Long time no see. I have a story to tell

As you may have noticed, its been years since I wrote anything. I forgot that I even had this blog, which may give an idea of what's been going on at my end. I'll call it "the joy of working for Starbucks" and leave it at that. I still work for Starbucks, and it is a joy to work there. But circumstances have changed, and that reminded me of the existence of this blog. I also am coming back to writing.

This is about a real life incident that happened today on one of my many bus rides (hurray for bus passes). I intend to do more writing which may eventually lead to the writing/hopefully-publishing of a book possibly named "Stories from the bus". If you have another name for the book at the end of reading this short story, feel free to leave a comment about its suggestion.

The makings of this story happened while I was waiting for the bus no. 52 (which as usual was late), but I written the actual story in Cafe Ristretto, at Bishop's landing, where the lack of my chocolate satin cake had to be compensated with a muffin and a sysco square and two cups of coffee. I did listen to a lot of Paul Simon on their satellite radio, which was comforting too.

I was waiting at the bus stop and this man and woman walked up to it. The woman had thinning hair, wore a black sweater with a black and red vest over it. She was dragging a shopping cart with her, the one with wheels, which you can buy for your groceries and what not. One of the wheels of her shopping cart was broken. She sat on the seat next to where I was standing and said hi. I managed a weak smile, as she was still continuing a conversation with the man who came with her. As she sat down, she complained about the wheel of the cart, "oh look at it, oh look at it, oh my, hahaha".

She continued talking with the man, whom I later found out was her son, rather, she called him her son Mike. He called her Carol. From their conversation, I understood that "Carol" was the kind of person who repeated herself at least 10 times, even if the person she was conversing with acknowledged her statement the first time. "Mike", on the other hand, was the type who completely tried to ignore anything and everything that Carol said, but eventually had to listen because of the tedious repetition. The conversation that I happened to listen in involved a church, an indian" guy who was standing suspiciously on the 3rd floor of her apartment building though Mike said he lived there and Carol said she doesn't know who lives around her anymore "coz I've been so busy, Mike, I've been so busy, Mike, I've been so busy, Oh God!", and about making a call to the superstore , the number being 435-1080 (I called it and it was wrong, so I think it could have been 435-1018, or my hearing is busted and I heard the entire number wrong - though why I bothered to include it in my story and not delete it still, is completely beyond me).

During the conversation about about calling the superstore, Mike proceeded to take a bottle of hand sanitiser and use it. It was orange-scented. As he was doing it, Carol stopped her superstore talk to tell Mike to not put the sanitiser on and that she had hand cream (repeat this about 6 or 7 times). She took her purse from her shopping cart and dug in for the hand cream. By this time, Mike was done with using the sanitiser, so there was a strong orange smell in the air. Now she started to complain non-stop about how she "pleaded" with him to not use it, that it is "deadly" for her (insert lots of oh's and my's - I lost track) and she was allergic to it. Mike mumbled that she was not allergic. She started yelling at him, saying she was allergic at least 12 times and that he didn't believe her. Mike eventually told her to "stop whining". She went up to him, asked him "what that stuff" was made of, smelt it up close on his hands, and resumed complaining.

To call this woman a drama queen would be an understatement.

The superstore conversation resumed and she asked/demanded the use of Mike's phone for the call. Mike took his own sweet time to take the phone out, dialed the number and gave it to her. By this time the bus was around the corner. She "didn't know how" to use the phone and kept asking Mike over and over as to what she should do. Mike was all silence until she gave the phone back to him. As he was redialling, she looked at me and said "Technology these days!". I hoped I gave her the grumpiest look I had given in a while, and trust me, I got some really good grumpy ones.

As she caught sight of the bus and as Mike was redialling, the question of Mike paying for Carol's ticket arose. "Do you have money, Mike?" she asked him. He said no first, and the question came again "DO YOU HAVE MONEY, MIKE?". He said "You owe me a lot of money, Carol". "DO YOU HAVE MONEY, MIKE?". He lost, said yes, and got the money and the phone ready.

