Tag: Mother

Categories
Family

Naming our son was stressful but we still managed to find him a name

Naming our baby son was stressful
Naming your kid can be very stressful for the parents. Key is to ignore all suggestions from everybody except from your wife ;-)

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Sometime back we named our son, Ritwik. In fact the same day we even booked RitwikRajan.com.

Apparently, in US & Europe you have to decide on a name for your kid within two days of their birth. That is it – 2 days. Meanwhile, here in India, twenty five days after Rekha and I had our second child…we were still looking for a name.

In our son’s case we wanted to give him a name which starts with alphabet ‘R’ for that odd day when our family became a family of SuperHeros, we could call ourselves The ‘R’ Family. But our astrologer sought after by Rekha’s parents didn’t quote the alphabet ‘R’. So it was a question of starting a new life on this planet with a bribe – pay the astrologer to get a favorable alphabet. We did exactly that.

The astrologer was able to add ‘R’ in the list of probable alphabets without affecting any of the stars & moons, thanks to a NEFT transfer of Rs 1000/-.

I went thro’ all of this favourable alphabet seeking exercise in spite of being an opponent of the whole naming ceremony before the kid is 10 years old. I remember being pissed at my parents for naming me without consulting me. I think it was 1986 and I was a 11 year old whose name had been disfigured by his classmates.

“Why couldn’t you consult me before naming me?” I had shouted at my parents.

“Son, you were sleeping 22 hours out of 24 hours. How could we consult you?” My father replied.

“How about in those 2 hours?” I insisted.

“Son, even if we had asked you…you would have only replied with a ‘blahbla blahhbaba,’ my father kept a straight face.

“You should be glad we gave you such a nice name – Rajan.” My mother chipped in.

Anyway, as I said I was a reluctant participant in this naming ceremony. I thought I was cheating my son by not giving him an opportunity to decide for himself. As is always the case, nobody listened to me and we went ahead with the naming.

Since the alphabet was decided, we had all and sundry giving us name suggestions – from the fine sounding name ‘Rafat’ to the villain meaning ‘Ruffian’. While we politely refused the suggestions – the challenge of finding the right name hung over us.

To complicate matters, within a week of our son’s birth, celebrities Kim Kardashian and Kayne West had a daughter whom they named her ‘North West’….which unfortunately for us ended up trending on Twitter, globally. Now, we were under pressure to beat this and get a name that would also trend.

My mother had always wanted me to be a doctor and whenever I had asked her why, she had said: “Son, I want them to call you Doctor Rajan.”

So, Rekha and I deliberated on naming our son ‘Doctor’ so that when they combined it with his second name, it ended up become ‘Doctor Rajan’. Now that is how he would have been called and my mother’s wish would have been fulfilled.

We had almost finalized on ‘Doctor’ when I remembered that my father had wanted me to join the Army and become a General so that the World would address me as ‘General Rajan’. For a brief while we even deliberated if we should name our son ‘General’. But it was shot down.

With my two chances gone, my wife decided to chip in with suggestions. Her first suggestion was ‘Fire’….yes, she wanted to name our son Fire. Maybe, because he was born due to a fiery session of sex we had after a late night movie on a Saturday evening – a session that lasted between 11.00-11.10 pm. This is one of the advantages of having a planned sex life for you know the time of conception of your child till the last minute.

But I refused to accept Rekha’s suggestion saying I didn’t want my son to be listening to “Fire Rajan!” every time he turned his face.

During one of these days we had one of Rekha’s friend Shaina Ladiwala visit us.

“Why don’t you name your child 123ABC?” Shaina asked.

Rekha knotted her eyes and shot back, “And why would I want to name him 123ABC?”

“So that everybody can find him easily. On whatsapp if somebody’s name is stored as a number, he/she is visible right on top.” Shaina was convinced that it was a great name but we weren’t.

Many such suggestions poured in from all directions.

It would have been so easy if we had had twins – we could have simply named them Karan & Arjun or Dharam & Veer or Ram & Shyam or Sita & Gita, whatever be the situation. Our son being a single child we had to rely on our own creativity.

