numpty! 

Girl (Probably thinking): That'll teach me to smile at strangers!

Dinner at the Lonely Hearts Club

It's almost a ritual. 

When I know Dot is going to be away, I make fanciful plans for what food experiments I am going to conduct. These experiments are much easier to conduct when you're not thinking about the central reason why all food should be eaten - to satisfy hunger; as is the case every evening when we get home from work. Also, he does lab-test all my endeavours for me, but it just seems unfair to keep subjecting him to it. So when I learn of Dot's impending  travel, my chef brain goes into overdrive. Elaborate lists are made in preparation for evenings filled with mixing, baking, tasting, etc. 

I also make very grand plans for how much housework I am going to achieve when I get home from work. Indexing bills, restoring civilsation to the wardrobe, bleach-scrubbing bathroom grout, ....you know, things that you would like to do (or wish they got done by themselves somehow) to validate your domestic goddess status. I like to have it all, thank you very much.

And yet, it happens every single time. 

I spend every evening he is away, horizontal on the couch, watching reality TV dross, eating....wait for it........instant noodles. I fall asleep dressed in the same clothes I went to work in, wake up at 1am or thereabouts with a crick in my neck, drag myself upstairs, change (sometimes) and get into bed to continue the sleeping. 

Rinse, repeat. 

I really must miss him.

Where's my sharp tongue when I need it most?

Background: Dot gets his hair cut on the parade of shops just round the corner from where we live. The main-man barber is a genial gent called Gary. In Gary's absence, his Algerian Muslim sidekick fills in. Also on the parade is the traditional local chippy (slang for fish-and-chips shop) which is not-so-traditionally run by a Punjabi family from Birmingham, who are probably way more British than I am. More on that/them later sometime.

Dot went to get his hair cut on Saturday morning and Mr. Haircutting Sidekick is the one cutting his hair. He asks Dot, while going through the motions of cutting his hair, are you related to the chap who runs the chippy?

Dot narrated this episode to me back at home, half annoyed, half amused. I said "you should've replied: I'm related to him in about the same way as you are related to Osama bin Laden. That would've shut him right up."

The "where are you from" or "does the caste system still exist in India" line of questioning does get my goat. Nevertheless, I am happy to put it down to mostly curiosity and sometimes ignorance, and I am even happier to help piece together the puzzle of my brown skin, Western name and surname, and my being a baptised Roman Catholic. I assure you, this has made for many an enlightened dinner conversation.

Yet, it happens very rarely that someone will say something so  racially ignorant it makes me cringe, and in even rarer cases, it will be offensive and make me hopping mad. Trouble is, in those very rare instances, instead of telling them exactly what I think, I am reduced to a quivering angry mess and blurt out something lame in response or, worse still, say nothing at all and smile. 

Ah well. I suppose I'll get them next time.

P.S. I have to shamefacedly admit that this incident happened close to six months ago and so did the post. Please do not bite.

Run of the Mill (Not!)

Whoever said 'running 10k is simply doing 5k twice' is probably really good at maths but also barking mad. Yet, we are very chuffed to say we did it! Dot in 1 hour and 16 minutes and me in an hour and 44 minutes. A special Thank You goes out to Greg; Mashi, Anu & Uncle Saby; Kali; Bricio; Ian; Mummy & Daddy and Ajith . We are very grateful for your love and generosity.

The venue for our race was the beautiful Dorney Lake which is a purpose-built rowing lake measuring exactly 5km, going around it once. Race day dawned bright, sun-drenched and cold - a typical autumn morning. Dot, bless his little trainers, was very disciplined before the race, training to schedule, come rain or shine. I, on the other hand, was typically excited to train one day, and horribly lackadaisical the next, as only I can be. There was no escaping the inevitability of the race, but when the day arrived we were both quite charged up and in bring-it-on mode which was a good place to start. 

The environs of the lake are spectacular and we arrived there early enough, Mother in tow, to find a good (or so we thought!) spot to park and get ourselves sorted before congregating at the main area. Numbers and messages were pinned, photos were clicked and we left Mamma to watch us and the bags, and went down to the stage where the group warm-up routine was being held. 

A (very very fit) lady from the Rosemary Conley Club made us groove to some Greased Lightning (if I remember clearly) to warm up. It was crowded but great fun, especially when you are asked to take two steps back only to end up on someone's lap!

Here's Dot going through his paces. Don't ask me where I was - I was taking the picture, silly!

They had us start in groups of those who expected to take 45 minutes or under to complete, and then rest. Needless to say, we stuck in the second group. From my experience of doing the Race for Life which is 5k, I knew these races could be fun or serious depending on what you made of them. So, while in the Race for Life there were the serious runners, there were also those who jogged or walked with costumes, babies, pushchairs, balloons, children, and all sorts of other paraphernalia. It simply meant, though I jog at a fairly steady slow pace, I was confident I would complete in a relatively reasonable time, and I did. 

Starting this race blew away all of that confidence, because everywhere I looked there were hardcore runners who blitzed away from me right at the start. The lake looked calm but the breeze blew cold and hard making me very grateful for the warm up. Armed with my bar of Bounty Dark and a random shuffle on the iPhone, I set out to take on Dorney Lake. I believe Dot had a bar of Twix and an endless loop of Nickelback on. Again, needless to say, I almost immediately lost sight of my now very quick husband. Above is Dot, smiling for mamma's camera while he comes around finishing his first circle around the lake - one more to go! And here I am, doing the same about twenty minutes later! I hobbled through the last two kilometres with very very sore knees from the pounding on the tarmac. Serves me right for not being good with my training! 


But I have to say, finishing was (and still is) the most magnificent feeling! Nothing compares. Here we are finishing and then with our medals.

Thank you for supporting us in spirit and also by donating to our cause. We couldn't have done it without you.

Of course, all the hurting was made worthwhile with a trip to the much vaunted (among South Indians) Saravanaa Bhavan in Hounslow.


South Indian vegetarian thaali rocks!