As we boarded the bus, she got a hold of a "Dave". I went past her towards the middle of the bus. This 52 was one of those long buses whose two parts were joined in the middle by the bellow thingy and a circular base. Up until now, since Mike had to pay for the bus and make the call, Carol, in all her ranting, failed to get back to the orange-scented allergic hand sanitiser on Mike's hands. Once the bus was on the move, and the call was done, she got back to it right away. She complained to anyone and everyone who would listen that she was allergic to the hand sanitiser and her son wouldn't believe her. She went so far as to move to the middle of the bus and came to stand by me. I was on a four seater placed sideways with one other passenger at the far end of the seat. The passenger had her handbag on one seat and I had my backpack on the other. We seemed to be unanimously unwilling to share our seats. Carol tried to make eye contact with me as she ranted on about her allergy. Grumpy Grace did not budge.

Fortunately for her, she found two 20-something kids standing on the circular base of the bus very receptive to her wails. The conversation about her supposed allergy went on and on and on, that it diverted the attention of the passenger on my side of the seat from her book. Her stares at Carol surpassed my grumpy looks. Mike, on the other hand, stayed put at his spot at the front end of the bus. Carol mentioned that she had bought a "florida" orange and shared half with him and "this is how he repays me!". The two kids were positively goading her and having a lot of fun at her expense. They went to the extent of discussing why Mike couldn't buy another kind of hand sanitiser or waited until Carol took out her hand cream from her purse.

The bus reached Mumford Terminal. Mike wheeled out Carol's abandoned shopping cart before it got in the way of everyone else getting out of the bus. As we all filed out, Carol felt compelled to impress on everyone as to how "cute" it was that her boy was wheeling her cart out, "oh how cute he is, so cute, absolutely cute he is, Oh God!".

I moved on to the bus no. 1 and saw the two of them talking as my bus pulled out of the terminal. I noticed Mike being impassive, Carol wheeling her cart and yelling at his impassiveness. I bet it was about the hand sanitiser, because Mike had his hands tucked in his pockets. Even if this wasn't the case, I will imagine it to be so, because I get to write the ending of this story. And so it ends.

The Duckie Story

This is something that is apparently not very strange, but I kinda make it so you just have to put up with me. Its more like a picture story than an actual one, so see and read.

I like exploring different eat-outs and cafes here, and after having a nice "cheddar and peaches panini sandwich" at one such cafe, took a nice stroll to work. On my way, I noticed this lake which was almost frozen and was slowly melting in the warm weather of maybe +2 degrees C or so. I wanted to take some pictures of it. I had my camera handy and off I went to take some shots. I saw these tracks on the snow of webbed feet and wondered what sortof bird would have made those tracks. I took a picture of it and moved on. Seagulls flew above me and came close that I was scared that they might peck at me or something. They just landed close by me and walked around... just around me. In a few seconds, I heard more flying and saw some ducks land very close to me. They walked upto me, and waited.

I took a guess that maybe they get fed when people go for walks around the lake or just come to the lake for a visit or to skate or something. Technically, feeding birds at the lake is forbidden, but I bet people don't really care coz the birds walked around me with such confidence and let me take all the pictures that I wanted, only that they wanted something back for all that trouble of posing and waiting. Slowly, they became a big bunch as they followed me along the pathway.



Here they are, all lined up and following me, as I keep clicking pictures and walking backwards. A couple of them took the courage to walk around me, in anticipation of something. I had a salad with me for my lunch/dinner. I thought I might give them some lettuce from it, but I was scared, coz I didn't want them to become sick or something. Can't really say I am an expert in duck food. There were about 10-15 of them. There was only one male among the whole bunch. The males in the bird species, or any other, for that matter, look very colourful and attractive, supposedly to get the women. Well, I think it is true, I read it somewhere for sure. Anyways he just stood there gawking at the poor ladies who so badly wanted something that they went around me over and over again. I didn't want to disappoint them, so I turned to go.

The male, for some reason (maybe he wasn't hungry), decided not to follow me. The others did. One by one, they filed up and walked with me. On first thought, it seemed as though I had this wonderful gathering of faithful followers who would just go where-ever I went. It was strange to see them all walking with me, behind me with one mind and one purpose - food, ofcourse. I kept talking to them. Why, I have no idea. I am so used to talking to my dogs when I am home in India that I usually have a habit of talking to animals now, or machines, for that matter. Anyways, that did not deter them as they kept following me. I probably should have just said "No! No!" and yelled it over and over. That might have worked.