Whenever Rekha and I zeroed in on a name, and I gave my mother a feeler about what we were thinking and she would ask: “So, was it suggested by our side or Rekha’s side? ” My mother’s reaction on the name was always based on my answer to her this question.

Similarly, there was intense pressure from Rekha’s side to name our son using the Malayali Name Maker. There is a very convenient Name Maker Table that is available in every Malayali’s house, and all we have to do after giving birth to a child is to pick up one syllable from the first column and a syllable from the second column and combine it to form a name. OK…now try it.

Here are some syllables from the first column:
Jo, Ti, Bi, Si, Vi,

Here are some syllables from the second column:
Nu, By, Bi, Ju, Di, Jul

Now you know why we fought the Malayali Mafia, tooth and nail and didn’t get a name out of this Malayali Name Maker Table.

In spite of all these challenges, we did manage to find a good name for our son – Ritwik. I am very proud of him.

In fact, on many days I stand before my washroom mirror, extend my arm forward and say aloud to myself “Hi Ritwik Rajan here. Nice to meet you” just to visualize how my son will introduce himself to the rest of the World long after we are gone.

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Categories
Men and Women

Group dynamics in a married man’s house

Mother Wife issues in a married mans house

Prakash Raj is a close friend of mine who lives in Delhi. This is his story – of how group dynamics in a married man’s house has affected his life. This Saturday, we met up at the Barista in DLF Mega Mall in Gurgaon. He had called on Friday and said: “Jammy, don`t you project yourself as a specialist in man-woman relationships?”

“I never did!” I protested. But my friend wouldn`t listen and fixed a 12 noon meeting at DLF Mega Mall. Easing into the soft, brown cushion at the Barista, he said: “You are lucky, your mother doesn`t stay with you.”

“Why? What happened?”

My longtime friend detailed out an average day in his life. Apparently, his mother and his wife were having trouble adjusting.

Here is his narration, in his words

If my mother and wife have had a fight, I will know by 7.00 p.m. itself. Both my mother and my wife will call me at office and check when I will be home. Armed with the knowledge that the night was going to be stressful and long, I will enter the house by 9 p.m..

If my mother managed to open the door for me, my wife will be at an arms distance to get my laptop bag. If my mother kept my shoes in the newly bought shoe-rack, my wife will bring me the towel and ask to freshen up.

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Finding a reason to enter the house, I will look up at my father for some support. With an Economic Times and a TV in front of him, he will just shrug and go back to the distractions. I know what his shrug means: “Buddy, I managed it in my time, now it is your turn.” So wouldn`t disturb him and move to the washroom to freshen up.

If my wife managed to hand me a washed T-shirt outside the washroom, my mother will manage to shout: “The dinner is served!”

At the dinner table, the silences will be long and the sentences short. The utensils will be a lot noisier than normal days. The decibel levels will give me an idea of the magnitude of the fight. On normal days, the ladle will not hit the plate while the rice or dal is served but on the fight-days the ladles will make their presence felt.

“So, how was your day?” My wife will ask.

Since, I know my response to this question can break my family into two I will just say: “It was fine.”

If I said that my day was great, my wife would fall into a chasm of self-pity and solving the fight will become that much more difficult.

“So, what did you do the whole day?” My mother will ask trying to prove a point that her son is more responsive to her questions. Now, even if I wanted to give a detailed answer I can`t because then my wife will be upset. So I just say: “Nothing much!”

Since my wife is a Malayali (she hails from Kerala), she doesn`t understand Tamil mother starts conversing in Tamil at the dinning table. Being the good husband I am I respond in a neutral language, lest my wife thinks I am conspiring against her.

I look at my father again – seeking advice. The intelligent man that he is, he will just bury his face in his plate.

The dinner will be a disaster. Since both the queens in my life are pre-occupied, they forget to bring to the dining table two of the dishes that were prepared for the evening. The situation worsens if both the dishes were prepared by one individual, for a conspiracy theory is attached to the miss.