I came almost to the edge of the lake and from a different direction, another batch of ducks joined the ones that were following me. Now I had about 20-25 ducks behind me, still following me and not stopping one instant.
I got some real good pictures of the ducks upclose, and the one I have on the left here is of young ducks I think. They are not the same brown colour as the other ones, and by the looks on their faces, they just look like they are grown-up babies yet to become "big people". The ducks did not scutter away when I knelt on the snow and took their pictures.






The one on the right her is a close-up of what I think is a female duck. She sure had quite the expression, maybe of stern disappointment, as I only took pictures and gave nothing back.






Here's one of what I think is a male duck. Its got a peacock-ish green coloured head and a not-so-brownish body.

I was now on the sidewalk and ready to hit the road to work. The ducks were now impatient, quacking among themselves and pecking at each other. I thought they would realise that this is the end and that they are not getting anything to eat. Well... maybe not. Some of them decided to follow me on the sidewalk. A good number of them followed me for a minute of so before they gave up and turned back.

Not these three, as you can see. They decided to go on and on. Guess they had more patience than the rest of them. I still was determined not to feed them. They did not hurt me or make any attempts to peck at me or something. So I was confident that though they followed me, nothing will happen anyway.

The poor dears... It was evident that I wasn't going to budge, and I had to hurry to work so I put my camera away too. So there wasn't much in entertainment either. They finally gave up, turned away and went.







Well, thats it. End of story.

Innocence Lost

A bus trip to nowhere on a sunny mid-afternoon. A young mom and her daughter, who would probably be around 3 to 4 years of age considering the fact that she was just learning to read, in the seats behind me. The mom was really young, maybe around 22 to 24 years; if I should stretch it a bit, I would say 26 and no more. The daughter was really cute to look at, at least until she started talking, dressed up in pink like any typical Canadian cutie of her age. The mom was trying to get the daughter to read and spell - that kind-of seemed like the activity at that moment considering the mom was trying to get the kid to spell colours and find missing letters in a word. The little girl was not getting the hang of things in spelling and because of that she was getting increasingly frustrated. Her mom was very patient with her though. That usually is the best part of mothers, I find. They are always very patient when it comes to teaching and dealing with their own kids. It usually takes a whole lot of naughtiness to break a mom’s patience to bits. And there’s always the “stress”, of course.

Anyway, lets get back to my story. The mom kept trying and trying and it was starting to get the kid to go bonkers. She started talking big-people stuff. “I can’t take this anymore! (insert a frustrated 40-year old female expression)”. This kept going on for a while; the little girl talked about being hungry, said that the mom was very irritating, and “put me in day-care because I don’t want to be at home anymore!” (like what!?!?!). The mom did not say a word during all this venting. When the stuff about the day-care popped out, she asked something with an earnestness which puzzled me. She said to her daughter, “Why, don’t you like spending time with your mommy anymore?”. The way the daughter was talking, it seemed like she was really looking forward to leaving the house and going on her own sweet way. Well, the only problem was she was too small for that. Four years sure is awfully small. Day-care seemed like a good start.

About the time they got off the bus, the mom was putting away her spelling book and getting ready to get off. Off come these words from the mouth of the little brat: “You piss me off. Its disgusting”. I swear by everything I believe in that this is exactly what she said and when I got off at my stop and got a place to sit myself at, I wrote it down right away and then worked on this story.

YOU PISS ME OFF - words from a little girl who is still learning to read and spell. STILL LEARNINGTO READ! What exactly would you think is wrong with this story? EVERYTHING! Consider an ideal situation - a happy home with a mom, a dad and a child. Maybe not, because that doesn’t seem to be the case with most families here anymore. Consider a less-than-ideal situation then - just a family of people living together, and having a little child among their midst. There would seem to be no circumstance under which a kid can learn such words as “piss-off” and “disgusting” or even know what they mean. This being said, I cannot even imagine the kind of childhood this child is going through. Think about the people around this child’s environment who are probably the ones using these words out loud in front of her, because I cannot think of anyone or any place else that this little girl can learn such words from - parents, grandparents, neighbours. Its either that, or the child watches too much TV.

Most adults know that children tend to pick up language mostly from what they hear that is being said around them. I remember when I was a kid, and when my parents had an argument or were discussing family matters that would probably be of no interest to me, my dad would look at me and its always this one sentence that comes out after that look: ``Go to your room!``. When I heard those words that the little girl said, I thought about my parents and other parents and about a picture I took at a bus stop in downtown Chicago of a little figurine (of a little girl holding a loudspeaker and yelling into it) with the caption, CHILDREN WILL REPEAT EVERY SINGLE THING YOU SAY! I felt that the child did that very same thing - true to every word of this caption. She probably was repeating the same words and sentences that someone must have used in front of her, along with the same expression and tone of voice.

Now I really can’t say that growing up in such an environment is going to be very healthy for any little girl, or boy, for that matter. People talk of making this world a better place. It has to start from home though. Home has to be a better place for the world to be. "Heal the world" people! Let little cute kids be themselves. Let's not lose their innocence so early. This world will not be a better place without innocent cute children.

Winne the Pooh

Book: "The World of Pooh"
Author: A. A. Milne

"Once upon a time, in a land far far away, (not very far; on the east coast of Canada, to be precise) lived a little girl named Grace with her sister, her roommate, and her roommate's two cats. One day, her roommate told her about this book that she was reading, called "The World of Pooh", which was about a bear named Winnie the Pooh. Her roommate had picked up the book to read only because it was one of the books on a list of the world's-best-100-books-to-be-read. One cannot really expect a girl of 21 years to read a book about Pooh Bear, at that age. She said that it was a very interesting book and that Grace should really think about reading it. Grace's interest was piqued when her roommate quoted a few lines from the book that had Grace and her roomate in splits of laughter. So Grace decided she was going to read the book."

The book could have been just another bedtime story... but it turned out to be more than just that. The book is about a little boy named Christopher Robin, and his favourite bear, who is Pooh. They live in a forest with their friends Piglet, Rabbit, Tigger, Owl, Kanga and Roo, and not to forget Rabbit's "friends-and-relations". And there's Eeyore too. Pooh is a very "humble" bear, with a Very Little Brain, and an amazing talent for poetry. He loves "hunny" and would do anything, like flying on a balloon pretending to be a cloud, to get some honey. He is the discoverer of the North "Pole", and also the discoverer of a game called "Poohsticks". The book has a lot of adventures that Pooh and his friends have, like discovering the North "Pole" and finding Eeyore's tail, rescuing Piglet from a flood, finding breakfast for Tigger and so on. I totally loved the way the book was written... and my favorite quote is this:

"when... you Think of Things, you find sometimes that a Thing which seemed very thingish inside you is quite different when it gets into the open and has other people looking at it."

The book went on the same lines of this quote, and it felt very "nice" to read it. It was a welcome change after the book I read previous to this one, which was called "Den of Thieves". That book was about Corporate America in the 80's and how a few men at Wall Street had changed the course of Wall Street and the stock market, and made lots of money. After reading about such people who lied and cheated and manipulated the stock market to fuel their own interests to make millions and billions, this book made me realise how simple life really is. Only here, you could go into this fictious world and have honey and "haycorns" to eat all day and have fun playing "Poohsticks" and whatnot. Life is simple, life is easy, and sometimes a bear like Pooh is what you need to remind you to enjoy a simple and humble life.

Freedom at Midnight

[Disclaimer: My thoughts are purely mine and don't represent anyone else. I don't mean to offend anyone or anything by writing what I choose to write.]

Book: Freedom at Midnight
Authors: Larry Collins and Dominique Lapierre
About: India

Well, it was more like a history book but never mind. I once met a few Europeans in Ethiopia and we were talking about freedom and kingdom and India's freedom struggle came up. They told me that they had read a few books about the Indian History and to them, the British in India were doing a good deed. They wondered why the Indians had to bicker and bite and struggle so much for freedom when, according to them, they were better off than most countries under the British Rule. I did tell them that was not what my history lessons at school taught me (Thank goodness I opted for science in grade 11 and 12; history was just not my thing). Speaking of those lessons, I was talking with this other friend of mine and he told me something about some kingdoms in India who had quite a nice ripe life while the British were ruling India. Now that was something those lessons didn't teach me so I got interested in knowing more (this is a great big step for me... being interested in history, that too, of India). So he suggested I read "Freedom at Midnight".

It took me more than a month to read and finish this book (I did say history was never an interest of mine). I read a few other books inbetween, just to make reading a lot more fun. I learnt a lot about a whole bunch of things which were very very interesting, and were mind-opening facts as well. Let me try to make a summary of it here.