When the dinner ends, my mother tries to prolong my stay outside the bedroom by offering ice-cream, fruits, Dabur Chyawanprash etc. If I indulge in these after-dinner-activities, my wife starts hinting me to reach the bedroom soon. She lets out statements like, “I am sleepy,” “Your favourite TV show in on now,” etc. Not willing to upset either of them, I take a spoon full of Dabur Chyawanprash and rush to the bedroom.

Once inside the bedroom, I stare at the TV (and think on how best to tackle my wife). Meanwhile, my wife sits before the dressing mirror and sulks. She sulks so much that I am forced to ask: “Why what happened?”

Even before I finish my question, I realize that I have opened the dam. My wife starts crying and explains how my mother is actually a witch that both my father and I haven`t been able to spot in the last 30 years.

I console her. I tell her that my mother is indeed a bad woman and needs to be controlled with an iron hand. My wife is initially doubts that I am on her side but with some persuasion she is made to believe that I hate my mother. Happy in the belief that she has managed to convince me, she sleeps peacefully. I sleep peacefully too.

The next day while wearing my shoes, I wink at my wife and utter: “Which is bad?”

She glances at my mother from the corner of her eye, then turns towards me and says, “Yes, witch is bad.”

I look at my mother and ask, “Which is bad?”

My mother says, “The blue one.”

I dump the blue socks and wear the black one, as my mother suggests. On my way out, I whisper into my mother`s ears: “I know you guys fought last evening. But I trust you. See even for my socks I still consult you.”

As I start the car, I hear noises in the balcony of my house. In my rear view mirror I see them holding each other by their unkempt hair. They sure love each other`s company.

* * * * * * * * *

I didn`t know what to advice the friend. After all, he was managing the situation pretty well himself. Besides, these are the group dynamics in every married man’s house.

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Categories
Family

Funniest letter ever written by mother to her son

Funniest letter written by mother to her son

I promise, I didn’t write this. No, seriously. What you are going to read is the funniest letter ever written by a mother to her son. This letter was written by a Sardani mother to her son in Canada. Where else!

Let me assure you that we can’t stereotype sardars. Some of them are intelligent. Here is a short story of how Ikroop Singh, a sardar classmate of mine in class ten stumped me. Ikroop Singh despite his turban continued to hold fort that he was not a Sardar. In order to finally corner him into submission, I asked: “OK, agreed that you are not a sardar. Just tell me in which state were you born?”

He said: “State of Denial.”

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Here is the funniest letter ever written by a mother to her son

Pyare Puttar,

I am in a well here and hoping you are also in a well there. I’m writing this letter slowly, because I know you cannot read fast. We don’t live where we did when you left home. Your dad read in the newspaper that most accidents happen 20 miles from home, so we moved 20miles. I won’t be able to send the address as the last Sardar who stayed here took the house numbers with them for their new house so they would not have to change their address.

Hopefully by next week we will be able to take our earlier address plate here, and that our address will remain same too. This place is really nice. It even has a washing machine, situated right above the toilet I’m not sure it works too well.Last week I put in 3 shirts, pulled the chain and haven’t seen them since.

The weather here isn’t too bad. It rained only twice last week. The first time it rained for 3 days and second time for 4 days.The coat you wanted me to send you, your Aunt said it would be a little too heavy to send in the mail with all the metal buttons, so we cut them off and put them in the pocket.

Your father has another job. He has 500 men under him. He is cutting the grass at the cemetery.

By the way I took Bahu to our club’s poolside. The manager is badmash. He told her that two piece swimming suit is not allowed in his club. We were confused as to which piece should we remove?

Your sister had a baby this morning. I haven’t found out whether it is a girl or a boy, so I don’t know whether you are an Aunt or Uncle.

Your uncle, Jetinder fell in the nearby well. Some men tried to pull him out, but he fought them off bravely and drowned. We cremated him and he burned for three days.

Your best friend, Balwinder, is no more. He died trying to fulfill his father’s last wishes. His father had wished to be buried in the sea after he died. And your friend died while in the process of digging a grave for his father.