The history starts with the dawn of 1947 and ends with the assasination of Gandhi in 1948. The authors have written this book based on extensive research of all records, interviews, publications that existed during that time and so on. The book gives a lot of insight into whom I think were the two important people of that era, who were instrumental in the births of two nations, Louis Mountbatten and Mohandas K. Gandhi. Initially, I thought the book was almost like a biography of the two men, and then India got inbetween.

I had never been interested in Indian history before, and so reading this book gave me a picture of a lot of personalities and characters who played their part into bringing India into existence as a nation of its own. The only thing that caught my eye from the beginning was that there wasn't much of a mention of South India, maybe none at all. The book did talk about Hyderabad, and its Nizam, but that was it. So I was wondering, what exactly did the south go through when everyone was talking freedom and Congress and non-violence and fasts?

The leaders sure made quite a difference in the making of India. I found it interesting to know that Mohammed Ali Jinnah couldn't speak a word of Urdu, the Muslim language and yet, he so adamantly wanted a separate Muslim country. He and his Moslem League members infused a few riots and killings to make their point known, and overnight, the whole nation was plunged into the makings of a bloody civil war. What a few powerful people wanted for themselves had turned innocent lives into blood-seeking fanatics. It seemed as though sheep were being lead to a slaughter house by their own master.

And then there was Gandhi. Called "the prophet", "a great man", "a Mahatma", he sure had the British hanging on threads by his fasts. "If you don't listen to me, I will fast to death until you do" - that seemed to be his motto. He sure made his point felt. I somehow don't agree with him or his ideals. He's got this thing about washing his own toilet, eating only enough food to barely sustain himself, using old envelopes for paper, so as to not waste them. Sounds like a bit of an eccentric to me. But then, this is me thinking.

Louis Mountbatten was a personality who intrigued me a lot. He was spoken in the book as someone who truly knew and understood what leadership meant. Whatever he did for India had been in the interest of the country's welfare and progress. Indian leaders wanted their country's freedom, and he was the one who gave it to them as quick as they wanted it. During the course of this, he earned the trust and confidence of the important leaders of the country and helped them run the country a bit after India got it freedom. Nice of him, don't you think?

The book spoke in large about the violence that occured during the times of partition, what with the Muslims and Hindus and Sikhs slitting each other's throats and raping women. This was where reality struck in, for me. I started realising how the ambitions of a few petty leaders had turned the country of brotherhood into a country of bloodshed. Though I could understand how angry and mad people can get when they see their family being cut open and hacked, I couldn't see why a friend turned on another friend. So much blood spilled for a lost cause, so many families ruined in the name of religion, and this is not a count of tens and hundreds, but thousands and tens and tens of thousands.

The book ended with the plot for and the assasination of M. K. Gandhi. To me, this was entirely uncalled for, because apart from killing an old man, and getting death sentences for themselves, those religious fanatics didn't achieve anything else. The book mentioned about the ineffectiveness of the Indian investigation officers and detectives to uncover the plot to assasinate Gandhi.

I haven't read any other book on the Indian freedom struggle or the biographies of the Indian leaders to know how much of this book is true. I do think the authors have placed the facts the way it is... It was interesting for me from the start to read about India because I hardly do that. The writing style of the authors was simple and detailed so it made easy reading, though I did jump ahead to a few different books when the story of India started dragging. And now I know for sure it will be a long long time before I pick up another history book again.

Another experience off my life

5 a.m. The day was May 7. A scooty by the bus station, and there I was, sitting on it and waiting for my friend and her roomate to turn up. She told me that the earlier we start, the earlier we would get to her place, and hence avoid the heat and sweat of the summer sun. Poor girls... I found out later that they weren't given permission to sneak out that early by their hostel warden so they were stuck in the hostel until 6 a.m. I didn't know that ofcourse. And so I was waiting, and waiting, and waiting. Time went by, I was worried a bit, but not that much so I didn't go looking for them anywhere. It was just beginning to light up, the day starting to be one of those busy days again. I saw people boarding buses to different destinations. I saw milk being distributed to various men in their bicycles, who will take it to be sold to different houses. I saw buses with very funny destination names... and it was so hard for me to read because it was written in Tamil. I was getting hungry so I bought a bag of chips from the only small shop that was open close to where I was waiting. Everyone was looking at me in a funny way. I bet they were thinking this: What is a young girl like this sitting on a scooty in a place like that and eating a bag of chips and looking about as though everything was supposed to happen the way it does? She sure must be too bold and too crazy.

6 a.m. 6: 30 a.m. No one showed up yet. I was wondering whether I should go and grab some breakfast when I saw the two of them walking towards me. Finally, our plans to visit my friend's house were under way! After a lot of advice as to the care of my scooty to the roomate (I was leaving my bike with her for a couple of days until we came back), me and my friend walked towards the bus station, looked for a bus that would take us where we had to go, boarded it, and waited. Again.

The bus finally took off from the bus station at 7:30 a.m. By that time, I had finished my bag of chips and was looking for something else to eat. Boy was I so hungry! Thankfully the bus stopped at another bus station in the outskirts of the city and we both went to a shop close by and got me more chips and some biscuits. 8:15 a.m. and our journey finally started.

The journey was uneventful all the way. The bus stopped after an hour's journey and we had a break. The bus continued the next two hours and finally we got to our destination by 11 a.m. From the bus station, we took an auto to get to my friend's house... a short ride of 5 minutes into a maze of small narrow streets and there we were. My friend's parents are doctors; Mom's a gynecologist and Dad's an orthopedic. They have a clinic below their house. They also have an operation facility for surgeries.

We friends dumped our baggage at our rooms above the clinic and went downstairs to say hello to my hosts. My friend had told me earlier that every time she visited, coincidentally, her mom had to operate on a patient and deliver a baby which meant that most of the quality time she could have possibly shared with her mom were gone into the service of some desperate baby trying to make its way into the world. This time though, if it happened, she asked me if I would be interested in observing how a cesarean section operation is done, provided her parents agree to me being present in the operating room. I was thrilled at the thought of such a possibilty occuring, then I wasn't so sure, then I thought I should not miss it, then I thought maybe I should. With all these thoughts on my mind, I said hello to Uncle and Aunty.

Both of them were very happy that I was there. My friend immediately asked her mom if she had a surgery scheduled that afternoon, and if she did, can Grace please observe it? Uncle was thrilled that I was so interested in the idea. He told me that he had suggested so many times to his daughter to observe a surgery or two, but she had turned the offer down because she didn't like the idea of looking at people being cut open. He thought it was a shame that the daughter of a doctor should think that way. Oh well, there I was to compensate for his daughter!

Even though Uncle was an orthopedic, he assisted Aunty with many of her cases. He took sole charge of me and gave me a description of what to expect in a C-section operation. He told me that there would be a whole lot of blood on the run and that if I had any queasy feelings about watching a pool of blood overflow, I should forget about the idea of observing a surgery. I had already witnessed a surgery for an appendix removal during a training session two summers ago, so I wasn't so very scared. But still, I wasn't sure of whether I should do this or not.

Me and my friend went upstairs to wait until all the initial operation procedures were finished before the actual surgery started. My friend also advised me that if I wasn't very sure, maybe I shouldn't go through the ordeal. She told me that the operation room was usually sterilised and the sterilant is dispersed in the air, which sometimes makes people faint, all the more reason for me to think. Man, I was such an on-off switch. I really couldn't decide. When one reason made me decide that I should observe the surgery, some other reason told me not to. I was still undecided when someone came up to let me know that everyone was waiting for me at the operation room. That's it. I decided then. My friend wished me luck and off I went.

Uncle stood by me and stayed close to me during the entire duration of the surgery, lest I faint and prove to be an interruption. As the surgery progressed, Uncle explained each procedure to me. The only thing I couldn't watch was the initial incision that was made on the lady's abdomen. Once that was done, I was all eyes glued to the procedure and all ears listening to what Uncle was telling me. The surgery was not complicated and pretty soon, a baby boy made his way out of his mother's womb. I couldn't believe me eyes. It was amazing, to see that baby emerge out of his mom, breathing his first breath and kicking his legs in the air. He was very active during the first few minutes of his arrival. Once the only physical link to his mom was cut off, the doctor held him upside down to let the blood flow into this body everywhere.