There isn’t much more news this time. Nothing much has happened. Wanted to write longer but the envelope is already sealed.

Live long
Your dear mother
Jaswanto

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Categories
Travel

My mother boards an airplane for the first time in her life

When mother travelled by air for first time

I have realized that I am not the only threat my family can offer to pretty air hostesses. My mother is far better at grounding the careers of air hostesses.

Not so long ago, my mother and I traveled from Delhi to Madurai – changing flights at Chennai – and I must tell you that traveling with my mother is a harrowing experience.

“Mommy, we are traveling by the 12 noon Indigo Airlines flight to Chennai and then taking the 2.30 p.m. Indigo Airlines to Madurai,” I remarked in the morning.

“What? Why?” My mom`s tone suggested that she had been betrayed.

“You sound betrayed.” I wasn’t sure if it was to be a question or a statement.

The tough mother that she was, she didn`t respond. She started sulking.

When I was wondering what had gone wrong, my wife Rekha came to my rescue. She told me that my mother had already experienced Jet Airways and Spicejet and had been looking forward to The Kingfisher Experience this time. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is the story of good times. Before Vijay Mallaya was grounded.

Let me be honest, we Rajans are not used to air travel. We are one of the many Indian families whose standard of living has been linked to the IT revolution in India – which means the first of us traveled by air for the first time only in 2005.

I remember when we were kids and moving from city to city (my father being a patriotic army man) traveling by a 2nd class train compartment was a luxury. It was so much a luxury that during summer vacations father planned train trips to nearby places, and after getting off at the destination we would change the platforms to catch our train back. While it was a means to a destination for all others, for us the train it self was the destination.

My mother and I were the first to enter the 12 noon Indigo flight to Chennai. After the other passengers had settled in, my mother took me by surprise by getting up and shouting at the nearest air hostess: “You there! Don`t you give wet towels like the Jet Airways?”

The air hostess was shocked but did well to let out a smile. To avoid embarrassment, I immediately got up and left for the washroom.

When I came back, I passed the air hostess who was helping my mother and I heard her say: “Is the passenger sitting next to you, your mother?”

I couldn`t say no, so without looking at my mother, I replied: “I am sorry, I don`t know which passenger you are referring to.”

“The lady that wants three wet towels for her granddaughter at home,” said the pretty damsel. I didn`t look at the air hostess but I was sure she was smiling at me.

The journey was pretty uneventful till my mother wanted to use the washroom. She went in, and came out within two minutes complaining that there was no water in the potty. “What kind of service does Indigo Airlines provide? There is no water in there.”

Before anybody could respond she dug deep into her traveling experience and said: “Way back in the late 70s the long distance, steam-engine driven trains used to have such water problems. But I definitely didn`t expect this from Indigo Airlines.”

By now, my mother had caught the attention of all the passengers. Two of them were even taking photographs (Instagramers, perhaps).

I walked up to my mother and explained that none of the airplane potties had water. And that it operated on vacuum and all one had to do was press the ‘Flush` button.

“Are you saying that when the ‘Flush` button is pressed, all the crap gets sucked and thrown out of the airplane?” Now my mom was being louder than before.

To end the conversation, I said: “Yes! Now will you please get into the washroom again?”

But my mom had other ideas. She turned towards the cabin crew and asked them in a Headmistress like tone: “What if some of the crap falls on somebody`s head? Wouldn`t the guy feel miserable?”

I gently reminded my mom that that`s exactly the way it happened in the trains – her favorite mode of travel. The crap fell out of the train and was always left behind on the gravel (in the case of kids, some stuck on to the bums).

My mom could be demanding in her requirements but she certainly saw reason when there was one for she shrugged her shoulders and went into the washroom a satisfied lady.

Just that when we landed in Madurai, she said: ‘One can`t be too careful when a plane passes by.”

I didn’t say a word.

Seeing her opportunity my mother continued, “I am sure Kingfisher Airlines handles its shit much better.”

I wish I knew back then how wrong my mother was going to be.