He was pink, and gooey, and was writhing in the hands of the doctor. I have seen lots of movies where when a baby is born, the only indication to the people waiting outside the room is the baby's screams. Hear the baby scream, and ah, all is well. I used to think that was just someone's imagination. Oh well, I was so wrong. The doctor held the baby upside down, and to my surprise, gave him a nice spank on his bum. The baby screamed and everyone in the operation room breathed a sigh of relief. All's well! The baby's alive. One of the nurses took off to tell the relatives the news. The doctor tossed the baby into a basin and another nurse took the baby to be cleaned up. Then he set about patching the lady up and I lost my interest at the operating end. I wanted to look at the baby.

The baby was in another room so I went there to take a peak. He opened his eyes and looked straight at me. I was awestruck. I started to think about all sorts of things when I saw his eyes... My dog Fluffy's eyes... she had such huge pretty eyes, that I could just gaze at them and lose myself; And I thought of a movie where this guy delivers an alien baby, and he looks into its giant squid eyes and he becomes speechless, until the baby throws up on him.

I looked at the jet black eyes of the baby looking into me and I couldn't say a word. It was the most amazing thing I ever witnessed. I didn't know what to say to Uncle and Aunty. My face was all smiles, no words. I went up to the house where my friend was eagerly expecting to see a fainted me. I was all jumpy and excited. I couldn't stop explaining what I saw and what I felt when I saw that little heart encased in a baby get out to face the world, a world full of ups and downs, bumps and crevices, love and hate, trust and betrayal, richness and poverty...

"The Penelopaid"

I was always fascinated by Greek Mythology. My first exposure to Greek Mythology was my browsing through some Junior Encyclopaedia books from my grandpa's collection. I used to cruise through those books for any article written in a story-like fashion. I came upon one entry, and then followed the links to other articles to discover that a thing like Greek Mythology existed. The different gods and goddesses, their kids, their relationships with mortals - made me think both worlds had collided too often in the mythological realm. It was amazing, really. I was also interested in Hindu Mythology. Talk about Ramayana and Mahabharath. I always used to pester my hindu friends into explaining about the different gods and goddesses and used to read any literature I could find that had any story related to Hindu Mythology. I always got confused with one particular god, and asked many of my friends to explain the same thing to me again and again. It still isn't in my head though.

Anyway, getting back to Greek Mythology. There are two original works of Homer that explain the tale of the Greek gods and goddesses, The Illiad and The Odyssey. The Illiad is about the Trojan war, how it started, why it started, how it ended; the link happens to have the whole book online. If you have seen the movie "Troy", it would give you an idea about the book.

The Odyssey talks about events that happened after the Trojan war. One of the main characters who led the war to victory was Odysseus. After the war, he had many adventures before he finally returned to his wife Penelope. The Odyssey talks about his adventures. But there is no record of what his wife Penelope had gone through during that time. There are mentions of Suitors trying to woo her to marry them because of her wealth, assuming that Odysseus had died during his travels. But that being less exciting than the life of Odysseus, nobody wrote anything about it. So Margaret Atwood took upon herself to write about Penelope, and her life. And thus "The Penelopaid" came into existence. I happened to come across it and I read it.

The name Margaret Atwood rang a distant bell in my head, and when I flipped in to check on what she had written before, I knew why. I had read one of her books "The Handmaid's Tale" when I was in Ethiopia. If there is anything I want to say about that book, its this: don't even think about reading that book even if you are dead bored. I didn't like "The Handmaid's Tale" vey much; the story-line was crap (according to me), though I liked the style of writing. I wouldn't say the same for "The Penelopaid".

Its mainly because of my interest in Greek Mythology that I think that this book is good. The story is a narrative of the main character, Penelope, who tells her story after she dies and goes to Hades (that is the underworld in Greek Mythology). Penelope is cousin to Helen of Troy, the beauty who was much sought after by all the eligible bachelors in the world, the lady who caused countless souls to depart from their bodies on her behalf, the only reason of the Trojan war. The book talks about how Penelope felt about Helen, how Helen had invariably been a reason for Odysseus to fight in the Trojan war, and thus be separated from her for twenty years. Also, there is the story of the twelve maids, maids of Penelope, who are excecuted mercilessly by Odysseus and his son, Telemachus, upon the return of the former from his travels.

I still haven't read Homer's works, so this book was a very interesting read. It gave me an insight into the other two books. If you are interested in Greek Mythology, this book would be a great start. Just so you know, there aren't any adventures of daring men or battles of different countries in this book. It has just the story of a wife who is separated from her husband, who stays true to him when he doesn't.